Marlee choked on her pastry. Kellie pounded on her back.
“I mean, I hope you’ve had the sex,” Mom continued. “Sex is nice when you do it right.” Mom paused, deep in her own thoughts. Which was good because Becca wasn’t sure what the hell to say. Neither did her friends, apparently, what with the way they weren’t saying anything.
“You know, you don’t even have to have a partner if you don’t want one.” Mom started talking with her hands—which, given the topic, was unfortunate. “Belinda bought me one of these bedroom doohickeys with two ends. I haven’t had anything like that since I was in my twenties. I swear to God, I don’t even need your father anymore.”
Becca blinked. Hard.
Belinda was the preacher’s wife at the church Becca had attended growing up. She held lady’s luncheons and Grief Share meetings. She also wore orthotics, just like Becca’s mom.
“I want to hear more about this doohickey,” Sadie—traitor that she was—said. “I like doohickeys.”
Great, there was no way Mom would leave now.
“You have Roman,” Marlee pointed out. “Why do you need a doohickey?”
“Oh, girl,” Kellie said. “Does Eli not use doohickeys with you?”
Marlee shook her head. “We have a baby. There’s no time to get out doohickeys when we’re havingthe sex. Our window is limited. We’ve learned to compensate by—”
“Could we all just stop talking about this?” Becca raised her voice. She didn’t have outbursts often, so it got everyone’s attention. “I don’t want to hear any more about doohickeys or the sex.”
“She’s drying up.” Mom sounded ridiculously disappointed. She pulled up a chair, even though everyone else stood or sat on the floor. Except Becca, who took no comfort at all on her futon.
“I’ll ask Belinda to get you one the next time she orders,” Mom continued. “She buys in bulk because she gets a quantity discount. The ladies’ auxiliary just loves her for it.”
Becca’s heart seemed to stop pumping blood, and the muscles in her face seemed to stop responding to neural stimulation.
“We meet at the church every other Tuesday,” Mom kept on talking like she hadn’t blown a fuse in Becca’s brain. “They asked if you’d come talk to them about your work.”
“I’m on vacation.” Becca had told her mother this same thing multiple times. “I’m not working or talking about work while I’m on vacation.”
“Then talk about that communication stuff you’re always telling me about.”
“Mom,” Becca said, dryly. “I’ll think about it.”
Because, actually, maybe it would be fun to talk about the various ways human beings communicate with each other. Verbal, non-verbal, body language. Uh huh, that could be fun.
“Now, baby girl, give me the deets about this man who is not meeting your needs.” Mom smacked her knees.
“The deets?” Becca asked in confirmation. Had her mother just used slang from ten years ago?
“Details,” Mom explained.
“We should get you a slang manual, Bec,” Sadie suggested, a tad too serious. “Maybe we could provide that when Belinda delivers your doohickey?”
“I know what deets means.” Becca just wasn’t used to her mother using it in her everyday speech patterns. “Why are you using slang like that from an alternative generation?”
“Because I’m with it.” Mom sat, settling in way too comfortably. “Now what happened? Will you see him again or was it one of those one up things?”
Sadie seemed to choke on cherry danish.
Mom frowned. “If he didn’t meet your needs, I hope you didn’t give him a blow job. A man should earn that. Ask your father.”
Oh, dear God, she was not asking her father about any of this.
Becca’s mother was perfectly comfortable discussing intimacy with her kids, much to their forever dismay. This was likely why her brothers moved out of state at the first opportunity.
“I had lots of one-night stands in my day.” Mom glanced from friend to friend. “I believe it’s important to get around before a girl decides where she wants to land. How else will you know what you want?”
