Perfectly Adequate(33)
She sighs, scooting back onto the seat while hugging her legs to her chest with her chin resting on her knee. “You’re probably right. The last thing you need after the chaos of Boss Bitch leaving you is a viral rumor about you snacking on Dorothy Mayhem—patient transporter—in the back of a car parked outside of a restaurant.”
Kill me now. Snacking on Dorothy Mayhem?
My fisted hand flies to my mouth as tears fill my eyes. I don’t want to laugh at her. Really, truly, sincerely do not want to laugh at her. But I do. And it isn’t a slight chuckle; it’s the kind of laugh that makes me cry, makes it hard to breathe, makes the muscles in my stomach hurt.
To make things worse, I peek open an eye after wiping my tears, and she’s just … waiting there. No big deal. Still naked like sitting in her car naked happens all the time. Her nose scrunches, but she doesn’t seem offended. Maybe a little amused by my reaction and equally confused.
“Do you always laugh so hard you cry?”
“No …” I shake my head and hold my stomach with one hand while my other hand wipes my face. “I’m not …” I breathe hard to keep from laughing more. “I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. Thank you.”
“For what?” She leans forward and grabs her folded panties, slipping them on slowly with a bit of lethargy or resignation in her movements.
I regain my composure, wiping my eyes one last time as she puts her dress on and slides her feet into her shoes. “For you.” I grab her waist and pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling my legs—not my head. “You are the very best of humanity.” Then I kiss her, keeping my hands on her waist instead of snaking them up her dress like I want to do.
The night got away from us in the most bizarre way imaginable. But it’s turned into something so unforgettable, I feel reborn. Someday, I will look back and remember this night—the night Dorothy Mayhem crawled into my existence in a way that would change me forever.
She could bring me back to life.
She could show me a world I never imagined possible.
Or … she could destroy me.
If I only knew …
CHAPTER TWELVE
Playing Hooky
Dorothy
The car incident requires more than one journal, but I only have one red journal left! And it has to be red, since I wore my red dress.
WE
WILL
NEVER
HAVE
SEX!
!!!!!!!
That takes up the first six pages.
Sex is not a priority for me.
BUT …………………
I don’t like to fail.
I don’t like to disappoint.
How did this happen?
??????????????????
I just don’t get it!
The books.
The movies.
The blogs.
I’ve read
EVERYTHING!
Eighteen pages. And I just keep writing. So many emotions. Thoughts. Things to work out and sort through. I replay the entire evening on paper, including dialogue, so I can reread my entry. Study it. Figure out a way to repeat the good stuff and avoid the disasters.
Knock. Knock.
“Yes?” I slam my journal shut with two blank pages left. I’ll add THE END later.
Mom cracks open the door and pokes her head inside. “You sneaked in without saying anything.”
“Nothing to say. And it’s late. Didn’t figure you’d still be awake.”
“You had a date tonight. There has to be something to say.”
“What do you want to know?” I crawl into bed, knowing there is a good chance I might fall asleep during her interrogation.
She sits on the end of my bed. “Did you have a good time?” Her questions sound generic, but my answers rarely are.
“Yes. He was so easy to talk to. It was like talking to you and Dad. And he ate my kind of pizza and ordered a large.”
“That’s great. So there might be another real date?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I mean … well, it’s just hard to say. He doesn’t function like most guys I’ve dated. I’ve been able to do the same thing and get the same results. Not with Dr. Hawkins. It’s like he plays with rules from a different rule book. Ya know? But I really like him, so I’d like to see his rule book. Would it be really weird if I asked Dr. Hathaway?”
Mom grimaces. “I’m inclined to say yes, but you said it’s been a long time since she left him. So I suppose it depends on what you want to ask her.”
“I want to ask her about his … preferences.”
“What kind of preferences? Foods? Activities? Sports? I’m not following.”
“Gah! You just don’t get it. Sex, Mom! I want to know what does it for him.” I throw my arm over my face, half from frustration, half from embarrassment because the moment I said it, her mouth fell agape. Why does she have to react like I’m a little girl?
“I’m just …” She stutters.
“Just go.” I turn onto my stomach and bury my face into my pillow.
“Dorothy, I’m not mad. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“Oh … wow.” I lift my head to speak but keep my gaze on my headboard. “Thanks for not being mad that your thirty-year-old daughter is sexually active.”