Chapter One - Wanted: Sex Partner ...

WANTED:
Sex Partner for Short-Term Monogamous Relationship
by Marla Vendret
Published June 2007
Take a Mile Media

Chapter 1
Saturday, May 4

“You didn’t!” Nichole gasped, her normally pale face flushed with indignation and a bit of shock, though she tried hard not to show it. “Mother would kill you, if she found out! Not to mention your kids!”
“Well, I don’t intend to tell her or them,” Nadia responded practically. After months struggling with depression over Monroe’s death, and a lifetime of living according to everyone else’s expectations, she wasn’t about to back down. “And don’t you go blabbing about it, either!”
“Hah! As if!” Nichole snorted, sounding too piggish for it to be an accident. “I can just hear it. Hey Mom, kids, guess what? Nadia put a want ad in the paper for a male sex toy.”
Nadia’s eyes narrowed, deciding between a chuckle and a frown, before settling on a tight smile and warning jab at Nichole’s chubby arm. “It doesn’t say that.”
“It might as well!” She reached over and grabbed the local newspaper sitting on the cluttered counter, flipping to the back Personals column. “Unattached middle-aged woman seeking healthy, unattached, straight non-tattooed male over 21, for a short-term monogamous sexual relationship. Attach recent picture. Non-smokers, non-drug users only.”
“And?”
“Are you nuts? Every pervert from here to Cleveland is going to come out of the woodwork! No decent guy would even think about giving you a call.”
“I didn’t list my number,” Nadia retorted, playing obtuse, and pushing back an unruly tuft of mousy-blond hair that fell into her eyes.
“Oh, stop being a smart ass,” her sister growled, “You know what I mean.”
This time Nadia did chuckle, though it was more for Nichole’s benefit than her own. “Stop worrying. I’ve done the marriage thing — twenty years of it. Now I want something different. Something that doesn’t involve commitments or obligations.” She stared out the kitchen window. “Monroe was a great husband, but we weren’t exactly wild … if you know what I mean. And I want that: to get hot and bothered. Is that so hard to understand?”
Nichole looked at her exasperated. “You’re talking crazy! Hop into bed with strangers? You? Can you hear yourself?” She leaned against the counter peninsula, sympathy in her eyes. “I know you’re lonely. I know you’re hurting. I see it in your face, but there’s better ways to deal with grief. You had a great marriage. So why ruin that memory …. Casual sex? It’s beneath you, Nadia. It’s beneath what you had with Monroe.”
Nadia turned aside, fighting her tears, and carelessly brushed back her loosely tied back hair — which was unkempt as usual. Eight months grieving Monroe’s death from prostate cancer, and the pain still ripped at her insides. The void wouldn’t go away. How could it? Nothing could replace him. Sex wasn’t the answer — she wasn’t stupid enough to think it was — but wanting anything more reeked of disloyalty and sacrilege.
The ad wasn’t about tomorrow or the day after. It was about finding a way through today; a way through the emptiness. Easing the emotional numbness, if only for a few minutes’ romp in bed, was better than what she now had. Lust wasn’t the noblest of emotions, but it was the most basic. What better way to find her way back into the living, if not through such a universal and primal urge?
“Why not use a dating service, or one of those introduction services?” Nichole was saying. “That would have made more sense … and be safer. It’s like you threw away your brain!”
“It’s not like I didn’t think about it … but it feels like putting myself on an auction block and waiting for the highest bidder. Not an appealing thought.” And, though she wasn’t about to tell Nichole, listing her likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams, dug too deeply into her psyche and made her too vulnerable.
“It’s not like you don’t have a say in these things —”
“— posting a photo online isn’t my idea of having control,” Nadia interrupted with a definite edge in her voice. “I’m not going to be put on display for men. My way, I stay anonymous. I choose. And that’s what I want.”
Nichole’s astounded face said it before she did. “Talk about a double standard! You want to do the leering — like a peeping Nadia — then act affronted at the idea of a man treating you the same way.”
“It’s not the same for women.” Tactfulness wasn’t Nadia’s strong point. “Men think with their johns’ anyway … they’re not as picky about where they stick it.”
Nichole blanched at her sister’s unaccustomed crudeness. “What’s happened to you? It’s like I’m talking to a stranger. Where’d all this …” she pursed her lips, struggling for the right word, “this lewdness come from? If Jordan heard you ….” Nothing else needed to be said. They both knew how Nadia’s oldest son would react.
“Gee thanks. Now I’m nuts and lewd? Make me regret telling you, why don’t you!” She took a deep breath, and mentally backed off. Winning Nichole’s cooperation was essential to her plan, and aggravating her was counterproductive. “I’ve got a few candidates … and I could use a safety net.”
Coffee spewed out of Nichole’s mouth. “Candidates?” she sputtered, wiping her chin off with the back of her hand. “Is that what you’re calling them?” Shaking her head, she grabbed a paper towel and wiped up her mess, muttering under her breath. “A mighty fancy term for pimping yourself …. Candidates ….” Nichole’s pitch rose up a level. “How can you do this? You’re a married woman with grown sons!”
This wasn’t going well.
“Nichole, I’m not married. I’m widowed.” Using her most reasonable voice, she continued, “It’s not like that. I’m not planning on exchanging money for sex and I’m not planning on a bunch of partners. Get the sleazy prostitute stuff out of your mind. Think Hollywood romance. Woman meets gorgeous guy, has a whirlwind romance, they marry. Lust fades, they decide to part ways, and divorce, blaming it on irreconcilable differences. I’ll be doing the same thing. Only in my case, I’ll skip the marriage part.”
To Nadia’s relief, her sister’s face calmed, and a bit of a twinkle lightened her eyes.
“What’s the difference? My way, I won’t have to pay lawyers for the privilege.”
As Nadia chuckled at her own joke, Nichole shook her head in exasperation. “Nadia this isn’t a joke. You’re talking about sex with strangers. Of all people, you know the consequences of that! How many people around the world are infected with HIV? Isn’t it close to forty or fifty million? What about Hepatitis C? For your last grant, didn’t you tell me that close to one in ten people have it? Those are Russian roulette kind of odds.”
“I’m taking precautions. I’ve got it covered.”
“What? You mean condoms?”
“Ugh!” Nadia made a terrible face at the thought. Condoms, though effective at preventing the spread of most diseases, were repugnant to her. “I didn’t mean literally! No. I’ve got some basic parameters. Candidates have to be abstinent for at least the last three weeks, and agree to an up-to-date complete STD/HIV screening, with liver function tests. It may not catch every nasty, but it should come close.”
The incredulous look on Nichole’s face ridiculed Nadia’s plan without a word leaving her mouth … but that wasn’t about to stop her from saying it anyway. “Hah! That’s your solution? And you really think that the kind of guys who’ll answer your ad — guys with one thing on their minds — will jump through hoops just to bed you? They can surf any sex site on the web and find partners who don’t give a hoot about that stuff.”
“And that’s where they should go. I’m looking for a guy who’s a bit more substantial. I don’t want one-night wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am stuff. I want something longer-term … a couple months or so, but without all the expectations.”
Nichole wasn’t giving up. “You’ve got a lot of friends and contacts. Why not make yourself available that way?”
“Yeah. Right.” Nadia couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “I can just see it. My boys can set me up with one of their friends’ parent’s. Or, I can walk up to an old friend and say, ‘Hey, I’m in the mood for some wild and crazy sex. Interested?’ I don’t think so. I’d like to keep my reputation intact, if you don’t mind.”
“None of this makes any sense, if you ask me.”
“I’m not looking for permission, Nichole. I just need a safety net.”
“And how am I supposed to be that? I’m not watching, if that’s what you mean.”
“Nichole!” Nadia gaped. “That’s not what I meant! I want to do this smart. You know, do a few online chats, meet in a bar for a drink…. But I don’t want to go alone. It wouldn’t be safe and it wouldn’t give me a quick escape if I needed it. So …” she pleaded, “will you?”
There was no changing her mind, and Nichole saw it in her eyes. With a heavy sigh of exasperation, she leaned in close to Nadia. “I’m totally against this. I want you know that. It’s insanity!”
“Okay, okay. You’re totally against it. I get it. So will you?” Nichole was wavering. Nadia could sense it.
“Why are you so desperate? You’re only 41! You’ve got plenty of life left in you …. You don’t need to do this to get a man!”
Tears shimmered in Nadia’s eyes, but she impatiently brushed them away. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? I don’t want a husband …. I’ve done that.”
“But why this? I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make sense. You’re not telling me something ….”
Nadia looked away, tightening her jaw, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. “I’m tired of crying.”
There was more to it, so Nichole waited, not saying anything.
“Monroe was the only one I’ve ever slept with, you know. And these last few years,” Nadia grabbed the paper towel still clenched in Nichole’s hand and wiped away the tears, “he never touched me.”
“It was the cancer —”
“— It was more than that. It was like he stopped wanting me.” She turned and stared at her sister, struggling to say the words she never voiced to anyone else. “I felt … undesirable … ugly; whatever you want to call it. I tried different things … you know, to get him excited … but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to cuddle. That’s it. Nothing more. It was like I repulsed him sexually …. Can you imagine how that felt? How it would make you feel?”
Nichole could only mutely shake her head. She had had no idea.
“So I want to do something stupid …. I just want to feel desirable again … like an attractive woman. Is that really so horrible?”
Despite everything inside her screaming out against it, she couldn’t. “Alright, alright! But if I do this … if I do this … I get final say on the guy.”
“As if that’s going to work!” Nadia snorted, wiping away the last of her unwanted tears. “We have completely different tastes.”
Nichole twisted her mouth into a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth! But I’m not talking taste. It goes deeper; to gut instinct. If I feel it, I need absolute veto power.”
Nadia opened her mouth to refuse, but stopped, seeing the stubborn look on Nichole’s face.
“Either I get the veto, or I won’t do it. If I feel something’s off, you’ve got to dump him — no if, ands, or buts. If not, you can forget it.”
Nadia stood and crossed her arms, skeptically. “I don’t know. You could decide to veto everyone ….”
“Although it might be tempting, I promise. I won’t do that. Just the creepy pervert types.”
“And, uh, how exactly would you be able to tell that?”
“If he makes my skin crawl.” Nichole rubbed the hairs on her arms to make her point. “Goose bumps never lie.”
“You’re not giving me any choice?”
“No. Not if you want my help.”
Nadia sighed, wanting this conversation over. She didn’t need or want Nichole’s approval, but it was going to be hard enough following through without having to go to the bar alone. Without Nichole, she might very well back-out, despite her bravado.
“Um-kay.” It was a reluctant agreement.
“Okay,” Nichole repeated with a smug half-smile. “You’ve got yourself a bodyguard.”
“Sex-guard is more like it,” Nadia teased.
Nichole ignored it. “So how are you planning to keep it from the boys?”
Nadia sniffed. “They’re rarely home. And when they are, I won’t have the men around.”
“And how exactly is that gonna work? They’re home nearly every weekend — the same time your boy toy’s are gonna want to hook up with you!”
“It’ll work out. I’ll make it work out.”
“Then you better come up with a better plan, otherwise there’ll be an awful lot of explaining to do.”
Nichole, shaking her head, put on a pot of water, while Nadia slipped out of the kitchen, dodging newspapers and magazines strewn around the floor. Keeping up a confident front until she was slightly out of sight was exhausting, and there was no way she could keep it up indefinitely. Not that she wanted to.
The old rumpled couch in the living room was just the place to hide. Head in her hands, she collapsed against one of its fat cushioned sides. Convincing family and friends that she was doing alright was nothing more than a charade for their sake, and to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure they were buying it anyway.  But here and now, without an audience, there wasn’t any reason to pretend. Half her life was spent with one man. He was her life. How was she supposed to get over that? How could anyone expect her to?
She flipped on the news, grimacing as the reporters rehashed another Iraqi attack, and discussed the shortage of American troops. It made her sick inside … especially the unspoken fear that they might reinstate the draft, putting both her boys in danger. Even in her nearly year-long emotional and mental haze, that fear kept her coming back to the news … vainly hoping the war would be coming to an end.
“Hey, Mum!” Talon greeted loudly, as if on cue, bursting through the side door, stomping off clods of mud sticking to his cleats. A freshman on a soccer scholarship at the local college, weekend visits were better defined as a revolving door between soccer practice and a very active social life. Other than home-cooked meals and laundry, her place was little more than a pit stop. Today was no different. “I’m jumping in the shower, then taking off. I’ve got a date! Did you get my laundry done?”
Nadia looked up and nodded, knowing he wouldn’t bother glancing her direction.
“Don’t forget to mow the lawn!” she reminded him, knowing she should be sterner with them … but finding herself thankful, instead, that at least they were here, and not overseas like so many other boys and girls their age.
Chores went two-ways, but more often than not, his went undone. Like the typical self-involved teenager, he was more focused on the things going on in his head, than worrying about his mother. His clothes would be done; they always were. After a life-time of mothering, he knew she would take care of it, as she took care of everything else — as she took care of his Dad.
“I’ll do it, but it’s gotta wait. I’m late.” He kicked off his cleats near the door, and started for the stairs. Like the living room, miscellaneous toiletries — unopened containers that never quite made it to the bathrooms, discarded socks, hand-towels on the way to the upstairs laundry, and whatever else — lay on the stoop and steps, shoved to the sides where no one would trip on them. It didn’t used to be like that … but that was another lifetime.
“The grass isn’t getting any shorter,” she said dryly. “It’s spring. It has to be cut a couple times a week. You know that.”
“Isn’t it Jordan’s turn? Ask him to do it!”
“I asked you.”
“Okay. Okay,” he snipped. “I’ll get on it tomorrow. So where’s my clothes?”
“In your laundry basket.”
“Could you pull out my purple polo and black Dockers? I should’ve been there by now. Amy is going to kill me for being late again.”
He was half-way up the stairs — Nichole’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head from the kitchen — and Nadia couldn’t find the words to tell him. Between the two boys, he ought to have been the easiest to talk to … but if dating felt like betrayal to her, how could she expect him to see it any differently?
Leaning against the stoop watching Talon taking the last two steps in one long stride, it was now or not at all. If she didn’t tell him, and he, or god-forbid Jordan, caught her with a man …. She couldn’t finish the thought. It was better to forewarn him, as tactfully as she could.
“What would you think of me dating?” Not exactly subtle, but not bad for her — certainly better than, “I’ve advertised for a sex partner, so make sure you’re not around when I bring strange men home.”
Talon stopped mid-stride, his face clouding. Whatever his plans may have been, they melted into the background in light of her blunt question. Disbelief and skepticism, combined with something else she couldn’t quite identify, He stared at her disbelievingly before plodding down a few steps, and she plodded up a few, to meet in the middle. His lips barely moved. “Mum?”
She had betrayed him — it was in his voice. Expecting this reaction didn’t make it easier to bear. What could she have been thinking? Hadn’t Monroe always told her it was better to ask forgiveness afterwards than to seek permission beforehand? So now he wanted an explanation, and there wasn’t one; at least, not one she felt comfortable revealing to her son.
“It’s been eight months.”
“Yeah!” he whined plaintively. “Only eight months. How can you even think about … about dating?”
“I’m lonely.” That much was completely true.
“Lonely?” From the amazement on his face, Talon found that incomprehensible. “Me and Jordan are here almost every weekend! And you talk to your sister for hours on end. Isn’t she here now? How can you be lonely?”
“Talon … I know it’s hard to understand, but … without your dad ….” This was gut-wrenching — and without all the sordid details!
Having a sudden and overwhelming need to sit, she settled down on the step, avoiding his gaze. Taking a couple deep breaths didn’t ease her anxiety, though it gave her a couple extra seconds to gain her composure. “You and Jordan park your stuff here on the weekends and clean out the frig, but I don’t get to see you … talk to you. Not really. You’re playing with your friends, hanging out with girls, playing soccer, and whatnot — or,” she added wryly, “in Jordan’s case, at this or that church activity. I’m alone whether your stuff is here or not.”
“It doesn’t feel right. It’s too soon.” He knew she was right, and she could hear it in his weak protest.
“Shouldn’t I get to decide that?” She tried to say it with just the right about of pleading and chiding, but he still looked agitated: his hands clenching and unclenching, and that tell-tale tic twitching at the side of his mouth. Silence hung between them, before he asked, “You tell Jordan yet?”
She shook her head somberly. “Not yet.”
He slipped down and sat on the edge of the stairs. “Dad wouldn’t have ….”
Her furious glare stopped the words on his mouth. Talon couldn’t possibly know how Monroe would have reacted if she died, instead of him, and it was wrong to pretend he did. “Don’t you even think of going that route! I knew him a lot longer than you, and I don’t have a clue what he would have done! Crud! I couldn’t have guessed in my wildest dreams what I would do … am doing! It just happens. Life goes on … I’ve got to go on, regardless of how hard it is.”
Talon ran a distracted hand through his kinky black hair — a gesture so reminiscent of Monroe that Nadia had to look aside. Tears, ever-present and always ready to fall, glistened on her lashes, but she refused to give into the memory and sadness. This wasn’t the time for crying.
Talon’s attitude made an abrupt shift. As though he couldn’t stand to be near her, he jumped to his feet and looked down at her, his lips thin and eyes accusing. “You’ve already got someone lined up.”
Taken aback, she just stared at him. “What?”
“You heard what I said! You’re not asking me if it’s okay to start dating … you’re telling me. So how long has it been going on? Did you bother waiting until Dad died, or were you sneaking out on him?”
Nadia was too shocked by his accusation to say anything.
“Talon! That’s enough!” Nichole rebuked sharply. Her expression was severe as she strode towards the stoop and fixed her gaze on Talon. She seemed unaware that she had her teacup in her hand. “How dare you accuse your mother! You’re making an ass of yourself!”
Pale and trembling from Talon’s unjust accusation, Nadia struggled to her feet and stared up at her son, who stood a good foot taller than her. “Why … I mean … where did that come from? Why would think such a thing?”
“Does it matter?” Nichole retorted, glaring at Talon who was conspicuously avoiding her gaze. “He has no right to talk to you that way.”
Talon thought otherwise. Although looking somewhat shamed by Nichole’s rebuke, he wasn’t backing down. “Well? Were you cheating on Dad? Well? Were you?”
“Talon …” she said softly, pleadingly, “I loved your dad. I would never, never, do anything like that. I … I’m stunned you’d even … I mean, where’d you get such an idea?”
His tight face slackened, his lower lip trembling slightly before he bit down on it, hard. He believed her … and it meant the world to him. “Dag, Mum! You made me think ….” He sounded so much like her little boy again, that she grabbed him, and pulled his head down to rest on her chest, running her hands comfortingly through his hair. “You haven’t started dating yet, right?” he mumbled, unable to let his fears completely go.
“No.” Thank god she could offer him that little bit of reassurance! “I just thought … well, it felt like ….”
Not usually at such a loss for words, she kissed his forehead and stepped away, moving down the steps.
“What your mom’s trying to say is that she needs some male company again.” Nichole stepped onto the stoop and linked arms with Nadia.
Though grateful for Nichole’s support, she needed to do this alone. “I can talk for myself,” she said, disentangling her arm, but staring at Talon, pleading for his understanding. “I loved your dad. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved … other than you boys. So don’t worry. I’m not looking for a replacement, just some companionship. That’s all.”
Talon didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’ve got to get ready…. Mum?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll take it slow, right?”
“Slow?”
“Yeah. You know. No rushing to remarry or anything.”
If he was seeking reassurance, that was an easy one to give. She gave him a small smile. “Sure. I’m in no hurry to remarry … and to be honest, I doubt I ever will. So, no worries, um-kay?”
Her reassurance was met with a faint, dejected smile before he turned away. Part of her wanted to call after him and say anything he wanted to hear … but she couldn’t. It would be lies, and lies wouldn’t fill her emptiness any more than it would reassure him.
With that announcement done — a small accomplishment in which she found little satisfaction — the sisters stared at one another. One of her boys knew, or at least thought he knew, what to expect of the men that would be showing-up at her door. The sordid details could be kept to herself … and to her sister. That left telling the oldest, and he wouldn’t be as easy to pacify.
Nichole must have read her mind.
“And he was easy,” Nichole was saying with a weary shake of head. “Jordan won’t be.”
Nadia nodded somberly. “I know. I know.”
They sat quietly … somberly … lost in their thoughts, with the sound of water trickling through the pipes from Talon’s shower. Nichole broke the silence first. From the wicked grin she gave Nadia, she knew Nichole was up to something. “Can I see the emails?”
“I thought you weren’t interested,” Nadia teased.
“I never said that. What I said was that this idea is nuts and you’re nuts.”
“Ah, yes. I do seem to recall that part of the conversation, now that you mention it.”
“So?”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
Nadia could think of a few good reasons … embarrassment being at the top of the list, but she wasn’t about to give her sister that kind of ammunition to use against her. “Well … uh … my son’s still here. I don’t want to risk him seeing it.”
“In your study? Since when have your sons developed a death wish, and go in there without knocking?”
Nadia couldn’t stifle her chuckle. “Okay, okay, so my sons wouldn’t dare walk in on us, but still …. I’d feel funny doing that with Talon around. Can’t we wait? — at least until we’re alone in the house?”
Nichole put her hands on her hips, challenging Nadia to refute her. “You don’t sound like a horny woman to me. You sound down-right prudish!”
When Nadia didn’t take the bait, Nichole dropped her stance and gave Nadia an affectionate hug. “You don’t have to go through with this, you know. Just because you posted a personals’ ad doesn’t mean you have to answer the emails. The way I see it, sometimes it’s enough to think about being wild … to play with the idea of being one of those bad girls you see on TV … or imagine yourself acting completely out of character … to draw attention to yourself. Thinking about it — fantasizing — it’s harmless fun. That doesn’t mean you have to do any of it.
“No one else knows about the ad, so it’s not like people are daring you or you’re going to let anyone down if you don’t …. Hell, you’ve already taken this further than I ever would have. You’ve had your jollies — and probably enough photos to pant over for years to come! — so there’s no pressure or hurry.”
Nadia opened her mouth to interrupt but Nichole wasn’t done. “Wait awhile … enjoy the anticipation. Isn’t that supposed to be the sweetest part? When or if you’re ready — really ready — you can take the next step.”
Exasperation raised Nadia’s voice level a half-octave. “Stop it, Nichole! I don’t want to back out! And I don’t want you to try and talk me out of it. I need to do this.” Nadia knew she sounded too vehement to be believable — a reaction (or overreaction) to Nichole’s way-too-accurate grasp of the situation. Doing this would work! It would … it would! And she would keep telling that to herself … and Nichole … until she believed it.
“I want to be supportive,” Nichole was saying. “Really, I do — but I don’t think you’re as ready as you think you are. You need more of a cram-it-down-your-anus attitude to pull this off — not the embarrassed, hide-in-the-closet attitude you’re giving off.
“Think about it. You’re contemplating bringing strangers home and sleeping with them, for god’s sake, and you’re too embarrassed to let me look at their photos?”
She put her tea on the side table, and sat on the couch, patting the seat next to her invitingly. “Come on, sit down.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Nadia joined her, hiking up her way-too-big fat pants.
“All your life, you’ve set goals then worked like a demon to achieve them. Everything’s been about conquering something or someone. Well, this time, you’re trying to conquer grief … as if it’s a tangible thing you can manipulate and force. That’s a bunch of hooey! You can’t stop grieving just because you’ve decided it’s time. Recovery is a process … a journey, not a goal, and it won’t work on your time-table. You can’t schedule how long it takes to heal. It just happens.”
“I know that,” Nadia responded, a bit defensively.
“Sure, you know it. Of course you know it … in your head. But you’re not listening to it.”
Nadia leaned back into the cushions of her couch and closed her eyes. Nichole was right. “So what do you think I should do?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Nothing, huh?” Nichole made it sound so easy and simple, but Nadia had never taken that route in her life. Being passive wasn’t in her … at least, it hadn’t been in her before Monroe’s death.
Nichole squeezed her hands. “You know I love to garden?”
“Uh huh.” Who didn’t? There wasn’t more than a couple yards of grass anywhere on her half-acre property – everything else was plotted, planted, and mulched into submission.
“Sometimes, I have to stop digging in the dirt and let my plants be, ‘cause, the more I fiddle with them, the worse they look. All they need is some rich soil and a bit of rain now and then, and they’ll be blooming beautifully all summer long.”
“You’re a gopher,” Nadia pointed out sardonically. “You never leave your plants alone.”
“That doesn’t change my point.”
“Which is?”
Nichole slapped Nadia’s hand. “Like I said earlier, stop being such a smart-ass! I’ll spell it out for you. You’ve got a lot of rich soil in your life: people who love you, a good job, a nice house, and whatnot. Now you just need some alone-time. Feel the sun on your face some days, and let the rain wash away your tears on others. You’ll heal and grow without ever having to plan or conquer anything.”
“You could be a Dr. Phil.” Nadia commented blandly.
“Not without a sex change,” Nichole retorted with the same tone.
They burst out laughing.
“Mum!” Talon hollered from up the stairs. “Where’s my polo and pants? I told you, I’m late. I gotta get out of here.”
“Be right there,” she hollered back, turning to Nichole, with a grateful look in her eyes. “Thanks. You understand better than anyone.”
“It’s mutual, you know.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“Mum!” Talon hollered impatiently. “I gotta go!”
Nadia gave Nichole a pensive look. “Since we’re being so open with one another, I’d like to share a bit of what I’ve seen happening in your life.”
Nichole pressed her lips together and turned away, as though not intending to hear. “This isn’t about me —” she started to say.
Nadia had no intention of being ignored. “— Your garden is your lover, you know. I’ve seen it for years – all that passion and zest for life … wasted on plants. You’ve been hiding from men ever since your divorce.”
“Ma!” Talon hollered impatiently again. “I need you!”
“I’m coming!” she hollered up the stairs, before turning back around to Nichole, just as she was slipping out the side door.
“Nichole!” she called after her sister, wanting to say more … knowing she needed to say more. The door softly clicked shut.