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“One, I’ll never bother you about a boyfriend again,” she says, holding up her index finger. “Ever. Even if you’re forty and surrounded by eight cats.”
I squint. “I’m not sure I believe that, but what’s the second thing?”
“I’ll pay for the rest of your degree.”
I step back and tilt my head to the side. My mother paid for my college degree but told me to pay for my advanced degree myself, wanting me to work for what I wanted and hoping to teach me a little about real life. The last year has been a struggle, paying rent for my apartment, my used car maintenance and gas, and paying tuition for my online degree. The idea of taking tuition off my plate is tempting, especially since I just filled out loan paperwork with a heavy heart and worry about the interest. My savings is toast, and my 2004 Honda will need a replacement sooner rather than later.
Five months of feigned romantic interest for a loan-free degree and no more love match shenanigans from Mom?
I exhale, irritated that my mother knows right where to put the dagger and twist. I clench the reshelving cart until my knuckles turn white, and I grit my teeth. “You’re an evil, old hag that delights in making me miserable.”
“Pish posh, Savannah,” she says, waving her hand. “I want to see you happy. I’m just asking you to try. Try something new, and try working on being nice to a man. You don’t even have to have sex. Just go to some parties or to movies or something,” she says, shaking her chest in a shimmy motion. “For me.”
I tap my foot and look at the wall behind my mother, not able to meet her eyes. The bulletin board featuring banned books stares back at me, and I work my lip. “It’s only five months of hell for peace,” I mumble. “I can do anything for five months, even put up with a man that probably has a He-Man toy collection, terrible skin, and bad breath.”
Mom hooks her arm through mine and puts her other hand on the cart, helping me push the cart toward the adult fiction section. “You’re beautiful. We’ll find you the least repulsive man there. Be positive for once.”
“I am positive,” I say. “I’m positive this will be a miserable experience and that you’re dooming me to hell for the next five months.”
October 14- Savannah
“No loan. No loan. No loan,” I mumble to myself, swiping mascara across my eyelashes and willing them to grow longer. My mother may pay for her long lashes, but I’m doomed to my short, stubby lashes that are the bane of my makeup existence.
I play up my lips, cheekbones, and eyelids that hold shadow well whenever I actually apply makeup and run gloss over the lipstick I’ve already blotted. My long, brown hair is down and perfectly conditioned, the brush running through my locks easily before the heat of the straightener finishes the job.
“Not bad,” I mumble in the mirror, turning to the side and admiring my ass. I may not have much of a social life, but I do ride my bike to work every day and walk on my lunch. Thankfully, I have my mother’s figure.
I step back to admire my black jeans with strategically placed holes at the knees, short boots, a bright purple V-neck sweater that shows a hint of my push-up bra when I bend over, and a black leather jacket over the top.
It will have to do. Not that I think I’ll actually meet anyone tonight. In fact, I’m almost positive I’ll meet nothing but basement dwellers.
An hour later, Mom meets me at the door, running her eyes over the parking lot for me and sizing up the other entrants. She doesn’t recognize me at first since she’s probably looking for a woman in sweatpants and a ponytail.
“Hi, Heather.”
She startles, squinting at her own daughter like we’ve never met. “Thank fuck,” she mutters.
“Thank fuck for what?”
“You actually dressed and look presentable. Miracles never cease.”
“I get dressed up. I can look decent.”
She snorts, and something comes out her nose that she wipes on her sleeve, looking around to make sure no cute men saw something come out her nose. Not that there are any cute men around.
She pulls me through the bar door by my jacket sleeve, showing our tickets to the bouncer and earning an approving nod from the man who looks to be in his late thirties. Typical. Mom is going to be hit on more than me.
“Here, drink this,” my mom says, handing me a beer that’s sitting on the bar and complimentary for anyone that bought tickets to the event.
I don’t usually drink a lot, but tonight calls for liquid courage, especially since I haven’t seen one man I’d be willing to date of the men lingering in the bar area. Looking around, there are a lot of glasses, bow ties, suits that haven’t fit in ten years, and acne situations.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Look around, Mom.”
Her eyes dart from side to side, and she sips her beer. “Everyone knows that the dorks show up early. The hot men are fashionably late. Don’t give up hope yet.”
A woman approaches the stage and taps on the microphone. “Good evening, everyone!” she says, clapping for herself.
Nobody else claps. In fact, we all look around the room, sizing each other up before quickly looking away.
