Learning to Swim(31)

Unfortunately for me, my night was about to get worse. Much worse.

Because when I walked into my apartment, I was welcomed home by the sight of my mother making out with none other than Ludwig van Beethoven.





12


She was standing in the main entrance, hungrily kissing him as if his lips were covered in Cheesy Nacho Hamburger Helper. I knew I should've just been thankful that they both had their clothes on. Unfortunately for them, however, I wasn't feeling grateful.

“Steffie!” Barbie untangled herself and tucked her almost sheer black blouse into her snug jeans. “You're back early!”

Ludwig was tall and attractive, with blue eyes and thick black hair peppered with gray. He kept his cool, nodding as I gave him the once-over. “You must be Steffie,” he said, sticking out his hand.

I thought about dissing him and shoving my hand in my pocket, but unfortunately, I thought about it after I had already shaken his. I was relieved to discover that he had a nice firm handshake, not clammy or sweaty.

“I'm Tom,” he said, stopping short of giving his last name.

“Hi,” I said tersely.

He let go of my hand quickly. “I should get going.”

“I'll walk you out,” my mom said while escorting him to his car.

I felt my face go hot. Sure, there had to be a first time for everything, but did I really have to meet one of my mother's boyfriends that night? I was having a hard enough time with my own love lunacy problems.

“So how was bingo?” my mother asked, reappearing a few minutes later with her blouse untucked once again.

It was as clear as Scotch tape that Barbie was an optimist. Case in point: thinking that there was a chance of my not mentioning that I had just interrupted a giant smooching session was damn near crazy optimistic.

“It sucked,” I replied.

“Oh no!” Barbie was trying to act disappointed, but it was such a big crock. My mom hated my bingo nights. At first she'd thought it was kind of funny that I was playing bingo at the senior center, but then when I started really getting into it, she began to get annoyed. On bingo nights, she'd started offering to take me to the movies or out to dinner at the Red Lobster (I had a thing for their hush puppies) just so I'd cancel. But it hadn't worked because, as I'd explained to her, I needed to make my own friends. She'd replied that she wanted me to make my own friends too, which was why she didn't like to see me hanging out with a bunch of “grandmas.”

“The whole apartment reeks of Polo Sport,” I announced. Barbie started tidying up the pillows on the couch and ignored me. So I got right in her face. “I hope he didn't hurry off on my account. Was his wife expecting him home? Did he need to go back and tuck his kids into bed?”

“Don't start, Steffie,” she said quietly.

Just go to bed, I commanded myself. After all, did I really want to get into a big fight with her tonight? “In the future,” I said, “I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring your men around here.”

“My men?” Barbie said.

Normally I would've had enough common sense to abort. But again, I was in a terrible mood. Maybe a big blowout fight was just what I needed.

“It makes me sick to think about them, never mind meet them,” I said through gritted teeth.

My mother glared at me and crossed her arms. “Well, I would think you, of all people, would be willing to cut me some slack. Especially considering your present situation.”

I stopped still. “What present situation?”

“Oh, please, Steffie. Everyone at the club knows you have the hots for Mora Cooper's boyfriend.”

“That's ridiculous!” I forced a laugh (which came out sounding like a crazy cackle).

Barbie stared me down. “Then why did Mora throw a drink at you?”


I was speechless. How had this confrontation ended up being about me and my love life? “Mora happened to spill her drink while I was there. I cleaned it up. It's what I'm hired to do. End of subject.”

“You're not interested in Keith McKnight?” she asked, peering at me suspiciously.

At times like these, I really wished I was a better liar. I just stood there, trying to shake my head.

My mother exhaled long and slow. “All these years, when you kept asking me why I dated married men and I kept telling you that you can't control who you love…”

“This isn't like that,” I said quickly.

“Of course not. Because now it's happening to you.”

“I don't have to put up with this,” I said. And then, just to make it crystal clear, I spun around and headed for the door. “I'm leaving.”

“Don't you dare walk out on me, young lady!” Barbie yelled.

I slammed the door behind me and jumped on my bike. I pedaled to Alice's house as fast as I could, tears stinging my eyes block after block. How could my mother act as if she had done nothing wrong? How could she be so blasé about screwing with my life? How could she accuse me of making the same mistake she had made over and over again? I pulled into Alice's front yard and jumped off my bike.

“Alice!” I called out as I banged on the door.

Just then, headlights filled the driveway as a car pulled in front of me. I squinted against the glare as Keith stepped out of his Lexus in all his button-down-shirt and relaxed-jeans glory. His sudden arrival caught me by surprise and was enough to make me momentarily forget all my problems with Barbie. (It was, quite frankly, enough to make me forget about everything.) “What are you doing here?” I asked.