Page 395 of Small Town Firsts
But the fiber arts community converged on Bear Mountain every year just before the influx of autumnal traffic. This part of New York was beyond gorgeous, and the hiking trails were made for late summer and fall.
The Rainbow Mobile shook and the bungee cords my mother had strapped across her bookcase held back the rattling books and trinkets from falling over. I held onto the sides of the Airstream as I made my way up to the front.
I dropped into the seat next to her, and the yowling cat sing-a-long came to an end.
“Hey, baby. I thought you were working.”
“I’ll work when we stop. A little too bumpy.”
“Yeah, there was a few summer storms. Some of the roads are covered in debris from flooding.” She tucked her foot up against her butt, resting her knee against the door as she navigated the turning lane to get across the bridge.
“You know if you ever got in an accident, you’d be paralyzed, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax.” She bounced in her seat that definitely hadn’t been original to the Airstream. It was like a freaking 70s recliner and a trucker seat had a baby. “You’re way too tense, sweetheart. Look at all of this. Trees and tiny little houses jammed into the mountain as far as the eye can see.”
“Those tiny houses are probably a million dollars minimum.”
She shrugged. “The suits come up from the city to experience all this. Most of them don’t appreciate it. Those kinds of places should be for people who would love the view.”
“Not all of them ignore the view.”
“I’ve been with tons of these suits. It’s just status to have a waterfront house. They don’t enjoy them.”
“But you did.”
“Damn right. They may have been stopgaps instead of the love of my life kinda guys and that’s okay. Each of them gave me a little something.”
Usually money.
Or tears.
Sometimes both, but mostly tears.
I glanced out my window as we approached the bridge. The mountains loomed with the late summer green dotted with the first hints of fall. The Hudson River widened under us snaking its way into the valley. “You always got your heart broken.”
“It’s better to offer your heart than to keep it locked away, baby.”
I folded my arms over my middle and turned toward her. “Didn’t work out for you so well.”
“I’m happy with my lot in life. I have my freedom and I’ve had amazing men in my life. A few women too.”
My eyebrows rose. “Is that right?”
She shrugged and gave me a wide smile. “Women know what women like. And then sometimes all you need is yourself.”
I huffed out a laugh. “That’s true.”
“Besides, you know all about that.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
I covered my face. “We will never speak of that again, thanks.” Having my mother find my glass dildo was about as horrific as it could get.
Another thing I could thank PMS for. He’d tossed my moon-topped sex toy on the sofa, where Rainbow had found it spearing up between the cushions like a glass simulated penis.
Which had led to a fun convo about chasing your pleasure wherever and however you could, and did I need the link to her favorite lube, the one that offered both pleasant warming sensations and lots of rainbows and tingles?
I’d declined. Sparks literally shot off already from my connection with PMS. Any more tingles and a beloved body part might end up maimed.
“But I get the impression you have a man in your life.”
