“Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. While I had always thought my mother and I had a good relationship, discussing our sex lives wasn’t something that we had done before. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to start right now.
But my mother didn’t seem to care about that; she kept right on talking. “And I’ve made my peace with that, I have. We’re not exactly spring chickens anymore. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t have . . . feelings, sometimes. Seeing a man as handsome as Leo reminds me of that.”
I tried to keep myself from squirming in my seat. I didn’t want to come across as a prude, but talking about my parents’ sex life—or lack thereof—was not the conversation I wanted to be having right now.
“You’re allowed to think other men are attractive,” I said. “Even if your marriage is the best ever, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with appreciating someone’s good looks.”
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate you saying that. I agree, of course—sometimes it’s just a matter of hearing it from someone else. And that teacher of yours definitely is a looker!”
She giggled conspiratorially, and I forced myself to laugh along with her. The fact that my mother had just spent the last half an hour flirting with the very professor I happened to be sleeping with seemed as unlikely as diamonds suddenly raining down from the sky—except that it had just happened.
“Okay, okay,” I said, “you’re starting to sound like a love-struck teenager.”
She had that shit-eating grin on her face she couldn’t have gotten rid of if she wanted to. She really did look like a teenage girl that had just encountered one of her idols. I suppose it shouldn’t have really surprised me that Leo could have that effect on pretty much anyone.
“It sure must be hard to concentrate in class,” she said, more to herself.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Oh, nothing, nothing. And you know what? Where is our waitress? I think I changed my mind; I’d like to order dessert after all.”
16.
Leo
Saturday morning and I was lying in bed, thinking about Tessa and how I’d like our next interaction to shape up. Seeing her out with her mother at the café the other day had been unexpected, but in a good way. And Christ, if her mother didn’t need to get laid, like, yesterday. She wasn’t bad looking, Tessa’s mother, still in shape, not a ton of makeup, dressed nicely. Tessa hadn’t said much about her parents, other than they were going to cut her off if she didn’t get her grades up, but I had the sneaking suspicion that the sex part of their relationship had flown the coop long ago.
I could tell that it was nice outside, even though the blinds were drawn. Also, that it was later than I usually slept in—the bedside clock said it was 10 o’clock. I stretched and kicked back the sheets and imagined what it would be like to wake up here with Tessa next to me. If she did stay over, I’d get up before her and go down on her to wake h
er up; partially because I’d hope she’d return the favor—pretty much every guy’s perfect dream—but mostly because I wanted to.
However, she wasn’t here right now, and I didn’t have plans to see her today, though maybe later tonight we could get together.
I was just coming out of the bathroom, having taken a satisfying leak and splashing cold water on my face, when there was a knock at the door. I paused before going over to open it; people seldom just knocked at the door—usually, they rang the bell downstairs and had to be buzzed up.
I looked through the peephole, thinking that I would immediately postpone any errands/household chores I had to do for the day if it was Tessa. It wasn’t, though; it was the opposite of Tessa: it was Colette.
I sighed and pulled the door open.
“Hi,” she said. “Someone was leaving when I got here, so I just came up. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’ve been up for a little bit.”
“Good. Can I . . . can I come in for a second?”
I raised an eyebrow but stepped back, holding the door for her. She slipped in, looking around, and I couldn’t decide if it was because it had been a while since she’d last been here or she was looking for traces of another woman.
“What’s up, Colette?” I said.
She went into the living room, walked in a circle in front of the coffee table, and then faced me. I couldn’t read the expression on her face; maybe she was about to start laughing, or maybe she was going to burst into tears. Or perhaps she was just about to sneeze. “Do you need a tissue?” I asked.
“What?” she said. “Why?”
“I don’t know—you look like you’re about to sneeze. So. What do I owe the pleasure of this unannounced visit this morning?” I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the wall. If she was looking for me to invite her to sit down next to each other on the couch, that wasn’t going to happen.
“I heard some troubling news about you, Leo,” she finally said. “Not just idle gossip. I’m worried about you.”
I stifled an exasperated smile. Oh, this was going to be good. “Worried about me? Why? Everything is fine.”