Page 82 of Bad Seed
He must always reply to my texts right away.
Well…once I’m living with him, that won’t be an issue. I can just roll over and ask him to share more pics of his cat.
“Ah!” I jerk the wheel, missing absolutely nothing but pulling my car back into my lane.
“Sadvhi? What was that?”
“Nothing, mom.”
“Should I send your father? He can teach you how to cook without eggplant. We have quite a few recipes that will—”
I turn onto the road that’ll take me to Aubry, to my new home.
“No, mom. I can cook on my own.”
“Clearly you cannot. You put yourself in the hospital. Twice.”
“That first time was a…misunderstanding.” I will never live down thinking baba ganoush was hummus.
“And what about this time? Did the eggplant put on a funny hat and pretend to be a tomato?”
“I, um…” Sucked my boyfriend’s cock until I drank his cum. Oops. My face heats up as I pass the smaller houses on the way up the hill. “I don’t know.”
“This could be a new allergy. You might have another one!”
That was her third fear, right after having a fat daughter. My body randomly decided to hate eggplant one day. What was stopping it from finding something else?
“Mom, I don’t think—”
“You need another of those prick tests. Have you gotten a prick?”
The guilt slams into my stomach. My sweet, overbearing mother operates under the delusion that I am an innocent virgin who would flee at the sight of a penis. Any boy I bring home is damn near interrogated, strip searched, and thrown into the hole until we leave. Even a kiss is judged by my grumping father as too fresh.
Still, as I reach the road that ends at Aubry’s house, my chest lightens. A little mischief dances in my head. “I’m working on it, mom.” A nice, hefty prick that damn near splits me in half sounds perfect right now.
“Good,” she declares, and I nearly laugh.
As I pass by the statue of a nearly naked man with a cask of wine over his shoulder, I reach for my phone. “Sorry, mom. I’ve got to go.” My car slips under the house on the way toward the garage, and I spot a shadow of a man stretching across the concrete.
He’s waiting for me.
My heart fluttering, I lick my lips.
“Okay. Love you.”
I turn the corner, but it isn’t a giant of a man with dark black hair tending to his fire pit. A blond gentleman in a tan suit holds a sign tucked under his arm while staring up at the windows.
“Bye,” I mumble and end the call.
My car keeps up its trajectory, moving toward the garage I’ve parked in a dozen times without thought. But as I go, the man turns to watch. With his white-speckled beard and creases across his eyes, he’s certainly not Aubry. What’s going on?
I stop and put my car in park but don’t shut off the engine. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute, and I don’t know why.
Sliding out with my phone in hand, I pause in reaching for the basket to call out, “Hello?”
The man’s interest snaps from the windows to me.
“Can I help you?”
