When we got home, Zac was exhausted and immediately deposited himself in front of the TV. I opened the fridge and sighed loudly. My mother still hadn’t gone grocery shopping, like she’d promised.
“Mom?” I called out, but got no reply.
I walked up the stairs and called again. But when I still hadn’t gotten a reply, I headed to her bedroom. The door was closed and I knocked. “Mom?” I turned the handle and walked into an empty bedroom. I walked across her room to her bathroom and that was when I saw it . . .
“Mom! Oh my crap.” I turned and covered my eyes as quickly as I could and stumbled backward. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Lori, language! And why didn’t you knock?”
“I did knock! You didn’t answer . . . why, why didn’t you answer?”
“I was busy.”
I held my head and shook it. “I can see that.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to go grocery shopping. Can I take your card?”
“It’s in my bag on the bed.”
“Right! Okay, I’m going. Bye.” I rushed over to her bag, grabbed the card, and was just about to leave the room when she stopped me.
“Everyone is doing it!” she called out loudly.
“Can we not talk about this, please,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Swiping right and left and online dating and Tinder and Cupid’s Match and Grindr—”
“Grindr is for gay guys, Mom!” I cut her off.
“You know what I mean. How else am I meant to find someone at my age, Lori?” Her voice had taken on a high-pitched quality that reeked of a kind of desperation that left me feeling sick. “The dating scene has changed so much since I was dating. You know, we used to go to the drive-in and have milkshakes and hold hands if we were lucky—”
“You didn’t grow up in the 1950s.”
“I might as well have. That’s how different it is. Now it’s all online and profile pics and winky faces and emojis and likes and, and, and . . . your dad is engaged!” Her voice quivered as she yelled this part, and I genuinely felt sorry for her. As much as she was trying, she couldn’t hide the pain in her voice.
“I suppose you would have me never date again? I bet your father would like that.” I heard her walk out of the bathroom and I hoped she’d put clothes on over that lacy underwear she was wearing. “You don’t understand what it’s like at my age to be divorced, a single working mom looking after two kids and trying to build a career and personal brand.”
At that I turned, anger pushing away any sympathy I’d felt a second ago. “Looking after two kids? Is that what you think you do?” I asked. She had wrapped herself in a dressing gown now. “As far as I can see, you’re too busy sexting to go grocery shopping.”
“Sext—What?” She gasped.
“Oh, don’t pretend to be shocked . . . sending half-naked pics to God knows who on the internet. You know what psychopaths are out there? Have you never watched Dr. Phil? I can’t believe this. You’re a mom! I mean, if anyone should be sending half-naked pics, it’s me! The teenager. Not my middle-aged mother.”
“I wasn’t sending half-naked pics.”
“Well, it looked like that to me.”
“I was only taking a portrait shot of myself for my profile pic.”
“In your bra?”
“I wasn’t going to show my bra. I put a lot of work into my décolletage,” she said back.
What the hell was a décolletage? I held my hands up in the air. “Whatever. I’m going.” I turned and started walking out the door.
“I wasn’t going to show my bra,” she shouted after me, but I ignored her. “Do you want me to die alone and lonely? Is that what you want?” she called after me as I exited and closed the door. “I’m crossing the threshold of negativity and stepping into my positive purpose!” I heard her shout as I rushed down the stairs and hightailed it out of there.