Luckily the smell of coffee and bacon brings me out of bed. After Blake left—and I felt kind of bad being so dismissive with him—Ana and I stayed up for a bit watching James Corden and drinking wine. She volleyed a thousand questions at me and I deflected them all with simple yes or no answers. I hope she doesn’t start that today because I definitely don’t have the patience before my coffee kicks in.
“Good morning,” she calls out as I take a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m making bacon and regular pancakes.”
“I’ll just have the bacon,” I tell her.
“But I’ve put the bacon in the pancakes,” she says.
I sigh. “Then those aren’t called regular pancakes.”
“Wow, you’re grumpy. I thought all the sex would have helped.”
“Again, we didn’t have sex.”
“Well you never said what you had.”
“Does it matter?” I ask. She comes over and hands me a mug of coffee. “Thanks.”
“Drink that and cheer up. This is a great day.” She flashes her megawatt ivory-veneered grin at me.
I slurp back the coffee and close my eyes, taking it all in. “It’s always a great day for you.”
“I had a great date last night,” she says. “Life is goooood.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Yes,” she says, sliding the pancakes onto two plates. “But I don’t want to say anything about it in case I, how do you say? Ruin it all to shit.” She brings me one, despite the fact I’m waving my hands for her not to. “Eat it, you’re too skinny.”
“Yeah right,” I scoff. I feel like my ass has gotten wider ever since school finished. All this writing and sitting all day has made the excess fat and wine congregate in my butt cheeks. I figure it’s my body’s way of giving me a permanent seat—you’re a writer now, here’s your portable cushion! —but even so, it’s not appreciated.
“Don’t listen to me, then,” she says. “Besides your boyfriend seems to like your body.”
“Not my boyfriend,” I tell her quickly. “Never my boyfriend.”
She opens her mouth but I cut her off. “Not my fuckboy either.” Speaking of fuckboy adventures, I wonder if I should text Rio about this. I want to dish all about it but at the same time it doesn’t seem right. She’ll wonder why I’m spending all this time with someone I’m supposed to hate.
Even though I feel like I hate him this morning.
Just a little.
For being so damn smooth.
And firm.
And good with his lips.
Tongue.
The hard length of his cock.
The way he made me moan, louder than I ever have before.
“Look at you,” Ana coos. “So in love.”
I let out a rumpled cry of frustration. “Oh my god, I can’t talk to you anymore,” I tell her, getting up just as my phone rings. I expect it to be Blake with his ears burning but my heart sinks when I see it’s my mother.
“Shit,” I swear. “What day is it?” I’ve totally lost track after school ended.
“Thursday,” Ana says.
Fuck. I had promised to have lunch with my parents today. They’ve been hounding me about coming over for ages now and I’ve deftly avoided it. Until they brought up me being selfish and having no respect and blah blah blah.
“Hello, mother.”
“Don’t sound so happy, you knew I’d be calling,” her crisp voice comes through.
“It’s early.”
“Early to bed, early to rise, that’s the life of a successful adult,” she says and it’s loud enough for Ana to hear because she’s already rolling her eyes, motioning that she’s blowing her brains out with a gun. I don’t know why parents always have to talk so loud on the phone, it’s like they think they’re underwater trying to talk through a tin can.
“Right,” I tell her. “Well this successful adult is on vacation now.”
“That may explain why you’ve been ignoring your parents. No need for school funding, no need to talk to us.”
Ugh. The guilt trip. “I’m not ignoring you, I’m just…so what time is lunch?”
“Eleven thirty,” she says. “Your dad is making your favorite. Don’t be late.”
I assure her I won’t and say goodbye. My parents are these real sticklers when it comes to punctuality. Actually they are real sticklers when it comes to everything in life that is proper and safe and orderly. No matter how much I feel like I’m progressing and becoming an adult—on my own terms—they’re always there to remind me that I’m still their child and most likely doing it wrong.
I show up at my parents at 11:20, just in case, and to my surprise I see my Uncle Seth’s 1980’s hunter green Jaguar outside. Uncle Seth and Aunt Sylvia are ridiculous. When I was growing up I was taught to view them as eccentric but now that I’m older, I realize they’re dumb and kind of senile. I know everyone has relatives and family friends that embarrasses them for one reason or another but these two take the cake.
This is the house I grew up in. It’s a large two-story built in 1912, which gives my parents an edge over their friends, at least they think so. “Anyone can build a new house. Not just anyone can buy something historical,” my mother has said. I mean it is gorgeous and has been updated a lot and I loved how vast the property was as a child. I’d run around and pretend to be a superhero, running from the nanny and interrupting my father’s croquet game.