I look over at my mom, whose eyes are firmly placed on Sam’s backside. “Mom.”
Still staring, she mutters, “What?”
“Stop staring.”
She quickly looks my way. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” The perv.
“Well, can you blame me? Look at thesizeof him.” Leaning in like she’s about to share a secret—only she can’t whisper worth a damn—she adds, “I bet his penis is huge.”
“Jesus. Mom.” I want to die. I really do. “Please don’t say ‘penis.’”Everagain.
“Oh?” She arches her drawn-on brow that’s two shades darker than her dyed blonde hair. She constantly looks surprised. “Do you prefer ‘cock’?”
Now who’s surprised?
“No.” Oh. My. God. “Mom…” I don’t even know what to say at this point. “Please don’t say,” I lower my voice, “‘cock’ out loud.”
“Oh, pish-posh. Everyone’s saying it.”
And by everyone she means her book club, which is a group of old ladies and two even older men who meet and talk about smutty books via Zoom twice per month because they all travel.
“We’re into some wonderful BMDS books right now.”
“BDSM.”
“What, dear?”
“It’s BDSM, not BMDS.”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand in the air like reversing a few letters is not a big deal. I guess it’s not in the grand scheme of things.
“Did you know, your father refused to put a hook into the wall of the RV.” She rolls her eyes.
I don’t want to know this. If I covered my ears, would she notice?
“I mean, how is he supposed to tie me up if there’s nothing to secure the silk scarves?”
And there you have it. The reason I am the way I am—Screwed. Up.
Deciding it’s best to change the subject, I ask, “I thought you guys weren’t coming back for weeks.” My parents are retired. They owned a hardware store for over forty years until they decided to sell it six years ago. Except they really didn’t retire in the traditional sense. They’ve never been the nap and gardening kind of people. No, not my parents. Instead, they bought that ridiculous RV and decided to travel around the US and Canada. They’re quick to remind us to include Canada. They haven’t stopped there, though, yet. They’ve also been to the UK and Europe. Not in the RV, although I wouldn’t put it past my dad to find a way to ship that thing over.
“Oh, you know…”
“No. I don’t. The last time I spoke to you, you said you’d be home at the end of May.”
“Your father has an appointment.”
“An appointment? What kind of appointment?”
“Just a checkup.” She waves her hand like I’m supposed to believe this bit of information isn’t something important.
“A checkup?” I look her right in the eye. She’s sort of like Henry Miller when it comes to eye contact. I know she’s blowing smoke up my butt when she won’t look right at me. “Mom?”
“Huh?” she says, looking over at my father and Sam. The hood is now up on the truck, and my dad has stepped up onto the bumper, making him tall enough to peer down at the engine.
“What’s wrong with Dad?”
