When We Kiss

It doesn’t make me feel better.

At night, back at my place, after I’ve showered, I stand with my arms propped on the bar thinking about having her here, sitting her up on this bar, kissing her. I should have kissed her that night out on her porch. Everything changes when we kiss.

Instead, I let her tell me she needed space.

My phone is in my hand, and I’m thinking about sending her a text when it starts to ring and vibrate. Turning it over, I internally wince when I see it’s my mother calling. I tap the accept button.

“Hey, mom. What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” I try to sound casual and not tired and sexually frustrated.

“It has been a while. I wish you’d remember to call me at least once a month.”

Great, here we go. “Sorry. It’s been pretty busy the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure a real crime spree has broken out. Someone steal Farmer Ted’s prize pig?”

It sounds like she’s making a joke, but I know my mother. She’s right there with Dad on being completely confused as to why I’m here in this small town working as a sheriff’s deputy when I could be running one of their multi-billion dollar logistics firms, playing golf with Charleston’s richest assholes.

“Actually, Petunia’s doing just fine. It was Maggie Sue’s turnip patch. Some local kids broke in it, and… well, the damage they did was shocking.”

“Be serious. When are you going to give up this absurd obsession with rural living and come home? Your father needs your help. The trucking line out of Burlington lost their manager, and you’re the best judge of character—”

“It’s not an absurd obsession. I have a nice place here. I’ve made friends, and I like it.”

“I refuse to believe that. You have never enjoyed small towns.”

“I guess I’ve changed.”

She’s quiet a moment, and I vaguely hear the clinking of ice against crystal. “I’m coming to see you.”

I sit up on the couch. “Don’t you have a ball or a ladies auxiliary function to attend?”

“I’ll drive down tomorrow. Is there somewhere I can stay?”

Standing, I walk around my place. It’s only one bedroom, but I could sleep on the couch for a night. It’s not too dirty. “You can stay here with me.”

“I can’t wait. Have your intriguing little hamlet roll out the red carpet. I want to see for myself how happy you are in Podunk by the Sea.”

That doesn’t sound very good. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We disconnect, and I stand in the middle of my living room thinking about what she said. She doesn’t believe I’m happy here. She doesn’t believe anyone can be happy outside her world… but she’s wrong.

My hand is on my stomach, and I’m thinking about Oceanside on a Friday night. Before I even consider it, I send her a text.

Are you busy tomorrow night? I haven’t seen Tabby all week. Emberly said she’s been working on that website, and I know she’s on a deadline. Still, she’s the first person I think of when I want to show my mother how happy I am here.

It’s probably a mistake.

I shouldn’t have texted her.

Seconds tick past, and she’s not going to answer. It’s almost worse than not seeing her.

The device buzzes in my hand. It’s her. No time for paintball, sorry.

I smile at her words. I can almost hear her saying them. Can you get away for a quick dinner?

Another few seconds, gray dots floating on the screen. I suppose I have to eat.

Full disclosure—my mom is in town.