I don’t send a response. Instead I shut down my computer, lock my door, and get out my magic bullet. I pull the covers over my head and get myself off while staring at that damn picture on my phone.
Chapter 4
What The Hell is Normal Anyway?
LILY
The next morning my phone wakes me up. I feel around for it on my nightstand. It’s not there. I find it under my pillow, where I left it after I rolled my marble to Randy’s middle finger. Three times. I think I have a problem.
“’Lo?” I mumble.
“Are you still asleep?” Sunny asks.
“Not anymore.” Sunny gets up stupidly early even on the days she doesn’t have to work. I’m lucky she waited this long to call.
“Great! Get dressed. I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes. I made cinnamon buns, and we’re having family brunch. And make sure you bring a bathing suit since all mine fall off you.”
“It’s freezing out.”
“It’s hardly freezing, Lily. It’s going to be eighteen degrees today.”
“That’s not pool weather.”
“We cranked the water heater. It’s like a sauna.”
“Wait. What about Randy? Is he going to be there?” My vagina gets all excited by the thought.
“He flew back to Chicago this morning. You will be telling me what happened last night. See you soon.” She hangs up.
I lie there for a minute and stare at the ceiling, working up the energy to get out of bed and take a quick shower. Instead, I check my messages from last night. Not just to look at Randy’s middle finger and naked chest, or the hint of peen under the white sheet. Although that’s part of the reason. I have a message from him. It’s another picture. It’s a close up of his neck and jaw. He’s wearing a T-shirt. Red lines travel from his ear and disappear under his collar. It was sent at six this morning.
I’m collecting 4 damages next time I cu.
Oh, man. Those are scratches. From me. I wonder exactly what collecting for damages entails. I don’t have the guts to ask, either. I’m certain the answer will make me regret not taking him up on his offer of a visit last night.
I toss my phone aside and roll out of bed. I shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. The apartment is quiet. I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turn on the shower. My hair is sticking up all over the place. On second thought, if Randy woke up next to me looking like this, it’d be the last invite I got.
Less than ten minutes later I’m showered. I open the bathroom door and scream. There’s a man standing in the hall in a pair of—please God why?—tightie-whities. I’d estimate him to be in his late thirties to mid-forties. He’s actually in decent shape, although there’s some graying and male pattern baldness. I’m also having a hard time keeping my eyes on his face, because he’s tenting the front of his underwear with some morning wood.
“What the shit?” I yell as he stands there, gawking. “Mom! There’s a mostly naked man in the hallway! Is he yours?”
She comes out of her bedroom in one of her satin robes. I try to hold in my gag, knowing she was probably getting the action I should have gotten last night. She runs her hand through her sex hair. “I thought you were staying at Sunny’s last night.”
“So he is yours.” I point at the silent man standing two feet away from me. He’s still flag poling, but he’s put his hands down to cover it. “Just checking to make sure some half-naked crazy pervert didn’t wander into our apartment with a hard-on.”
“Lily!”
“What? It’s true. And it’s happened before.”
“Mr. Van Winkle isn’t a pervert. He’s senile. He forgets where he lives sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, he also forgets to wear clothes.” Judging from what happens in his saggy underwear, Mr. Van Winkle was probably a hit with the ladies in his day. I turn sideways and slide by my mom’s date from last night. Thankfully, I’m skinny enough that I don’t have to touch him, since he seems incapable of moving out of the way.
I lock my door and throw on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. I stuff a bathing suit into my knapsack and my clean skating gear, since I have lessons to teach this evening. I’m banking on Sunny being able to drive me to the rink. My phone beeps as I’m running a brush through my hair. It’s Sunny letting me know she’s here. She knows enough not to come up unless I invite her. My mom’s chatty. She can keep us here for hours with tea and lectures about men. Although that’s not likely to happen today, what with her man friend.
I open the door a crack and peek my head out. The hall is empty. I tiptoe down it, shove my feet into ballet flats, lift my keys from the hook, and open the door.
“Going to Sunny’s and then work. Be back later!” I let the door close behind me before my mom can stop me with requests for groceries.
Sunny’s waiting out in front of my building in her Prius. It was a birthday present from her brother. I don’t have my own car. Public transit and my bike are my rides of choice. Guelph isn’t big, and I don’t live too far from work. Plus, cars are expensive; the one my mom and I share is constantly in need of repair.
I slip into the passenger seat and wait until Sunny pulls into traffic before I check my ringing phone.
She glances at me and then back at the road, her hands at ten and two like they’re supposed to be. The GPS is tracking our drive, even though she’s been to the apartment at least two thousand times. Sunny’s directionally challenged. And she’s very diligent about following road rules.