Page 92 of The End of Summer

To be clear, a snapshot of the party at this moment is as follows: Me, Saffron, and Indigo, all in typical work fashion: push up bras, pleather hot shorts, rhinestone belts, 8-inch glow heels, now each hopping on a pole and preparing to dance back-up for the impending strippers. Cherry is wearing a similar getup only instead of working the floor, she’s doling out shots. 25 girls – seven with their breasts fully exposed, dancing all up on each other toMilkshakeby Kelis. It’s definitely the wildest party hosted at Cosmo this summer.

Then, there’s a knock on the door.

Cherry goes to open it – Max comes in with a giant firehose in his hands and as I look over at Big Mike, who takes up the rear of the stripper conga line, I try not to laugh at how staged this all is. They come in, and Big Mike gives me a nod as he heads to the back of the club where the bathroom is. He must need to go bad, because he beelines past all the half-dressed Eurogirls, a man on a mission. Max is so cut, though, that he sucks up all the attention in the room anyway. It doesn’t even matter if the bit looks contrived – the girls are eating it up. His eyebrows go up when he sees how many girls have opted to set their chichongas free tonight, like it’s just as much a show for him as it is for the hot-and-bothered ladies on the dance floor. Billy and Tommy are also pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. After his whole, “We got a call that something in this building wassmoking,” announcement, Max and the boys start fucking the air toHot in Hereby Nelly. The girls scream, the dollars come flying, and the vibe is excellent.

Until there’s a second knock on the door.

“Ooh, is that your backup company?” Vienna cries. She takes off for the door, clutching her naked breasts with one arm as I look over at Cherry, who raises her eyebrows at me and shrugs.

“Yum!” Vienna screams. “We’ve been a naughty bunch of girls, Officers! Please, come punish us!”

“Officers?” Cherry mouths at me.

And these are the last words I hear.

Before.

My.

Father.

Walks.

In.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BRADY

“Sweetheart!” my mom exclaims when she enters the hotel room. “Honey, let me look at you!”

I stand up, setting the TV remote down on the bed. “Hey, Ma.”

“Give me a hug! You look great, Brady!” She squeezes me tightly. “And, wow. So firm,” she comments, squeezing my left bicep. “Been working out, huh?”

“Jeez, way to embarrass a guy.” I laugh.

“Sorry! Sorry. You just look so grown up is all.”

“Well, thank you. You look nice, too. You changed your hair,” I say, because one cannot help but notice that yes, my mother has dyed her hair the colors of a rainbow. Red bangs, orange crown, then blonde, green, blue, and purple down her back.

“You love it, don’t you? It’s calledrainbowmbre.”

She looks a little like aMy Little Pony, to be honest. But it’s fine. Somehow, my mom can pull off some wacky shit. “Really nice.”

“So, dish! I want to hear everything.”

“Actually, I’m starving. Can we go eat?”

“Of course, of course,” she says. “Let me just freshen up. There’s a cute little spot called Olde Mistick Village that I want to go see.”

“As long as they have food there, that sounds great.”

They do. We go to a place called The Jealous Monk, where we share something called a Pretzel Charcuterie Board and I order a Monk Burger. Mom orders a salmon BLT. I get a beer and she gets a hard cider, and only once the drinks and apps have arrived do I start to settle in and feel ready to talk.

Not that we haven’t been talking this whole time, mind you. Mom goes on about her writing. She’s working on a new novel (her “WIP,” she calls it) about a ghost that lives in a cornfield. It’s supposed to be a metaphor, and I don’t 100% understand it, but that’s fine. She’s happy, and I'm happy for her. After all those years of misery with my father, she deserves it.

Speaking of his royal dickface, Mom informs me that he tried to contact her after our falling out, but she very clearly sided with me and told him the bare minimum. He wanted to know where I moved to, what I’m doing for work – and none of that is any of his business, Mom says.

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