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“Because you just turned twenty-five,” Jolene says. “That’s a round number.”
“Round numbers have a zero at the end,” Dorothy counters.
“Twenty-five is rounder than twenty-four or twenty-six,” Jolene replies smugly.
“That’s not the ‘why’ I meant,” I say. “Why cover a vacation and not, say, a month of my rent?” The latter would probably help me more in the grand scheme of things—not that I’d take their money.
“You desperately need vitamin D,” Jolene says, waggling her perfectly groomed blond eyebrows.
I nearly choke on my mimosa. In Jolene parlance, the D stands for “dick,” which is why I expect Dorothy to cringe, but she nods instead.
“Is that why you pushed for Florida?” she asks Jolene. Turning to me, she adds, “You are looking pale. Has your doctor said you’re deficient?” The unstated “If so, why didn’t you tell me immediately?” is loud and clear.
The evil smile on Jolene’s face is out of control. “I’m sure Brooklyn’s doctor would say she needs that D. Bad.”
Dorothy’s already-worried expression grows even more concerned. “Vitamin D is critical for your bones.”
“Yeah,” Jolene says to me meaningfully. “When was the last time you even thought about… a bone?”
Dorothy squints at the toilet-white skin of my face. “If the deficiency is bad, maybe you should consider some supplements?”
Is Jolene about to make a dildo joke?
“Yeah, take that D orally,” Jolene says. “Great idea.”
Dorothy frowns. “Orally? As opposed to what, skin patches? I don’t think those work.”
Jolene grins wider. “I, personally, prefer to take the D as a vaginal suppository, but on occasion, taking it rectally can?—”
“How do you always manage to steer every conversation toward genitals?” Dorothy demands from Jolene. Turning to me, she adds, “Mushrooms have vitamin D. Salmon too, and?—”
“It’s just too much.” I push the tickets away. “I gave the two of you papier-mâché figurines for your birthdays.”
“I love my Wonder Woman,” Dorothy says.
I sigh. “It’s actually the Statue of Liberty.”
“And I love Mr. Big Cock,” Jolene says.
I purse my lips. “I told you many times… it’s the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
“Point is, you deserve a break,” Dorothy says. “And you forget how you helped me with my grandmother when she was sick.”
“And me when Mr. Goobers was having that issue with his penis.”
“All I did was help him retract his lipstick,” I say with an eyeroll. “Hair getting stuck there is a common problem for fluffy dogs. And your grandmother, Dorothy, is the sweetest lady I’ve ever known. It was my pleasure to help her.”
Jolene waggles her eyebrows again. “Was it a pleasure to help Mr. Goobers?”
“Eww, stop it,” Dorothy says, wrinkling her nose. “I thought bestiality was where even you drew the line, but I guess I was mistaken.”
“Seriously, though,” I say. “I cannot accept this.”
“Then I guess both the camp and the Airbnb will go to waste,” Jolene says, sighing dramatically. “And the next time you offer to give Mr. Goobers a free haircut, I’ll have no choice but to refuse. And I’ll get a vet to help with his penis too.”
Grr. She’s got me there. Not with the Mr. Goobers haircuts and penis bits, obviously. It’s the nonrefundable status of their extremely expensive gift that makes it pretty much impossible to refuse.
“I need to talk to my son,” I say, grasping at straws. “If he refuses to go?—”
