Page 36 of Lovebug
“Of course. Thanks, Mom.”
I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and start gathering my things. When I turn back to her, she’s already elbow deep in soapy water again.
Is it possible I hear her sniffle?
“Hey, Mom?”
“What is it, lovebug? Or, um… what’s that, sweetheart?” She doesn’t turn to face me.
“You know how much I love you, right?” I say slowly and with no small amount of guilt. “And that I think you’re the best?”
“Of course baby. I love you too.” She still won’t look at me. “Go on now. Have fun.”
“Okay.”
I head through the living room toward the front door. As soon as I enter, I hear the telltale snoring sounds of my sleeping father. He’s reclining in his scratchy plaid chair, feet kicked up on his leather ottoman, jaw wide open. He looks almost… innocent when he sleeps. Gentle. Nonjudgmental. Easy to understand.
I wish it could be that way when he was awake.
You know how you have some moments in life you can mark as “before” and “after”? That day in Lettuce Lake Park is one of those for me. Before that day, I had a fun dad. A dad who was playful and free and full of life. After that day? He got… tight. Hard. Afraid? He turned into one of those strict dads who didn’t let me go to sleepovers or school dances or… anything really. It was like something shut down in him.
When I got back in the car that afternoon, nine-year-old me was the one who spotted the lovebugs all over our windshield first. They were everywhere. Connected in pairs. I had just started seriously studying bugs, so I didn’t know too much about the species yet, but I did know that they were mating. That the heat, vibrations, and exhaust from car engines increased their… attraction. I also knew they weren’t doing anything wrong.
“Oh, what the hell is this?” Dad groused. “Disgusting little pieces of—”
“Daddy, I can get them off the car for us. Just gimme a second, and I’ll pluck them off safely. It’ll just take a minute.” I made a move to open my back seat door.
My father spoke harshly to me for the first time that day.
“Mabel? Sit down, shut your mouth, and put on your seat belt! We’re going home.”
Then he flicked on the windshield wipers.
It was a lovebug bloodbath.
Chapter Seven
“A few days ago, when Ralph and I were having sex inside a laundromat, I thought to myself—”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Calliope, but what?” I gasp and almost spit out my whiskey sour. “You were… doing it… inside a laundromat?”
“Yeah,” Calliope says as if this should be an everyday occurrence in a woman’s life.
I’m sitting with Cyndi, Calliope, and Louise at Adventure Bar, this great place in Doylestown where you can get specialty cocktails like the Skydiver or the Spelunker. We had our butts in the seats no longer than five minutes before Calliope launched into the epic tales of her sexcapades with her new boyfriend.
“A laundromat,” I repeat. “How were you…? Why were you…? But didn’t you…?” I sputter.
“Excellent questions, young Mabel.”
“Um. I’m actually older than you,” I challenge.
“In years, yeah,” Calliope says. “But not in experience.”
“Okaaaaay…” I respond, feeling a tiny bit offended.
She’s not wrong, though.
Calliope continues. “I suppose when your first time together involves a psychedelic-mushroom-inspired reverse cowgirl inside a museum while prehistoric skeletal beasts look on, you’re sorrrrrt of opening the door for further sexual adventures. Hence, the laundromat. But let’s be real: what else are you supposed to do while you wait for the spin cycle to stop?”
