Page 72 of The Man Handler

“Mmm-hmm,” she says, half-believing me. “Too busy to pick up the telephone to check in on your aging parents. You know—the parents who worked hard to provide you with a good, decent life; the ones who loved you and spoiled you rotten.”

I roll my eyes, wondering why she always feels the need to try to make me feel guilty when it never works. “Mom, you and Dad look wonderful to be retirees, and I’m sure the both of you have enough going on to keep you busy to not notice how long it’s been since we’ve spoken.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she snaps, chuckling. “Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re our baby and our only daughter, so naturally we are going to get worried when we don’t hear from you in over a month. A month, Bianca? My God!”

“Okay, okay. You made your point, Mom. I apologize.”

“Well, what has kept you so busy that you can’t find the time to pick up a phone to call us? I hope it’s a nice young man. It would be wonderful to see you married. And I would love to be around to see my only daughter give birth to her firstborn.”

Oh, Lord, I think, shaking my head. Here we go with this mess again. For some reason, my mother has been dropping hints about seeing me with a nice man, getting married and bearing children while she’s still alive.

“No,” I snap. “It’s not a man.”

“Well,” she huffs. “I wish it was a man, then I could understand your forgetfulness.”

“Mom, it’s not, so let’s please change the subject.”

“Well, are you at least dating?” she asks, ignoring my request.

“No, but I’m pregnant, and fucking everything moving,” I hear in my head. I shake the words out of my mind. “No,” I answer, getting up from the kitchen table, then climbing the stairs to my bedroom. “I’m not dating. I don’t have any interest in all that right now.”

I want to tell her I don’t like men. Think to tell her that I’m considering sucking clits and tits. Hell, I should tell her I’ve decided to have three kids by three different men. That will surely throw her into cardiac arrest. But she’s my mother, and I love her too much. So, I decide against it, knowing she’d kill me first before she passed out.

“Besides,” I continue, removing my bra and panties. “I don’t really have the patience for a man, nor do I want one.” I stare at myself in the mirror, admiring my beautiful nakedness. I run my hands along the front of my stomach, holding it in, then poking it out, trying to imagine myself with a pregnant belly. I frown at the image.

“You don’t want one?” she repeats, almost choking. “Please tell me, my dear child, what would you prefer over a man?”

His dick. “A slow, burning death,” I state.

“Bianca,” she gasps. “Are you losing your mind?”

“Only joking,” I say, laughing. “I mean about the slow burning death. But I am definitely serious about not having time for a man.” Only what hangs between his legs, I think, turning around and admiring m

y firm, plump ass.

“And why is that?”

I sigh. I swear I love my mom. We have a wonderful mother-daughter relationship. One in which we can laugh and share hurts and pains. We are very close, for the most part. Probably not as close as we should be, but close enough for me to know that I can go to her in time of need and she’ll always be there without question or reservation; that I can talk to her about anything without judgment, if I chose to. But when it comes to men and love and relationships, she and I will always be at odds.

Though she believes a woman should be financially able to take care of herself, something she instilled in me, she also believes a woman should have a man, a companion, someone to complete her. I, on the other hand, believe a woman doesn’t need a man to complete her. She should already be complete. A man should be there to complement her.

“Most of ’em come with too many issues for me.”

“Oh, please,” she says dismissively. “We all have issues. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone special out there for you. There are some really good men out there. You just have to open your heart and mind to them.”

Or in my case—my legs, I think, chuckling as I slip into a burgundy lace teddy.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I lie. “You never cease to amaze, Mom. And that’s why I love you so much. You will stop at nothing until you have me married off.”

“Well.” She giggles. “Sweetheart, I’m anxious to see you with a good man, someone who will make you as a happy as your father has made me.”

I smile. “Mom, what you and Daddy have most people only dream of. I don’t think I could ever be so lucky.”

“Sure you can. You have to believe. And pray on it.”

Oh, trust me, Mom, I think. I definitely prey on it.

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