Chapter Three

Teala

“All right, Mom. I’ll come see you this weekend, okay? I’m about to head into the grocery store,” I speak into my cell as I make my way through the parking lot. She asks me if I’m baking for my weekly friend get-together. I may talk to my mom more than most people. I blame it on my singleness. “Yes. Jasmine wants me to bake something with chocolate. I told Carina I wanted to do this paleo recipe I found online, but she just about beheaded me over the phone.” I’ll end up trying to say goodbye at least three more times before this conversation ends. It takes about twenty minutes to get off the phone with Mom.

“Are you making Grandma’s fudge brownies?” she asks.

I smile. “How did you know?”

She’s my best friend. Of course she knows. Some people argue that mothers and daughters shouldn’t be friends. We are living proof that not only does it work, but it’s possible for daughters to grow up and be productive citizens of society. Her parenting never interfered with our friendship. Especially after my father took off.

“Because you wouldn’t be my Teala if someone said chocolate and you didn’t make the brownies. Will you be bringing home the guy you had a date with last weekend?”

Oh, God. The one subject we don’t fully talk about. I tell her about a date here and there, but she has no clue how many sexual partners I’ve had and how few real relationships I’ve been a part of. Sometimes I tell her I’m dating someone just to throw her off my trail. I’m sure she reads through the lines, but doesn’t want to talk about my sex life without my prompting it.

Currently, she’s talking about Moose. I thought about him for days after. I almost called him. He gave me his number and took mine. “Oh, that didn’t work out, Mom. We had fun, though. I might see him again,” I tack on in hopes of not crushing her spirits completely.

“Oh, I was looking forward to meeting one of your men, honey.” She sighs.

My heart clenches. I swallow down my pride. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to meet one of my men, though. I won’t bring just anyone home. I want you to meet the one. When I’m sure I’ve met the right guy, then you’ll meet him.”

“That makes sense.”

It shouldn’t. I made the whole thing up. If I told her that I feel attachments are only a hindrance and love is too messy and painful to even attempt, she would think less of me. Or worse, that it was her fault somehow.

“How about you? Any dates lately?”

She laughs and the gleeful noise makes me grin. It’s like I’m ten and it’s still a forbidden question. “Oh, Teala. You know I don’t have any luck with men.” She’s beautiful. Stunning. She passed enough of her beautiful qualities to make me okay looking, but Viola Sebrof is anything but ordinary. She has flawless skin, a head full of beautiful dark raven hair, and blue eyes. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” she asks.

I envision her full lips pulling to one corner as she smiles and it causes a pain of homesickness. “The studio is my boyfriend. Want to drive down for my class the week after next? I’ll save you a spot.”

She lives about thirty minutes away from me, and we see each other as frequently as possible. My mom has always been supportive in anything I wanted to do—within reason. The studio is a venture she agreed with almost immediately and I haven’t looked back. It provides me with a beautiful, full life.

“I really do have to go now, though. I don’t want to annoy the grocery patrons. People seem to frown upon the pitch of my voice.” It’s a trait I’ve gotten used to. I wish the world would, too.

“Nonsense, honey. Your voice is lovely.”

I scoff. “You’re biased. Plus, it’s about two octaves away from being identical to yours. Your compliment is moot.”

“A mother’s compliment is never moot. We always tell the truth.”

I agree with that. She confirms she will come to my Saturday morning class next week and tells me to buy a certain brand of chocolate. I have to stay on the phone with her for a few more minutes while I catalog all of the chocolate options in front of me.

“Bye for real. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, baby girl. Call me tonight.”

She calls me in the morning, and I call her at night. Sometimes we talk midday if I have a question or if she wants to see what I’m up to. She knows my schedule, so she’s never a nuisance. My father forced our iron-clad bond. The love that dissipated for him after she finally left him, transformed into something else. It seeped away from him and traveled over to my mom. She did everything by herself and never let me see her sweat. Viola is strong and brave. She is beautiful and fierce. She takes challenges head-on. She loves me more than any person can possibly love another. Growing up, my needs were met and my fond memories revolve around her laugh and smile. It’s the time she spent with me that leaves the most impact.

I hang up the phone with a smile on my face. With the red basket hooked on my elbow, I make my way to the next aisle to gather the rest of my supplies. My shoulders are back and my head is held high. I’m a confident, independent woman. My life is full. There’s no room for anyone else in it.

Why the hell do I feel the need to keep convincing myself of that?

****

We’re sitting around Jasmine’s kitchen table, our wine glasses securely in our hands. Dessert plates look like tiny battlegrounds. Nary a soldier survived. My confection was the first to disappear.

“Who is up for a workout tomorrow? I need to get my cardio in for the week,” I say. To keep workout diversity, I like to do boot camp classes. It involves lots of free weights and treadmill sprinting. Yoga can only take you so far. If you want weekly dessert nights, wine, and abs, you have to do the time in the gym. My offer is directed at everyone, though I’m already certain who will join me.

Charlotte groans. “I’m in. Yeah. I’m probably only agreeing because I just ate my weight in sugar and chocolate, but pencil me in anyways. Ten in the morning tomorrow, right?”

I nod, and she drains the remnants of her red wine. Carina agrees as well. Jasmine says she’ll meet us there if her hair appointment doesn’t run over. Jasmine’s hair appointments always conveniently run over.

“Where is the commitment, Jaz? Hamstrings before highlights!” I exclaim, shaking a finger in her direction.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re one to talk about commitment,” she replies. It’s lighthearted, but I still cringe a little. Mostly my friends don’t mention my lack of a boyfriend. Charlotte is fresh out of a long-term relationship. One would think she’d be more understanding.

I laugh it off. “Listen. I have commitment. It’s a staunch commitment to not committing. That’s respectable, right? It’s not as if I don’t commit to anything. I have my studio and my fitness. I just don’t see the worth in committing to something that has the ability to commit less to me. My commitments are unwavering.” See what I did there? No one can argue with that logic.

Carina shrugs, checks her phone, and stares off in the distance. She’s distracted by a man. A taken one.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, though. Just once I want you to try. Keep your heart out of it if you want. Try to date a man. No bagging and tagging and high-fiving. Stay the night. Go on more than one date. Don’t have sex on the first night,” Charlotte says.

Someone laughs and covers a cackle with a giggle.

Jasmine nods her approval of the ludicrous plan. “I couldn’t possibly. Who could be worth that?”

“Who has been your best sex lately?”

I shake my head. “I can’t call one already on the list. I need a new guy if we’re going to do this properly.” Maybe it’s the wine thinking, but this plan gets better and better as the seconds pass. Haven’t I wondered what it might be like to have someone to come home to every night?

Jasmine screams. “She’s considering it. Dear baby Jesus, she’s going to do it. The female gigolo is doing a man more than once.”

Blinking slowly I hold a palm out. “Don’t seal this deal yet. I’m considering it. To prove all you bitches wrong.” I take another sip of my wine. “It means I’ll have to deviate from my usual type. That may pose a problem with chemistry.”

“Valid point,” Charlotte says. “How will you ever stand tolerating a man who respects you for more than what’s between your legs? The thought is horrifying.”

She forgot about my boobs. I paid good money for those. I rid myself of my flat chest as soon as Flying Lotus, my Yoga studio, started bringing in a steady income. They aren’t huge rocks bolted to my chest nor are they so small as to not be noticed. I needed to be able to practice yoga without being hindered. My silicone bags are the absolute perfect size. If there is one thing you can find without fail in Southern California it’s a plastic surgeon with precision skill. We have the best in the world.

Readjusting my bra strap, I glare at her. “It’s a mutual understanding that all we both care about is what is between our legs. Not just the men. I’ll have to change my mindset, too. When I’ve submerged myself in this type of situation for so long, you have to realize how…awkward it will be.” I let an actual date flit through my mind. One in which we talk and laugh. We share our interests and learn about each other with the sole intent being to get to know each other to see if our personalities jive. It’s horrifying.

When you’ve never opened the door to this, it’s hard to understand what it truly means. How can so many people date? The probability that you’ll end up alone and hurt is high. Almost certain, actually. People don’t have to like each other to have sex. Not even a little bit. You just have to want sex and find the other person physically attractive. The simplicity of it makes anything other than this mindset absolutely boggling. Perhaps I could find someone worth keeping around. I wouldn’t be so lonely. My mom would finally be able to meet someone in my life other than my girlfriends. The thought makes my heart race.

My friends start a casual conversation about my sex life. I don’t balk. It’s not normal for a woman to lead a lifestyle where boyfriends don’t exist. Even if I don’t agree with their choices, I understand why they think I’m strange. It is strange. In college it was perfectly acceptable as long as you used all the proper precautions. Suddenly in our late twenties I’m an oddity.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Jasmine says. “If you can have a normal relationship with a dude, then we all pay for your share of girls’ vacation. It’s Vegas this year, so you know how awesome it would be.”

I smile even though I’m still nervous and confused as sin. Never one to shy away from a bet, I say, “You’re on. Get out your Gucci wallets, ladies. I’m going to crush a relationship and then you’ll all wonder why you can’t find the right one.”

“If she doesn’t win and fails miserably, like we all predict, then she has to buy drinks and dinners the entire vacation,” Charlotte says, her tone victorious.

I stand, place my hands on my hips, and cock my head to the side. “Oh, yee of little faith, you have yourselves a deal.” Who the fuck am I going to find to participate in this experiment long enough to garner a free trip to Vegas? “How long does the relationship have to last?”

I shake Charlotte’s hand, because she’s closest and because she’s smiling so wide it’s almost a snarl.

“Months. And you can’t sleep with him until at least the fourth date,” she says through her teeth.

I widen my eyes as I glance at each of my friends one by one. They nod in agreement.

“That’s an average amount of time, Teala,” Charlotte replies. My expression must be alarmed. “Four dates is actually on the lower end. I usually don’t sleep with a guy until like the fifth or sixth date.” She must wear a chastity belt made of solid steel and swallow the goddamn key.

I sit down and put my head in my hands. I don’t want them to see me sweat, but damn. Admitting I have no idea what I’m doing is hard. “I’ll need advice. I don’t know if I can wait that long. There are actual decent looking men out in the world who will wait that long for sex? Four dates?” Incredulity seeps into my voice. “A relationship. Sure, fine. That’s something I could manage, but waiting four dates for sex is like torture!”

“If he really wants to be with you, he will put in the work and time. You can’t use sex to keep a relationship going,” Charlotte explains. “That’s lesson number one.”

I nod.

“Find common ground.”

Common ground for me has always been deciding who goes downtown first.

I glance at my quiet friend to my right. Carina scoots her chair closer to me.

“Teala, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

Leave it to the writer to ask the open-ended questions—the questions I don’t want to answer. She makes me feel things I’d rather never feel.

Looking at her big brown eyes, I realize what she’s trying to force me to understand. “I could like it,” I reply.

That would be so much worse than anything else. It would be terrifying.

From across the room, I hear my cell phone chiming with a new text.