“I just want you to think about all your options.” She lifts the inside front cover of the scrapbook and pulls out a brochure for CryoBankNY, a sperm bank in Manhattan that was hidden inside one of the decorations.
For a moment I stare as the gorgeous smiling man on the cover and wonder what our children would look like. I’m sure they would have his beautiful blue eyes and flawless skin. They could have my thick hair and passion and creativity.
But I can also picture the two little faces I imagined when I thought about having a family with Nate, little Noah and Olivia.
And I miss them. I kind of hate Nate for never giving me the chance to meet them.
I peel off the blankets and stand up. “I think I’m going to go out for a little walk.”
“Like that? You should brush your hair. Take a shower. What if someone sees you? Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but you look like a train wreck.”
“Okay, thanks Mom.”
Chapter 14
It’s Sunday afternoon, and outside the window the sky is pearl gray and inside my mother is yanking the covers off my bed and throwing a pitcher of water at my head.
“This is ridiculous, Jane. You’re a grown woman. You didn’t even act like this when you were a teenager.” She drags my feet off the bed and I immediately envy her upper-body strength.
“And stop with the online crap.” She smacks my phone out of my hands and it flies off the bed and thuds on the floor.
I wipe the water off my face and shake out my wet hands. “But have you noticed that everything I post Nate likes and comments on? What kind of a romantic Hampton weekend is that, when he’s stalking me across all social media outlets? Huh? Giving me little hearts and smiles and flirtatious comments.”
My mother stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Honestly, I may have. What I just said sounds absolutely insane. Even Dex commented a few dozen times on my posts. I’m pretty funny and creative when I’m spiraling.
I hang my head in my hands and mumble into my palms. “Okay, don’t look at me like that anymore. I know I’m acting dramatic.”
“Get up. Get up and get in the shower. Right. Now.”
We have a legit staredown.
And she freaking wins.
“Fine. I will shower,” I say stepping out of the room.
“I better smell that watermelon lather from downstairs.” She follows me out into the hallway waving her French-tipped nails at me. “And when you get out, do not get back into a pair of pajamas. You will wear real clothes, decent clothes because Jane Valerie Nash, you going out!”
Her terror tactics escalate until I’m dressed appropriately to her and my father’s approval, fed some sort of health shake that tasted like grass, and ends with me sitting in a salon chair.
When this is all over, I think I might write a scathing article about her in UPCLOSE.Boot Camp MotherorMom Gone Mad.
My mother stands behind my chair with her hands over my shoulders. Both of us stare into the reflection in the large mirror in front of us, in a standoff. “Katherine,” she says to the hairdresser. I suddenly feel like I’m in a mobster movie, about to die at the hands of the head boss.
“Jane needs theFull Diamond Treatment.” Both of them smile at me with knowing expressions, nodding like crazy Sweeny Todd bobblehead dolls.
“What’s that code for? What’s the Full Diamond Treatment? Mom? Seriously?” I snap pictures and post them on Instagram and Facebook and caption with:Sweeny Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street is alive and well on Long Island. What flavor pie would I be? #EatMe
My phone pings madly with comments and reactions.
“Jane, I will slip you a Valium if you don’t shut up.” Then she takes my phone away and exchanges it for a very full glass of wine.
“Well, then. Ladies, let the torture begin.” I take a big unladylike gulp and lean back.
A wash and cut.
A blowout.
