5 Bikers for Valentines

“She came barging into my room at two this afternoon with bullshit outfits to try on, skirted the question of whether she has had sex in my room, tried to bond with me over coffee, then divulged some of the gloriously gross things she’d like to do to the Grove Brothers.”

“Who?” Lindy asked.

“The Grove Brothers. The five guys that ride with the Road Warriors? Black hair? Blue eyes?”

“Couple of them twins?” she asked.

“Yep. Those guys.”

“I don’t know them, but I know their president, Crow Marx. They’re right up her alley, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Not helping. Though, the oldest Grove brother is the vice president of that club. I didn’t know you knew their president.”

“Yep. Crow’s his name. Comes and talks to me whenever I’m bartending and he’s there. He doesn’t frequent as much as his club is starting to. But the shit with your mom is gross. Where’s she now?”

“Out shopping. Again. I told her I didn’t want to hear any more of her disgusting fantasies. She called me jealous, and then she stormed out like I was the one who was being an idiot,” I said.

“Your mom is certifiably batshit crazy,” she said.

“I know.”

“You know she only gets away with this behavior because you let her.”

“I didn’t let her this morning,” I said.

“You allowed it to get so far as to the fantasies before you stopped her.”

“I know. I know. But she wanted to bond, and I just, well, I guess I just thought that—”

“She woke up this morning and thought about being a decent mom?” she asked.

“That’s not going to happen, is it?” I asked.

There was silence on the phone as I closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to shed tears over the bitch, but it did still hurt. I accused my mother of wasting her prime years raising me, and she didn’t deny it. Did she think I was some sort of mistake? Some cramp in her lifestyle she had to get out of the way before she could get back to living?

“Have you thought about asking her about your father again?” Lindy asked.

“Nope. Last time was rough enough. I’m not willing to go through that again.”

“You know you could try to track him down,” she said.

“And find what? Some sell-out roadie riding around the country with some club? He probably didn’t even know my mother was pregnant.”

“Did she tell you anything the first time? You know, before she had her meltdown?”

“Just that he was some macho guy she met at some rally. Screwed around all weekend, came home, saw him a few weeks later, and he didn’t even recognize her.”

“That’s rough on any woman,” she said.

“It’s what it is. The last thing I need is another parent in my life who can’t, you know, parent.”

“It’s like you’re raising a toddler,” she said. “Which brings me to my point. We can’t give her drinks anymore at the bar.”

“I know,” I said, sighing. “We really need to stop.”

“No, I don’t mean this as a fun little ‘think about it’. I mean it has to stop.”

“Why, Lindy? What’s happened?”