Page 64 of Sex Positive

Victoria laughs, raspy and full-bodied. “We can’t make it sound like a sex party!” She holds up her hands. “Not that I judge people who like those.”

“The Pride and Pleasure Fair?” Charlie suggests.

“That’s not bad.” Victoria drums her fingers on the table as Carolyn writes it on the board. “What about…the Great Sexpectations Expo?”

All three women fall silent.

“I like it.” Charlie grins.

Carolyn writes it down. “Love a good nerdy literary pun.”

“We can always workshop other ideas,” Victoria adds.

Charlie shakes her head, her mind already swirling with possibilities. “I’ll have Diana get started on a logo and a T-shirt design.”

“I don’t want this affecting your classwork,” Victoria says, frowning again. “Either of you. And you have the pilot program, too—”

“Don’t worry.” Carolyn, who’s not shy about doling out affection, presses her hands to Victoria’s shoulders. “Charlie is a master organizer, and with Diana’s design skills and my marketing acumen, we have everything under control.” She emphasizes her words by taking Victoria’s face in her hands like a mother reassuring her child. “It’s going to begreat.”

With optimism glimmering inside her, Charlie desperately hopes she’s right.

Seventeen

Quinn

What are you wearing?

Her traitorous heart flipping in her chest, Charlie stares at the text on her phone, rereading it several times to confirm that it really says what she thinks it does. Pressing her lips together, she quickly replies.

Charlie

I’m not sending you a nude

Tossing her phone on the bed, she returns to perusing her open closet, but the phone chimes again a second later.

Quinn

Clothes for the party, Rogers! Why must you always think the worst of me?

She bites back a smile. Her text history with Wes up until this point consists solely of messages coordinating tutoring sessions, brief and to the point.

Charlie

Technically it’s an ugly sweater theme, but you can wear whatever you want

Dressed in her best skinny jeans and a simple black bra, she tugs her own ugly Christmas sweater off the hanger—a fluffy green monstrosity with red fringe on the bottom and silver, red, and white baubles sewn all over the arms and torso—before applying a bit of mascara and the shimmery bronze eye shadow she knows makes her eyes pop. She rarely wears makeup, but tonight is The Wild Rue’s holiday party, and that’s definitely the only reason she’s putting it on. It’s fun and festive. Obviously.

Her phone chimes again while she runs her fingers through her curls, leaving them wild and loose. The involuntary flip in her stomach quickly fizzles when she glances at the message.

Mom

Hello. Just wondering if you plan to join us for Christmas this year.

Charlie’s excitement for the evening dulls slightly, her mother’s sterile words sinking in her gut like lead. Because of her role at The Wild Rue, her relationship with her parents is strained, to say the least. Visiting home the past three years was a master class in walking on eggshells and not flinching at the pointed passive-aggressive comments her family directed toward pro-choice and progressive messaging.

She usually avoids going home altogether.

Her mother used to send her daily Bible verses, not subtle in conveying her overt disapproval, until Charlie asked her to stop. After she received a final text about asking God for forgiveness, their relationship transitioned to formal politeness. Now her parents prefer to pretend the clinic doesn’t exist, and Charlie usually makes plans to remain at Archwood during breaks.