Random Acts of Fantasy (2 page)

With a big old side of sausage.

“It’s for you,” Jack said. The nondescript envelope felt like a lead weight in my palm.

“You said that.”

“No. I mean for
you
. Darla Josephine Jennings. Certified, signature return, blah blah your firstborn baby and all that required. Not for Good Things Fuck in Threes.” Big grin. The joke had gotten old by the third time he said it a month or so ago, but a reflexive return grin stretched my mouth, one side curved up.

Oh, honey, if only you knew.

And the man talked about babies, which were conceived by sex, which made me think about his penis and…shit. There went my clit. Squirming in my chair, I stood, hoping it wasn’t obvious. Damn, Trevor was about to get rode
hard
when I got home.

“Me?” The package he handed over was your standard overnight mail envelope. Sure enough—my full name, with my title. “Operations Assistant.” Josie and Laura decided that was the best way to describe me. I recommended “Grunt” but they vetoed that one.

“You.” He handed me a little plastic electronic machine thing with a stylus. I signed where he tapped.

After ripping open the envelope, I found…another envelope. This one felt rich.
Rich
. The slide of the paper fiber against the pads of my fingers was so alien, as if there were materials on earth I didn’t know could be generated. The luxury spoke of a different world, far beyond the confines of my office, certainly way outta this world compared to my trailer back home.

I wanted to lick the envelope just to know that some part of my DNA was on something so fine.

Jack must have seen my tongue peek out between my lips as I brought the fine paper closer to my face, for a look of alarm scattered over his face.

“Uh, wow. This is…”

“Yeah.” He emitted a low whistle and shifted his hips. I almost sighed aloud.
Goddammit, girl
, my conscience hissed,
aren’t your two hot bods enough?
 

“Yes!” I exclaimed in answer. Jack looked ready to bolt. “Um, yes—it’s an interesting invitation.”

“I hope the wedding’s fun,” he said politely, then beat it out of there like I was the skanky ho on the first episode of a new season of
The Bachelor
.

Huh. It did look like a wedding invitation. And then my phone rang. The display said “Mama.”

I answered, and before I could get a word in edgewise, Mama said, “Darla, do you like minty condoms?”

“You mean, like as a late-night snack?” Because the thought of talking with Mama about Trevor and Joe’s penises encased in condoms that went inside me made a giant air horn blast off in my head.

The throaty smoker’s laugh that greeted me sounded like a stranger, not the soft, sad Mama who loved me. She sounded like a woman with a past, a woman with a sense of the sensual divine, and it made my head spin for a minute.

“If you like to gobble ’em—”

“Mama! That ain’t what I meant!” I groaned with horror. “Why are you asking me about condoms?”

“You’re making Trevor wrap it, right?”

Let’s stop here for a minute, because
you
know I’m with Trevor and Joe, and
I
know I’m with Trevor and Joe, and Uncle Mike is pretty fucking sure I’m with them both (though he’s still a bit weirded out that Trevor proposed to Mavis the Stolen Chicken while high as a kite and traveling naked), but Mama?

No. Just…no. Mama can’t know I’m with them both, and that is a sore spot in my little sweet threesome.

Then again, Joe hasn’t told his parents about me at all. At. All. Trevor’s mom has heard about me, though. But not the fact that Joe’s all naked and at attention in the room at the same time.

We have a lot of invisible people getting up in each other’s nude skin.

“Can we change the subject?” I asked archly, clearing my throat. “I am not pregnant and will not be pregnant, and why are you asking about minty condoms? And before you answer that,
ewwwww
. My vagina does not need to taste or smell like a cough drop.”

“Taste?” Mama gasped. Time to turn the tables.

“Are you calling to ask for advice? You find yourself a man?” Yeah. Right. Mama’s parts had been retired since my daddy died two decades ago. She was about as likely to go off and find a friend with benefits as I was to join Joe’s mom at her Pilates class.

That same disconcerting laugh, deep and knowing, poured through the phone like a demon’s whisper. “No. But these romance writers are having all these giveaways now, and the sweepstakes forums are full of these contests. One of them includes a big win of mint condoms, and I wondered why any woman would want that inside her. Wouldn’t it feel like shoving a tube of Ben Gay inside your pink tunnel?”

My mouth formed a giant O and I pulled the phone away from my ear as if it had transmogrified into Satan’s face. Who in the fuck was on the phone with me? Because it sure wasn’t my mama.

“But…no…Mama…the…those are for the mouth.” Those last words poured out of me like vomit. Oh, God, I was going to throw up all over this beautiful linen envelope as I tried to explain oral sex condoms to a woman who had last had sex when the television show
Full House
was still in original episodes.

“Why would someone need a condom for their mouth? Makes no sense—
ohhhhhhhhhh.
” Mama’s voice went down to a whisper. “For when you…oh.”

Kill me now
.

“I guess mint would taste a hell of a lot better than spooge,” were the next words out of her mouth, and I swear if there’d been an old-fashioned letter opener on the desk, like in those
Mad Men
episodes Joe liked to watch, I’d have plunged it straight into my ear and pierced the drum, giving myself a lobotomy so that I never had to properly comprehend my mother’s use of the word “spooge.”

It took everything in me to tighten my core and force out the next words. “Mama, there isn’t a delivery truck about to deliver a pallet of mint condoms to Josie’s front yard, is there? Because we only just got rid of all that kitty litter two weeks ago, and if you expect me to use up an entire pallet of condoms, I’ll need a few lifetimes.”

Silence.

Aw, shit. “Mama?”

She cleared her throat. “No. Nothing like that. But you will be getting two large packs of them and some, uh…hang on. Let me read the letter here.” Shuffling sounds came next, giving my heart a chance to resume its normal rate, and for my stomach to stop doing the two-step.

“You win an assortment of sexual aids and lubrication devices, along with those condoms.”

What in the hell is a lubrication
device
? The words came so close to flying out of my mouth, but if I had to hear the answer from my own mama’s lips I wouldn’t ever have sex again. Hell, I would take fishing line and a rusty nail and sew my pissflaps together at this rate.

“Um…thanks?” I said.

“Darla, I was trying to win the $250 gift card. It’s not my fault some of these writers give away these specialty prize packs. You also get an assortment of—
oh
.” The way her voice went quiet made me cringe.

“I’ll just look at it all when it comes. You don’t have to detail it—”

“Chocolate penises.”

Bucket! I needed that pile of sawdust and a bucket for vomit emergencies at the gas station
right now
. I was going to be sick.

“Well, thank you much, Mama. Now—can we change the subject to something that doesn’t involve procreation?”

“No one’s saying anyone has to procreate. Just have the fun associated with—”

“STOP! STOP IT! We are done with this topic! Thank you for the prize, but I need to be done before my vagina joins a convent in self-defense!”

“My diabetes landed me in the hospital yesterday,” Mama blurted out over my little hissy fit.

That stopped me mid-rant. “Hospital?” I rasped. “Oh, Mama, why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I am saying somethin’ now,” she said primly.

“What happened?” The room suddenly looked foreign to me, all modern and freshly painted, with carpeting that had no stains, complete baseboards and real potted plants a service came and watered. The hues of the walls were designed to be soothing, but right now I was anything but serene. Mama was in crisis and I—I was here. Here. Hundreds of miles and a lifetime away.

“It’s those test kits,” she said in a hushed voice. “My insurance don’t cover as much as it used to.”

“And you’re not testing enough?” I couldn’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. She’d been like this when I lived at home, and there was nothing I could do about it sometimes. That woman was as stubborn as…well…

Me.

“You can buy your cigarettes but you can’t buy test strips?” I blurted out. I knew the words would make her righteously pissed at me, but I couldn’t help it. Hurt seeped through my statement because she should have told me. Should have asked for help. Should have turned to me, her only daughter—

Who had left.

Now guilt took over.

“I quit, Darla.”

Knock me over with a feather. “You quit
smoking
?”

A triumphant tone popped into her voice, and it made my eyes go wide. “I am using the patch and it’s expensive, but I’m saving so much money. And Mike got me one of those electronic cigarettes. It’s helping.”

“But the e-cigs have nicotine!”

“Not the flavors I use. Cotton candy is my favorite.” She sounded like Buddy the Elf, her voice was so infused with pleasure.

Mama quit. Mama quit smoking. I couldn’t imagine my own mother in my mind’s eye without a ciggy between her fingers, always searching for an ashtray to rest a lit one, or to flick ash.

“And you still can’t manage the testing strips?”

“It’s not just that. The machine died. Insurance…” She sighed. “And a pipe burst, and Mike’s not getting the miles he normally gets…”

“Let me send you some money,” I said quickly. “Cash my checks.” Unlike Aunt Marlene bugging Josie constantly for money, my mama had never, ever asked. Wouldn’t take. Wouldn’t hear of it.

“No!”

Remember the stubborn part? I kept sending her checks, around a hundred dollars a month, but she just returned them. Uncashed.

“Yes! If you’re gonna send me lubrication devices and condoms that taste like a breath mint, the least I can do is send you money to help save your life.”

“Darla.” One word could bring tears to my eyes. It was the closest thing to “yes” she could manage.

“Okay then, Mama, case closed.” My heart was breaking. “You safe? Jane still coming to help you?” My old high school friend was my mama’s home health aide.

“Jane’s the one what got me to the hospital, Darla,” she said sadly, the spark in her voice now gone.

“Then Jane deserves one of your winnings. She need some kitty litter?”

The laugh we shared almost took the tears out of my eyes.

Almost. Mama said her goodbyes and hung up, and it was like the earth had shifted direction.

I could take a wild guess at how much money a broken pipe cost. What the trailer needed was an overhaul, all-new plumbing, and a new heating system. We plugged space heaters in and played the game of Pop Goes the Fuse Box every winter.

Four figures, I guessed. Even my hundred-dollar checks wouldn’t help.

Fuck.

A deep sigh filled the room, and given that I was the only one in the room, it sounded like me. Confused. Confounded. My fingers brushed against the envelope on my desk.

Breaking the seal seemed like a sacrilege, my fingers tracing the lines of the paper’s folds, the weave like linen in printed form.

I smelled it, just to see if it smelled like fresh cash. That’s what it reminded me of.

With a shaking finger, I slid the tip under the open corner and felt the tear of the envelope’s lip like I felt my own hymen breached back when I was a virgin.

(Quit laughing. I was one once, too.)

And then my eyes must have looked like Jack’s a minute ago as I drank in the words.

Dear Ms. Jennings,

You are cordially invited to join me…

And then my phone started buzzing like mad.

Chapter Two

Trevor

There are three words no guy in his early twenties ever wants to say to his parents.

Bet you thought I was going to say “She is pregnant,” right?

Nope.

(But she’s not, thank fucking God. Let’s not even go there).

Those three little words are:

You

Were