Sitting in the salon, inhaling the toxic fumes of nail polish and acetone, I felt lightheaded. Mom and I sat at stations side-by-side—she insisted—and talked about what had been going on in our lives lately. We had spent little time together since I started seeing Elian, and I didn't know how much I'd missed this.
I learned a lot about Ray. He was thirty-nine years old, originally from Portland (the one in Maine). A nature photographer by trade; his prints had been in many reputable publications. I wondered if I'd ever seen one. He was divorced and had been for a few years. He had a sixteen-year-old daughter, named Maddison, who lived with her mother in Tucson.
Mom met him at the grocery store where she worked in the bakery. He complimented her lemon squares, and she swooned. "He says, 'It was love at first bite.'" Mom said.
"Maybe I should learn to cook." I teased as the woman filed and buffed my nails.
"It couldn't hurt." Mom said in a singsong tone. "Get your man by the stomach, and he'll never want to let you go."
I laughed at her. "Well, one of us should know how to cook. Elian can't make anything. Everything he eats is frozen and from a box."
Mom shuddered at the sentiment. She detested pre-cooked frozen food. She claimed it all had a weird "frost-bitey" taste.
"And you know how hopeless I am." I said.
"God, yes." She shook her head. Probably conjuring images of the time I tried to make spaghetti. I forgot about it until all the water evaporated in the pot and the noodles stuck together and burned, spewing streams of black smoke into the house. It was somehow hard and squishy at the same time. The trailer smelled like a charcoal briquette for two weeks.
"I really love this shade of pink, honey." Mom studied her hot pink nails with a smile. I tried to get her to try something more subdued, but she loved a neon.
She peeked over to see mine. "I love yours, too. What made you choose that?"
I stared at the polish being applied to my nails. It was an illusion polish. At one angle it appeared dark green, at another it was a rich amber. But I chose it because of these golden flecks in it. When I held it up to the light, it reminded me of Elian's hazel eyes. At just the right angle, in the right light, his eyes glowed with golden embers.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I just like it."
"So, have you and Elian had sex?" Mom asked in such a nonchalant tone.
I startled, making the woman painting my nails mess up. She grimaced and grabbed a wipe to clean the polish off my skin.
Apparently, my mother had never heard of segues. She just barreled right to the heart of the matter.
I looked over, mouth agape in utter disbelief. My mother just sat there casually, as if she'd asked what I had for lunch.
"W-Why... Why are you asking?"
"I just want to make sure you're being safe is all." she said. "Just because you're both men doesn't mean you don't still need condoms."
The ladies doing our nails shared a glance between them. I wondered how often people had deep personal conversations in front of them without thinking about what they said.
My cheeks burned hotter than they ever had around Elian. I didn't know that was possible.
And she was still going: "Pregnancy isn't the only thing they protect from, you know."
"Mom!" I whisper-screamed. "Stop."
"I just want you to be prepared."
And I just wanted the floor to crack open and swallow me up so I could get out of this conversation.
"Can we not do this?" I pleaded.
"Stevie, if you can't even talk about sex without freaking out, maybe you shouldn't be having it yet."
To shut her up, I said, "I'm not. We haven't gotten there yet. Okay?"
"Okay." She shrugged, totally unbothered. "But now you'll know for when you start. And don't worry if it's not good the first few times. It can be awkward when you're starting out."
I laid my head back against the back of the chair, my heart pounding in my ears.
Mom turned to me a few minutes later. This time, she lowered her voice. But not enough to matter with two people sitting right across the table from us. "You should ask if he's been tested for STDs. If he gets defensive about it, that's a red flag. He should want to know that he's not potentially passing something to you."
Dear Lord, smite me now.