Page 36 of Stroked Long
“Is that so? Seems to me like you used basic acrylic paint which would have dried easily within hours.”
Damn it, sometimes I forget my mom is an artist as well. “What do you want me to do with it? Throw it in the trash? Toss it on the ground and use it as a floor mat?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you take it to bed with you as a cuddle buddy,” my mom teases. She’s an artist and also a sassy mom who doesn’t ever let anything go. Can you tell?
“Why would you even say that?”
I don’t know why I ask that question because all it does is spur her on. Sitting up straight in her chair at my two-person dining room table, she prepares her speech. I can see it in the way she cocks her shoulders back, ready for battle.
Fanning her face with one hand and using the other as a pretend phone, she says, “Oh Mom, Bodi is such a good man. He’s funny, yet shy, and he’s so strong. You should see his muscles. What a swimmer. And he’s helping me with this foundation thing, and I actually heard him laugh the other day—”
I hold my hand up to her. “Okay, you’ve proven your point. And for the record, your impersonation of me is rather horrid. I do not sound like that.”
Polishing her nails on her shirt, she examines them and says, “I thought it was rather uncanny actually, if you ask me.”
“It was absolute piss.”
“Oh sweetie, you always fail to remember that you came out of me, through the birth canal and straight out of my vagina. As much as you want to deny it, you are a mini-me, and if I want to do an impersonation of my daughter I will nail it every time. It’s far too easy for me.”
Mini-me is correct. I look just like my mom from my blonde hair to my big brown eyes and share her quirky, artistic personality. I only have one trait from my dad: a terrible driver and road rage.Oh shit. That’s two traits.Living in Los Angeles has not been healthy for my temperament when driving, pretty devastating actually. The pounding my steering wheel has taken is unfair to the old thing.
“But that’s beside the point. Tell me you don’t like Bodi. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like him one bit.”
She’s got me. She knows I won’t blatantly lie to her face. A little denial here and there, maybe, but when she tells me to look at her and make a statement, yeah, I can’t lie.
“Fine,” I concede. “I like him—”
“I knew it!” My mom claps in glee, happy with her ability to read the obvious.
“But it’s not that easy, Mom.”
“Why not? He’s an eligible man, and you both have some things in common. Have you tried flirting? You know, flip your hair, put your finger in your mouth kind of stuff.”
“As appealing as that sounds, Mom, I have not. I don’t typically like to present myself as a salami-eating ditz.”
“Then why do you always wear short dresses?”
“I do not!”
Throwing her head back, she laughs and grabs another cookie. “Oh sweetheart, you’re too easy.”
“For the record, my dresses come down to a respectable length. Just above the knee is nothing to scoff at.”
“Yes, I know, dear. But back to the main topic. Tell me about Bodi. Why isn’t it easy with him? I would think since you are a brilliant and beautiful young woman he would want nothing more than to enter into a courtship with you.”
I roll my eyes and shift my seat on the couch. “No one calls it a courtship anymore, Mom. And it’s not that easy because Bodi is a little darker than he seems on television.”
Shifting in her seat as well, my mom leans forward, clearly interested in the conversation. Whispering and looking around, as if there are other people in my tiny five-hundred-square-foot apartment, she says, “What kind of dark?” She pauses and leans forward just a little bit more. “Like . . . drugs?”
Of course my mom would go there. She’s quirky and open about practically everything. But drugs, oh boy, don’t even talk about drugs around her. Pretty sure if she had the opportunity, she would team up with McGruff the Crime Dog and take to the streets to end drug use.
“No, Mom, not drugs. He’s an Olympian for Christ’s sake.”
“Athletes lead secret lives sometimes.”
“And Olympians are constantly drug tested, so him doing drugs is not even something you should be considering.”
Sitting back, she exhales loudly and pretends to wipe sweat off her brow. “Whew, that’s good. You don’t approve of drugs.”
