Lauren

November 2014

 

 

“Apply the wax in a thin layer in the same direction as the hair growth,” I read before taking a drink from the bottle of pinot noir sitting on the bathroom counter. I hadn’t bothered with dirtying a glass because I was all class, all the time.

It was Mike’s birthday and I was supposed to have been lying on my back with my legs spread like a frog’s, but my esthetician, Annie canceled on me at the last minute.

Faced with the prospect of having to dig out the razor blade or tell him he was going to be taking a trip to the safari for his birthday gift, I decided to give at-home waxing a whirl.

I rushed over to the pharmacy after work and grabbed what I needed before driving out to his place. He was going to be getting off at seven, so that left me with a little under two hours to de-hair myself.

Forty-five minutes and half a bottle of wine later, I was starting to second guess the wisdom in that decision. But Mike had gone to great lengths ensuring that my birthday was special, the least I could do was make sure that my ‘girl’ was in presentable party clothes for his.

Propping my leg up on Mike’s bathroom counter, I took the popsicle stick of wax and applied it to my skin in a thin layer, just like the instructions said. “Thirty seconds to harden,” I said as I skimmed over the next section, “and then pull off in the opposite direction of hair growth.”

Easy peasy.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and immediately had to look away. No wonder they charged so much for these—the view was…something else.

Feeling like thirty seconds had come and gone, I lifted the bottom edge of the wax and quickly yanked it up and off. I exhaled slowly and contorted my body to reveal my handiwork.

Not bad.

I didn’t need an esthetician and eighty dollars. I was going to retain my dignity and do my own waxing from here on out.

I got through the next three sections without issue and realized that I was making excellent time. My plan was to be in his bed with a bow wrapped around me in the next half hour. I had Chinese take-out in the fridge downstairs and Saving Private Ryan waiting in the DVD player.

As I waited for the next section to harden, I ran my eyes over the instruction sheet and saw at the bottom in bold letters, NEVER use on nipples, perianal, vaginal/genital areas, or on hairs inside nostrils, ears or on eyelids/eyelashes.

Jesus, who would be stupid enough to put it on their eyelashes? I used my fingernail to lift the bottom edge of the wax just as a door slammed downstairs.

Oh no.

He wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour. I hurriedly yanked the wax off of the lip area and threw it into the trash can. Was that red?

A soft knock sounded at the bathroom door.

“Um, just give me a second.”

I glanced down to see blood dripping steadily from the newly waxed area. That never happened with Annie. Just as I was trying to work out how much blood loss was dangerous; the door flew open. I jumped back in fright, slipping in the puddle that had formed near my feet. Covering myself with my hands, I fell back on my ass as the older woman clutched the door frame for support.

“Who the hell are you?” She shrieked.

I glanced furtively around the bathroom for something to cover up with. “Um…could you just give me a minute? Please?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Let me guess, he blew you off so you’ve broken in to get your revenge?” Her eyes dropped down to me and she finally noticed the blood. “Good lord, did you cut your wrists? Are you going all Fatal Attraction on him now? Got a bunny boiling on the stove downstairs?”

Well, she was just a barrel of sunshine.

I snagged a washcloth from the cabinet and held it on my lady-bits, trying to retain some sense of modesty. “I had a mishap with some wax and if you must know, there is no bunny boiling on the stove because I can’t cook. Also, I’m Mike’s girlfriend.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to point out my culinary skills before my relationship status, but I was losing blood at an alarming rate. I couldn’t be held responsible for anything I said at this point.

Her eyes widened. “Girlfriend? You’ve got to be joking. Michael doesn’t have a girlfriend!”

I narrowed my eyes. “And who the fuck are you that you know so much about Mike’s social life?”

Her hand shot up onto her hip. “I’m his mother, Betsy.”

Oh, fuck.

I pasted a smile onto my face and extended my hand up to hers, immediately backpedaling. “Lauren. Pleasure to meet you.”

She gave me a look of disgust as if I’d just offered her a live snake and kept her hand by her side. “What have you done to yourself?” She asked as she gestured toward the bloody washcloth. I didn’t miss the way her nose turned up either.

I slowly got back to my feet and immediately had to grip onto the counter as a wave of dizziness overtook me. “Ooh, it’s like the floor is wobbly right here.”

Sensing that she was about to witness me faint, Betsy sprang into action, grabbing my arm and leading me over to sit on the edge of the tub. She knelt down in front of me. “Let me see it.”

Okay, this was not how I saw tonight going. I also wasn’t expecting to meet my boyfriend’s mother and have her face all up in my ‘business’ within five minutes.

I reluctantly spread my legs and dropped the washcloth, fighting the flush that was creeping up my neck.

Betsy turned back to her purse and retrieved a small first aid kit. She calmly removed a pair of latex gloves and put them on before investigating the source of the blood.

I kept my gaze averted and focused on the ceiling while simultaneously praying for the tub to swallow me whole.

“You tore the lip with the wax. You know you’re not supposed to use it there, right? It’s just for the bikini area.” Her voice held that tone that only parents seem to be able to master.

I nodded. “I thought that was more of a guideline. How in the hell am I supposed to get all the hair off then?”

Her head popped up and she frowned. “Go to a professional.” Looking back down, she added, “I’ve got some steri-strips that I’ll put on it, but if that doesn’t work, then you’ll probably need to go in for stitches.”

I shook my head. “Absolutely not. I would rather bleed to death on his bathroom floor.”

She pulled a thin tube from the kit and handed it to me. “That’s a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say? Apply this antibiotic cream three times a day and keep the area clean.”

I marveled at her. “Are you a doctor?”

She stripped the gloves off and tossed them into the trashcan with a laugh. “No, just a mom. All moms know these things.”

Apparently not all moms. Monica certainly never had a first aid kit in her purse. Knowing her, she probably didn’t even know where the damn thing was located.

Seeing that I was almost put back together, I began the arduous task of cleaning up the floor while she watched me. I was still naked from the waist down, but didn’t see the point to covering up at this point.

“Can we make a pact to never speak of this to Mike?” I asked once the last spot of blood was removed.

Since I wasn’t able to keep my modesty intact, the least she could do was help me keep this secret.

Betsy pursed her lips. “Well, that depends, Lana.”

I sighed, “It’s Lauren.”

She smiled. “I don’t think it really matters, does it? Anyway, I just came into town for my son’s birthday and I got us a reservation for two at his favorite steakhouse.”

Suddenly feeling completely exposed, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist before sitting back down on the edge of the tub. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that you’re not going to change that to three, right?”

“No. Now, you can leave and we’ll pretend like this whole thing never happened. If you stay, he’ll know about it within five minutes of hitting that door, along with my suspicion that you might have an STD. Are we clear, Lydia?” Betsy might’ve been beautiful were it not for the pinched expression she seemed to permanently have etched on her face. It was as if she’d been sucking on lemons since birth.

She thought I was a slut. The thought made my face go numb. I took in the half empty bottle of wine on the counter and the used wax strips in the trashcan. And here I was, perched half-naked on the tub. None of it painted me in the best light.

It wasn’t worth it.

I could’ve stayed and argued my way out of it, but my ego was bruised. It didn’t matter that I’d only ever been with her son, Betsy saw me as a whore.

This was why I’d held onto my virginity.

I stalked past her and into the bedroom where I began gathering my things. She followed me in and watched with crossed arms, probably making sure I didn’t steal anything. “You know,” I turned back to her, “I’m not what you think I am. I’ve been with your son since June and I love him. I know that might be hard for you to understand, but we make each other happy.”

“And does he love you too?”

My heart fell down to my feet, but I kept my expression blank. “I think he does.”

Her voice became impatient. “But, has he told you?”

I shook my head and gathered up my things. “No. He hasn’t told me.”

It wasn’t necessarily true. He’d told me on the phone that he did, but then he took it back later that night. It didn’t count in my mind. I’d felt like he was close to telling me on my birthday, but something held him back.

Her eyes seemed shiny for a brief second before the mask fell back into place. “Well, maybe he’s just passing the time with you.”

 

“She said he was just passing the time with me,” I sighed, before sticking another spoonful of rocky road ice cream in my mouth. A couple of Ibuprofen and ice pack between my legs later, I was finally getting some relief.

Monica paused with her empty spoon resting against her lips. “That’s bullshit and she knows it. The man’s in love. She’s just trying to intimidate you. What’d you do?”

I’d called Elizabeth after leaving Mike’s house in a hurry, but it went to voicemail. There was no way for me to tell Mike what had happened without throwing his mother under a bus and I wasn’t sure that we were at a point where he’d side with me. So, I called Monica, who’d dropped everything and come over with my favorite ice cream.

“I just left. I told Mike that I had a migraine and then I called you.” It was obvious that he was upset when I canceled our plans, but what else could I have said? ‘Hey, your mom pieced my lady-bits back together and is now blackmailing me to get the evening alone with you?’

Monica reached over and squeezed my leg. “She’ll come around. How could she not? You’re adorable.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”

Her smile grew. “You haven’t called me mom in twenty years. I’d forgotten how much I liked hearing it until now.”

She was right. I’d called her Monica for as long as I could remember.

I shrugged it off. “Well, you are my mother. I was simply stating a fact,” changing the topic, I added, “Tell me something good. I need it to balance out the shit day I’ve had.”

Monica grinned. “Well, after seven hours of testing and one day of waiting impatiently, I am pleased to announce that I passed my GED.”

Ice cream forgotten, I threw my arms around her neck. “What? I had no idea you were going to take it. That’s awesome!”

“I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been thinking about it since May and I thought, what the hell? It was time to make some lemonade with all the lemons life had given me. Like you did.” Her expression was full of hope.

I leaned in and hugged her again. “I’m really proud of you, Monica. What’s next?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Well, I’m going to college. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse and I’m forty-four now—there’s no time like the present.”

I stirred the remaining ice cream around in the container before tentatively asking, “So, the motorcycle gang doesn’t care about all of this? You getting your teeth fixed and going off to college?”

I knew I’d already found flaws in courtroom dramas, maybe motorcycle gangs were incorrectly portrayed on TV too.

Monica’s smile faded. “I don’t belong to them; I belong to Torch. He was an addict too, so it was like we were meant to find each other. What helped him was removing any reminder of the addiction. So, he paid for me to get my teeth fixed and then he encouraged me to finish high school. Activities keep the mind occupied and not thinking about the next fix, you know?”

Without thinking, I blurted out, “Do you miss using?”

I kicked myself immediately after for it.

She didn’t seem bothered by it though as she quietly answered, “Yes, every day, but I keep a list in my pocket of all the reasons not to. Some highs you can’t get from drugs, Lauren. Like you calling me mom earlier, it’s better than any fix.”

I placed my ice cream down on the coffee table and stared blankly at the television. Could I go back to having a mother? Was past hurt so easily forgiven in the light of sobriety?

A soft knock on the door saved me from answering my own questions. I hopped up and answered it. “Mike?”

He held out a bouquet of flowers and a plastic bag of canned soups. “What are you doing here?”

I still hadn’t had the heart to tell him that I didn’t like flowers, so he brought me new ones almost every time I saw him.

He leaned against the door frame, a sexy smile playing on his lips. “You said you had a migraine; I thought I’d stop by and see if you needed a doctor.”

My skin prickled with lust until I remembered Monica was less than six feet away from me. That and the fact that my vagina was being held together with medical tape. “Well, stud, I’m good. You should be out enjoying your birthday. I just need to get some sleep and I’ll be good as new.”

Why wasn’t he out with his mother?

He peeked around me. “Is someone else here? I swore I heard someone talking to you.”

Moment of truth.

I could lie and say that it was the TV or I could just get it over with and introduce him. He didn’t need to know that she was involved in a gang. Maybe she was just Monica, recovering addict who came into a large inheritance.

It would be like Galveston where we made it up.

I swung the door open and ushered him in. “Mike, this is my mother, Monica. Monica, this is my boyfriend, Mike.”

He beamed and shook her hand while she shot me a grateful look.

Mom.

It was funny how such a small word could cause a shift in perception. As she and Mike talked, I realized it was the first time in my life that I felt like I was a normal person. My mom was meeting my boyfriend—no big deal.

If she could turn her entire life around, then maybe it wasn’t crazy to think that Betsy could learn to like me. Eventually, she’d come around, once she saw how good he and I were together. Right?