She placed her hand over the bowl. Nope, still way too hot for her vajayjay. Guilt stabbed at her as she thought of how much this latest attempt at happiness was costing. The equivalent of half of an eight-hour shift at the pottery shop. Mike would be horrified if he knew she’d blown that kind of money. More than horrified. He’d be pissed.How could you possibly think soaking your … vagina(he’d whisper that word, even if the kids were out and it was just them and the dog)would have any effect on your mental health at all?
She’d correct him, of course, and tell him she hadsteamedher vagina, not soaked it (as if that would make any difference whatsoever in the conversation’s outcome). She would still do it because small details were very important to Jess. Don’t do anything unless you’re going to do it well (which, in her mind, included speaking with accuracy).
It would be a whole deal. He’d be ticked off for at least an entire day, and then would put it in the vault to bring out every once in a while for the rest of their lives when they were arguing about money. And for that reason, he could never know what she was doing in here. The insane part (if there was anything more insane than what she was about to do) was that she wouldagreewith him about it being useless.
But Kira was always going on about treating the most sacred parts of ourselves with the most sacred of rituals. Since we’re divine goddesses and all. Jess cringed at the thought of someone referring to her as a goddess. She and Mike used that term as a joke. But Kira used it in earnest, which was okay for a woman like her—beautiful, brilliant, wildly successful. Kira lived in a beach house in Malibu where she shot videos of herself living her best life to inspire women everywhere.
Watching the videos had become somewhat of an obsession for Jess over the last few months. Kira was the type of woman with whom you knew you could be best friends. Or rather, you wished you could. Drinking mimosas on a rooftop patio on a Sunday afternoon. Laughing and sharing your darkest secrets. Jess would obviously bring Diana and Rachael along because that was the kind of friend she was—loyal to a fault. Well, maybe she’d just bring Diana. It might be too much to ask to invite two friends along. Plus, Rachael would definitely say something to Kira about how much she detested people in Kira’s profession, which would be awkward, to say the least. Hmm…she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
In her fantasy, her friendship with Kira just made sense. After all, they were the same age. Well, roughly. Jessica was forty-six and Kira was forty-two, but they were both somewhere in the middle. Only Kira looked like she was twenty-something—impossibly tight, toned, and smooth, whereas Jess looked every minute her age—sagging jowls, crow’s feet, and those deep marionette lines that appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. She’d been considering telling people she was sixty-two, just to hear someone say how great she looked. Even if they’d be thinking ‘for your age,’ it would still feel nice to be noticed.
No one noticed women like Jess. It was like she’d donned an invisibility cloak the moment she turned forty-five. Men didn’t smile at her in the grocery store anymore. Not even the old ones who used to find her so alluring on account of her Marilyn Monroe-esque figure. Mike still said she was beautiful from time to time. Actually, he told her she lookedreally nice todaywhen she was dressed up for one reason or another. Something about the way he said it bothered her. It was as if adding the wordtodaymade it clear that most days she didn’t look nice at all. But she knew she shouldn’t frame it that way. She should look for the positive. After all, according to Kira, that was the secret to happiness. Being happy with what you have.
Mind you, Kira Popowich was rich, famous, and sported a flat stomach and a perfectly round behind. Of courseshewas happy with what she had. But that didn’t mean that Jess shouldn’t appreciate the compliments from her husband of nineteen years. After all, it meant he still noticed her. Some of the time, anyway. But it wasn’t a lack of male attention that had had her feeling so blasé about life. She was far too old to care about something so fleeting and silly. This went much deeper.
“This better damn well work,” Jessica muttered when the water finally cooled to a temperature that felt safe enough for her nether regions.
She should just crouch over the bowl already and get the disappointment over with. Hmm…now that she really looked at it, she realized the bowl was quite nice, actually. Well worth the sixty-five dollars alone. She eyed it while the pungent aroma of the healing herbs wafted up into her nostrils. It would make an interesting salad bowl. Not for guests, obviously, in case they ever hosted someone who had seen the kit online. Even though she wasn’t actually going to touch her private parts to the bowl itself, she still would never serve food out of it to a guest. To her own family, maybe, and only after bleaching it, then rinsing it a dozen or so times. But not a guest.
She could picture Mike’s boss’s wife, Maxine, saying that the salad bowl looked vaguely familiar and asking her where she got it. “Well, Maxine, it was originally a vagina steam bath bowl, but I’ve repurposed it. Reduce, reuse, recycle, right?”
Okay, for real. Time to steam the bean. She set the bowl on the tile floor and squatted, feeling the not-so-subtle heat rising. Oh, this was weird. So very weird. She hoped the earthy scent of the herbal elixir wasn’t going to get soaked into her skin because she really didn’t want to walk around smelling like dirt and rotting cabbage for the next couple of days.
Jess held her breath and waited for some magical transformation to begin à la Cinderella when her housemaid dress was transformed into a sparkly gown by her fairy godmother. She imagined herself being picked up off the floor and twirled around in a big circle, only to be set back down a completely new woman. A happy one.
Her phone rang, startling her. Jessica shot up from her crouching position, feeling embarrassed even though whoever it was couldn’t see what she was doing. It was her mother, Hilary. Jessica’s first reaction was to start panicking. Her mom never called at this hour. She answered immediately. “Hello?”
“Jess, I just got a strange text from Noah asking if I’ll lend him my credit card, but not to tell you and Mike. Is everything okay? Are you having money troubles?”
Instant rage shot through her. Jess set her jaw, then said, “No, we are not. He wants to rent a hotel room on Halloween and throw a party. We said no, so clearly he’s moved on.”
“Oh dear, where does he get such ideas?” she asked.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“It’s probably some new trend on the TikTok.”
“Or it’s just something he and his idiot friends cooked up,” Jess answered, grabbing a towel to dry off a bit.
“You never would have thought of something like that. You were always so good. Even as a teenager,” her mom said, which brought on a whole host of emotions. Guilt because Jess had never been that good. Merely skilled at hiding all the shit she was doing. She also got a twinge of hurt feelings because her mom was basically saying Jessica’s own kid was bad, and she didn’t want her to think that, even if it was true. Was it true? Was he actually a bad human being? Were they unwittingly raising a sociopath or someone with narcissistic personality disorder? The thought made her chest feel tight.
“Well… what do I do?” her mom asked.
“Say no.”
“But he’s my grandson. I don’t want to have to say no to him,” Hilary said.
“I’ll tell him no for you.”
“No! Don’t do that. Then he’ll know I ratted him out.”
“Ratted him out? What are you, a gangster now?”
“I watched The Sopranos. I know what a rat is and I’m not going to become one. He’ll never tell me anything again.”
In truth, Hilary had watched part of one episode, but was so horrified she’d shut it off.
“I don’t know, Mom. What if you lie and tell him you don’t have a credit card?”
