Page 25 of Afternoon Delight
He picked up a cock ring with an anal bulb attached. He tested its stretchiness, then closed his fist over the bulb. “Be real. Is this to check your blood pressure after sex?”
“You really are bored, aren’t you?”
“So bored.” He winced, seeming to want to bite back his words. He set the toy down. “That sounds like I don’t want to be here.” He shifted so he could see the door to his own shop and folded his arms. “In the big scheme of things, I don’t. I wish this wasn’t happening. But it feels good to get back to woodworking. And now that it’s sinking in that Dad really is losing his memories, I want this time with him.”
“How is he doing? Because the day I met him, he seemed... okay-ish?”
“That’s about where he’s at. Half the time I wonder why I’m even here. He gets dressed and helps me make breakfast, and we agree that it’s too soon to start mowing the lawn. Then he forgets something basic, like how to turn the key to unlock the door. Or that Mom is dead.”
“He said something yesterday that made me wonder. When did you lose her?”
“I was twenty, so... “He rubbed his beard. “Fourteen years ago?”
I nodded in empathy. “It’s been almost two since we lost Dad. It sucks.”
“It does.”
“Is he still hanging onto some of your mom’s things?” That was a dumb question, considering the store had been hers. “I ask because Mom is having trouble letting go. I don’t know how hard to push. I’m only here because she agreed to sell the house and move closer to me in Toronto. But things like this—” I pointed at the red and gold Mardi Gras beads spilling from champagne glasses “—are about all she’s willing to part with.”
Even at that, I expected her to ask for them back next week.
“I wondered about that,” he admitted. “Why you moved in with your mom when Vickie seems healthy and fully on top of things.”
“Oh, her mind is a steel trap. It’s me who failed to remember that she drives me nuts.” I scrunched up my face. “That was in bad taste. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. If you can’t joke, how do you get through it?”
“Do you want a serious laugh? My son, who’s fourteen, is arriving tomorrow night. He doesn’t know I’m doing this.” I waved at the store. “What do I tell him?”
“I don’t know, but can I be there when you do?”
“I had a feeling you’d enjoy that.”
“I do. What time— Oh.” He quickly stepped over to open the door. “Hi, Vickie. I was just telling Meg how great it looks in here.”
“Hello, Zachary. It’s nice to see you again.”
Mom strode in with a pair of white tapered candles, a bag of white feathers, and a roll of white satin ribbon speckled with hearts.
“Zak brought something for the basket.” I pointed at the Penthouse. “He says these vintage magazines are worth a lot to collectors.” I still wasn’t convinced.
“Is that true?” Mom brightened. “I have hundreds that belonged to my husband. Could you sell them for me?”
Chapter 12
Meg
The Victoria airport was delightfully jarring in its simplicity, especially coming from Pearson in Toronto. Sometimes you even got lucky and found a direct flight, but most of the time you had to wait in Vancouver for a connection. That’s what Roddie had to do on this trip.
Roddie had made this trek with me at least once a year since he was two months old, but this was his first time traveling alone. He’d texted that he was on his connecting flight, though, so I wasn’t worried. Not about that, anyway.
I was still trying to come to terms with my father, the GP, collecting boxes—plural—of objectifying pornography. And the fact that my mother had hung onto them!
“I didn’t know where to take them,” she had said with a flustered shrug.
Zak had politely offered to come by the house to pick them up one day soon. Then he’d left and was probably still gutting himself over the flabbergasted expression that must’ve been on my face.
Who was I to judge? I still hadn’t figured out how to tell my son about my new, equally titillating occupation.
