Page 32 of Stroked Hard
Needing to talk to someone, I dial the one phone number I can always count on.
Two rings, that’s all it takes.
“My bella, how are you tonight?” Luckily California is two hours earlier than Omaha time so my mom is still awake.
“Hey Mom, I’m doing well, what about you?”
“Good, but I had a bit of a tumble today at work.”
I sit up straight in my chair, concern edging my nerves. “What do you mean a tumble?”
“I’m all right. I can tell by your voice that you’re ready to drive down to Temecula to make sure I’m all in one piece.” Damn straight I’m ready to drive down there. “I just slipped at work, luckily I slipped right into Mehi’s arms.”
Now I’m sitting even more tall from the mention of a man’s name. “Who’s Mehi?”
“Oh, just the gardener. He is a wonderful man actually.” Why is my mom gushing? Is she gushing? I pause. She’s totally gushing.
“Uh, a wonderful man? What was he doing around you if he’s the gardener and you’re the housemaid? Those are two professions that don’t work in the same area.”
“Oh, put your boobs on a rack and cool them.” Yes, you heard that right. My mom told me to calm my tits. “He was in the kitchen getting a drink when I slipped over a spot on the floor I just mopped. Right place at the right time. To thank him, I said I would make him dinner. He’s coming over tomorrow night.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, astonished. “He’s coming to your place? As in your apartment?”
“Yes.” There is no waver, no uncertainty in her voice whatsoever.
“So, you’re telling me a man you barely know is going to come over to your place and you’re going to make him dinner? Mom, don’t you see how that could be dangerous? He could take advantage of you?”
“Oh, stop it. He’s nothing like that. I’ve known him for quite some time now actually. It’s more like two friends getting together.”
My chest eases just slightly. “So you’re just friends?”
“For now, who knows where the night might take us?”
Annnnd my chest seizes on me again.
“Mom, do you think that’s a good idea?”
There is silence on the other end of the phone. My mom had tried going out with other men before, but they always seem to hurt her more. When is she going to learn? Men hurt more than love.
“Not all men are bad,” my mom finally says. “There are good ones out there, Melony.”
Thankfully my mom isn’t sitting next me to witness my major eye-roll. “Name one good one.”
Without skipping a beat, she says, “Your grandfather.”
Ugh, okay, she has me there. My grandfather is the best man I’ve ever known, but he died when I was six, so my opinion might be slightly jaded.
“Besides my grandfather since he’s your dad. Name one man you’ve been romantically involved with who hasn’t totally destroyed you.” My mom is silent because I know she can’t answer that question. “There hasn’t been one, Mom.”
I learned at the bitter age of six, right after my grandfather died, that you can’t rely on men. They make you think they love you and then they leave without a word as to why. Without a simple goodbye. Without a parting note to let you know that it isn’t you, it’s them.
Any man that’s ever been in my life has been a huge disappointment, and I don’t ever see that changing.
Finally clearing her throat, my mom says, “Melony, I love you dearly, but you can’t live your life not believing in love.”
“I believe in love, Mom. I believe you love me.”
“What about love between two individuals, romantically? You have such a negative attitude toward marriage, to sharing your life with another person that it hurts my heart. I want you to find someone special to spend your life with.”
