The townhome is creepy once Yarrow leaves. I fight the urge to turn on all the lights during my walk upstairs to get another shirt after she snatched mine. Back downstairs, I switch on the TV, but not a damn thing looks interesting. What I want is Yarrow. She could stare into space and be a million times more entertaining than anything on TV.

I stretch out on the couch and close my eyes. Yarrow’s face is all I see, but I’m restless without her here. I even consider playing the friendly neighbor and dropping by Ginger’s place. Then I remember Yarrow said she wanted to sleep at Cayenne’s, and I realize tracking her down might be tricky.

Amazing sex after such a long drought leaves me raw like an exposed nerve. No woman before Yarrow ever made me want to open up about what happened when I was a teen. As I expected, she didn’t react as any other woman might. Rape, violence, and revenge make as much sense to her as pork chops, lava lamps, and colorful elephant pictures.

If Yarrow spent the night, I wouldn’t be staring at my mom’s number on my phone. If she didn’t view this townhome as an affront to her safety, my fingers could enjoy her soft flesh rather than hitting the dial button.

I consider hanging up before my mother answers. My pride refuses to let me chicken out when she’ll see my number. I’ve dealt with a lot of baggage tonight with Yarrow. Why not keep things rolling by contacting my mom for the first time in nearly a year?

“Hey, Mom. It’s me,” I say, nearly forgetting to say, “Billy.”

“Oh, are you all right? Are you in trouble?”

Already resenting the implication that I’d need her help, I mutter, “No, I’m calling to say hello.”

“Oh, it’s just been so long.”

“Are you busy?”

“No, no. I’m liking pictures on Facebook while your father watches a movie about stupid people lost in the woods.”

“Sounds fun.”

Mom’s silence nearly causes me to get off the phone. Then she says, “It’s been so long since you called. Though Dana’s daughter said she saw you driving around town on your motorcycle last week.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call. You know I’m not a phone person.”

“But you called tonight,” she says and actually sounds pleased.

“Yeah, I was talking to someone tonight. A woman I’m dating. She and I were talking about family and the past. I realized it’s been a long time, and now with the holidays, I figured I should get over my phone problem and give you a call.”

“I’m glad you did, Billy.”

I ask about my sister, Bev, and hear the usual about how my sister is amazing for juggling work and family so fabulously.

“She amazes me every day,” Mom says.

Despite my mother’s predictable worshipping behavior, I can’t help smiling. The woman loves her kids, and no doubt dotes on her grandkids. I imagine one day giving her a baby to slobber over, and my mind returns to Yarrow. Where is she right now? Is she thinking of me? Oh, shit, yeah, she most definitely is. She’s probably thinking about fucking. I hope she’s also missing me. In my wildest fantasy, I imagine her showing up tonight to share a bed.

“Do you think Bev could give me some ideas about decorating the place I’m staying at?”

“Sure. She’s got an eye for design.”

My sister’s proudest moment was having her company’s staging of a house showcased—in a thirty-second flash—on an episode of House Hunters three years ago. I remember how every person I ran into around Rawlins asked if I’d heard about Bev.

“I’m renting a place, and the landlord said I could fix it up however I like. My girlfriend has very specific tastes, and you know I’m no good at that stuff.”

“I’ll ask Bev to give you a call,” Mom says, and I sense she wants to get off the phone. “So, I hadn’t heard any news about you dating. Who is this girl?”

Ah, I see. Mom just wanted to get the Bev stuff out of the way so she could get to the gossip.

Picking my words very carefully, I describe Yarrow—beautiful, close to her family, strong, loyal, loves kids. By the time I finish, Mom wants us over for dinner.

WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?

“I don’t know,” I mumble like a stupid kid. “She’s shy.”

“Oh.”

I hear the hurt in her voice as if I’ve offered her a taste of my affections only to yank them away.

“I’ll talk to Yarrow and let you know,” I say with too much enthusiasm like a very fucking stupid kid. “It’s the holiday season after all.”

“Your father would enjoy having another man around the house. He says Rick is too much of a lady.”

I laugh at her description of my brother-in-law. My dad is a dull man in every way, but he’s a man’s man. Sports, regular beer, woodworking are what makes him happy. Rick, on the other hand, is apparently a wannabe Frasier Crane.

By the time I hang up the phone, the townhome doesn’t feel so gloomy, though I still miss Yarrow. I want her to know she inspired me to talk to my mother. Not because she’d jump for joy at the news, but because nothing feels right without Yarrow at my side.