36 Inches (Size Matters 3)

“God, how old are they?”

She smiles. “Around twenty-two, three. Who knows? They’re young. But you would fit in easily with them. It’s me that looks as if I’m old enough to be their mom.”

I shake my head as I study her dark hair pinned up in a loose bun and the sexy red number that she’s wearing, considering she’s a single mom who works a lot of long hours she still shapes up nicely when she goes out.

“At least you’re out there in the real world. I’m the one who’s stuck at home all the time. Time is all I have,” I say, as we walk down the street and Carla takes the lead.

“Let’s find a descent place to have a drink and then we can talk,” Carla offers as she loops her hand in my arm.

I have no idea what direction we’re going in because we both left our cars at home and took an Uber out here so that we could drink and have some fun.

“What about that place?”

I point to a bar across the street as I see a few people walk in and out. People our age, not like the drunks that are leaving the bar that we just left and are making so much noise on the side of the curb.

“Looks presentable.”

I nod. “Looks like a place that women our age would go to.”

She agrees as she locks her arm into mine and we start to cross the street at the lights.

“Seriously Jenny, you look completely different compared to the last ten years that I’ve known you. Your hair’s down.”

I correct her, “Because Tom insisted that it was always tied back. ‘Never in a bun,’ he would say. ‘That’s the way that my mom wears her hair, and I didn’t marry my mom.’”

“You’re wearing short skirts. This one nearly shows your ass when you bend over.”

‘Easy access,’ Jason would say, that’s why I even bought the dress in the first place. To surprise him when he comes over. I didn’t plan on wearing it out. It just happened that way.

“‘Don’t wear anything above the knee. I didn’t marry a lousy,’ Tom would say. So, I never showed off my knees. ‘Besides your knees are too knobbly, and people would think that you never eat or something.’”

I was doing a bad impression of Tom, but that’s exactly why he said that and the reason why I never wore short skirts in his presence. Even out of it, I still had a complex about my knees after his comment.

“What about pants? I don’t remember you ever wearing pants,” Carla asks as her brows cross and I shake my head about what Tom used to say about that.

“‘Don’t wear pants. I never married a man!’”

Then we both burst out laughing; he didn’t want to think of himself as being gay, just practicing it outside of her home or sitting at home watching it on the Net.

She opens the door for me and says, “Well something’s made you change into a hot momma overnight, and I’m going to get it out of you before the night’s done.”

I smile as my eyes dart across the bar. There are a few couples and a couple of men who probably think that we want to be picked up for the night. I ignore them as I move to the other side of the bar. Away from them and so we don’t end up looking their way and giving them the wrong message.

“Well, I do have a confession to make…”

Carla’s eagerly waiting for me to speak, but I know that it's not time to tell her about Jason. It's only a summer thing and Carla and I came out to have a good time. There's a time and place for everything and standing in a bar isn't the best time to tell her about Jason and I.

Carla shakes her head. “Drinks first.”

Then she waves to the bartender.

“Can we have a couple of tequilas? And then a couple of cosmopolitans?”

The bartender raises an eyebrow and asks, “Should I just bring them together? Saves you calling me all the time.”

Then he moves and Carla purses her lips together, and I think about the fact that our night has gone from one disaster to another, but I’m not going to let the bartender’s comment ruin it.

“I’m seeing someone,” I say quietly feeling uneasy about discussing this with Carla.