“I think I need a vacation from our vacation,” I say, sliding into the leather booth across from Becky, who’s already sipping a steaming latte from a white mug.
A pair of knitted sweater mittens sit on the table in front of her, and I groan, pushing them off to the side so I can rest my hands on the table.
“Can you believe this weather?”
She glances outside and shivers. “I know. I’ve been freezing since our plane landed. I can’t believe we got snow.”
“Seriously. Is this some sort of record? Maybe for earliest snowfall?”
Becky shrugs and picks up her cell phone, frowning.
Setting it on the table, she lets out a loud sigh. “Well, on a positive note, it makes for some nice snuggle time at night with the kids. It always makes them want to crawl into bed with me. I love that. Owen won’t even let me hug him in public anymore, but he’ll crawl into bed with us on a cold night.”
I grab a menu, glancing up at her and wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “Does this snuggle time include any spooning after the kids are in bed?”
“Sometimes. If one of us doesn’t pass out first.”
Wait. Do I detect a hint of melancholy in her voice? Does she sound kind of bummed?
“What’s wrong?” I ask, wanting to feel the warmth of a hot coffee mug in my hands. Weather in Las Vegas was awesome; arriving home to freaking snow flurries was not.
I flag down the waitress with a smile, place my order, and give Becky my full attention. “Okay, talk to me.”
“Nothing earth shattering.” My best friend shrugs. “It’s just… You know I’m still trying to spice things up with Jeremiah, and he’s not going for it,” she says with a frustrated sigh.
“What is it this time?”
Her head hits the table. “Sexting again,” she mumbles into her shirtsleeve. “Only it’s such a fail.”
“Show me,” I demand and put my hand out for her phone, wiggling my fingertips. She hands it over and I scroll to the most recent text exchange.
Becky: I’m not wearing any socks and I have panties on to match.
Jeremiah: HAHA! Nice one, babe!
I cringe.
“Ouch. He’s kind of clueless, isn’t he?”
“I just don’t get him,” Becky says, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. “He fan-girls over our little… meeting with Don Dean and thinks it’s kind of amazing.” She waves her hands aimlessly through the air, and grimaces like she doesn’t even want to remember that meeting. “And yet, when I try to sext him, it goes completely over his head.”
“Do you want to try one more time before giving up? Send him a few more.”
“I suppose I could…” She shrugs.
“Can I do it?”
“Sure, why not?” She says it slowly, like she’s not at all sure, but let’s me do it anyway. “But you can’t mention it to him.”
I shoot her a look that says, Would I do that? Ye of little faith.
I tap my chin, thinking. “Alright. Sexting, sexting… Okay. Let’s try this.”
I type frantically and hit SEND.
Becky: I can’t stop thinking about doing you against the wall.
Jeremiah: LOL. When I almost broke?
Frustrated, I heave a sigh and tap out another reply, trying again.
Becky: You’re a sexy stud.
Jeremiah: Thanks, babe. Hey, that reminds me. I need to stop by the hardware store on the way home. Do you need anything?
I look up. “Do you um… need anything from the hardware store?”
Becky shoots me a look—one that clearly says both, What the hell are you talking about? and Are you crazy?
“Duct tape, bug spray, two-by-fours… no? Okay, guess not.”
I tap out another reply to my best friend’s clueless husband, giving my head a shake in the process. Man, he is oblivious. I don’t know what I’d do if I were in her shoes, trying to flirt with my husband and getting nothing in return.
Becky: No thanks.
“So sexting isn’t his thing,” I say encouragingly, setting her phone back on the table at the same time the waitress returns with my coffee and the two cinnamon rolls I couldn’t resist ordering for us. “You’ll find something to light a fire under his tight, forty-year-old ass.”
“Janine!”
“What? I can’t say your husband has a tight ass? It was a compliment. You should be thrilled.”
Giving me a secretly pleased smile over the brim of her mug, she nods. “Alright. What other things can I try to spice things up? I feel like we’ve tried everything: Strip tease, check. Sexting, check. Wall sex, check. Porn convention…”
“Check?”
“Nothing seems to pique his interest.”
“That’s not true. It’s piquing his interest; it’s just not fanning the flame. The problem is you’re looking for something that’s going to have him thinking of you during the day and wanting to rip your clothes off at night.”
“Exactly.”
“Becky…” I reach across the table and take her hand. “Just because he’s not sticking his tongue down your throat when he walks in the door doesn’t mean he’s not hot for you while he’s at work.”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“Yes! Alright then, time to regroup. What were some of the ideas Ana Roldan had for you? Why don’t you try some of those?”
She scoffs with a snort. “Please—I’m trying really hard to forget most of that conversation.”
“Oh, come on,” I reach over, open my purse, and start rooting around for a piece of paper and a pen. “Let’s make a list of ideas, sort of a sex bucket list. We can call it your Suck-it List. It’s like I always say, it’s not over until the overwhelmed mother orgasms.”
“You never say that.”
“Whatever, you catch my drift. Owen can read, right?”
She nods, shooting me a Duh! look.
“Er, don’t tape this to the fridge, then.” I write Suck-it List on top of the sheet of paper and underline it twice. “Great. Now you’ll have a list of things to try—let’s call it a visual reference. Or a guide.” Becky rolls her eyes, but I continue. “Once you get to the end of the list, we can re-evaluate what worked and what didn’t. I know you. You need a plan. This will be like your own little plan.”
She chews on her bottom lip while she thinks about it.
“Don’t bother denying it. You think this is a good idea. Besides, I know you’re a sucker for a list and a plan.”
Her shoulders sag, and I know she’s relenting. Excellent.
“She did have some pretty good ideas.”
“Exactly! Now, what were they?” My pen hovers above the paper, poised to take down her next words.
“Oh geez. Let me think… um… role-play. Put that down, I guess.”
I quickly jot down the numbers one through ten, add role-play, and wait.
“Got it. Swinging?”
“Uh, no. Not only did she not say that, but you may not put it on the list.”
“But you didn’t let me clarify; you don’t know if I meant swinging from a harness in your room, or from a swing set in the park.”
“Bullshit. I know what you meant. No. Next.”
I shrug and try again. “Sex in public.”
“No.”
I huff impatiently. “Why not?”
“Because we’ll get caught. Guaranteed.”
“She didn’t say you had to have sex in the middle of the street. I’m sure you can find someplace that’s really secluded and go in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I’m so sure,” she spits out sarcastically. “Hey, why don’t I just leave my five kids in the middle of the night so I can head out to the woods and get my freak on.”
“Why do you look so disgusted?” Becky glares in response, but I am undeterred. “I’m putting it on the list. We’ll just have to think on that one a little harder.”
She sighs into her coffee mug, hot steam drifting out the top. “Fine.”
“You are too easy,” I tease. “Make a sex tape?”
“I’m not sure Jeremiah would go for that.”
“Jeremiah would totally go for that. It’s you that would have a problem with it.”
“Touché. You’re right—I would have a problem with it. My jiggly ass and boobs do not need to be featured on camera.”
“Your jiggly ass and boobs are a lot less jiggly since we started working out. I think you’d be pleasantly surprised. Jeremiah isn’t the only one with a firm ass.”
My friend finally laughs. “You are such a nag. Fine, put it down—at this point, I’ll consider just about anything.” She lifts a cinnamon roll off the white diner plate and peels off a corner, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing. “In fact, put down ‘watch porn together.’ If this weekend taught me anything, it’s that my husband has no problem watching filthy movies.”
“Done and done! Yay! This is so exciting.” I glance up at her while I’m writing. “Would you stop rolling your eyes at me? Didn’t your mother ever tell you that your eyes are going to get stuck in your head that way if you keep doing it?”
“Yes. And that’s what I tell my kids. Charlotte is becoming the worst.”
“Please stop trying to change the subject.”
Becky laughs again. “You know me so well.”
“Yeah, I do, smartass.” I pause in thought. “Alright, let’s think; what else did Ana say? Yes! Voyeurism.”
“Are you kidding me? No! Do not put that on my list! Do not!”
“Oh, calm down, Miss Priss Pants. So what if you take a weekend away with him and do it up against a window somewhere you’ll never go again? Big deal.”
“Um, no.”
“Too late,” I sing. “It’s already on the list. And you said yourself that you’d consider everything. Were you lying? Remember, you’re under oath.”
“I said almost anything. I did not say everything!”
“Why are you yelling?” I whisper. “Oops, look at that. I already wrote it down.”
Becky rolls her eyes—again—but I can see her wheels turning.
“Let’s also add sex with a pretend stranger, and sex toys. Have you tried those yet?”
“No…”
“Really? That seems like the obvious one.”
She scowls.
“Okay. Sex toys is on the list, and… um…”
Becky gives me a blank stare. “Um… what? Spit it out. I have to run and pick up Sophie from my mother-in-law soon.”
“Masturbating.”
“No.”
“Would you listen? Let me finish my sentence. What I was going to say is, masturbating in front of each other. I mean, that could be hot. That’s what they do in pornos.”
“But we added ‘watch porn’ to the list already.”
“That’s not even close to being the same thing. Seeing it live and in person. You don’t think he’d think that was hot?”
She shrugs grudgingly. “Maybe.”
“I’ll add it just for shits and giggles.” I write this last one and hand her the list, which she promptly folds and puts into her purse. “Remember, do not tape this to the fridge.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah—like I would ever do that. Out in the open where anyone could see it.”
“Hey, in a way that’s kind of like voyeurism, don’t you think?” I wiggle a piece of cinnamon roll in her direction and raise my brows.
“Enough about my attempt at spice; let’s talk about you for a minute. Has that Great Dane guy asked you out yet?”
Why’d she have to bring that up? I sigh. “No. I keep waiting, but nothing ever happens. I don’t know. Maybe I should start dropping hints. He seems really busy. Or maybe I’m looking for love in all the wrong places.”
Becky ignores my song reference and prattles on. “I’m thinking maybe you’re too picky.”
I sit up straighter in the booth and glare. “What? How can you say that?”
“Oh come on. The guy with the high-pitched voice? He was perfect otherwise—you said he was really attractive.”
“Are you kidding? I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would sound like to bang Mickey Mouse. That doesn’t work for me.”
“Fine. What about the guy with the teeth? He was really, really sweet, remember?”
“I don’t remember him being sweet; I remember him as George Washington. I’m sorry it sounds mean, but it’s true. And he kept bringing up his mom and his ex-wife. They’re besties, you know.”
“Okay, Miss Picky Pants, then answer this question: are you looking for a relationship, or just sex? What is it you really want? You need to decide, because at this point, I think you’re missing out on some great guys with long-term potential.”
She actually makes me pause and consider this for a minute.
I hate when she does that.
“I think…” I start and stop, stumped. “I think maybe I just need to get laid.”
She coughs, not expecting that, but manages to compose herself. “Well, if getting laid is all you’re looking for—which I don’t believe for one second—then maybe your standards are set too high. And if you are looking for a relationship, then… maybe you still need to lower them. Nobody is perfect, Janine. Not these guys, and not you.”
Becky watches me from across the table, a worried look on her brow. “We’ve spent all this time worrying about me and my issues with Jeremiah. Why won’t you let me worry about you for a change? Let me help you.”
I’m silent for a few moments. And then, “You’re right. I don’t know what I want. I guess that’s because I do want a relationship—a good relationship. But I also want sex—good sex.”
“You’re not going to get it if you don’t give anyone a second chance. And, at the risk of sounding skanky, letting go once in awhile. So what if you have a one-night stand? Your next date might not be long-term status, but… you could screw his brains out anyway.”
“Screw his brains out?” A loud laugh bursts out of me, and I stare at her. “I cannot believe you just said that.”
I’m dying and now I can’t stop. The laughter bubbles out of me, and I laugh and laugh, and soon Becky is, too. Tears are pooling in the corners of my eyes and streaming down my face.
“Oh my god.” I gasp. “Screw his brains out…”
It feels great.
After a few moments of laughter-induced tears, we garner quite a few ugly stares from patrons in nearby booths. Becky finally stops laughing, wiping a tear out of her eye, and says, “I just think maybe we both need to loosen up a little, that’s all. Maybe the standards I have for myself need to change, too.”
I agree. “If sex is what I want, my standards are going to change, and if it’s not, I guess I’m about to find out.”
Here goes nothing.