"Mom?" I holler through the house, shutting the front door behind me.
The echo of my feet makes the whole house vibrate as I trudge up the stairs. This new condo she bought still feels like some creepy rental that neither of us are able to call home yet. Being here is like a constant reminder that my dad's a shit head.
As I arrive at the top of the stairs, I see my mom submerged in her comforter, her cat Pinkerton purring on her lap as she smooths the fur on its head. "Hi, Danny," she says, still staring at the TV.
"Hey what's up." I sit down and kick off my Vans. I notice the edge of this chair is shredded from Pinkerton's frisky midnight yearnings.
"It's okay. Just watching 'Bachelor in Paradise.' I think Marissa is making a huge mistake."
I think she's making a huge mistake by watching this show. But I just nod.
"Where were you last night? I never heard you come in," she says.
"I was hanging out with June," I say, leaning back. I immediately regret saying this. It's like my truth is hanging in the air like an old fart, and she's just waiting to call me out on it.
"Oh," she responds.
As we stare at the TV in silence, I notice that Marissa's actually pretty hot. Just as I'm about to get up and grab a beer, my mom says, "So did anything happen with you two?"
Oh, yeah, mom. I licked her pussy, she sucked on my balls, and we had a grand old time.
"Not really," I mutter as I get up to go to the fridge.
"Ah. What does 'not really' mean?"
Though I'm 25 now, talking to my mom about girls still feels, and will always feel, like I'm 15 again, my face all gnarly with acne, and like I'm constantly hiding this chubby in my pants that I don't know what to do with.
"I don't know, sort of." Why do I keep talking?
I grab the first beer that I see out of the fridge, and I'm wanting to open it so bad that I try to twist the top off, realizing that it's a can.
"Okay, that's fine, you don't have to talk to me about it. It's not like I'm getting any grandchildren out of her or anything."
"Jesus, mom," I say, sitting back down in the chair.
Of course one of the girls on this show starts crying.
"Well, you won't tell me anything."
"What am I supposed to tell you?"
She sighs. "I don't know, I'm letting you live here, rent-free, the least you could do is throw me some updates on your life every now and again. I don't see you for days and all I get is an 'I dunno.'"
"We hooked up, alright?" I take a big swig of beer.
She smiles and pets Pinkerton like a movie villain. "You 'hooked up'? Does that mean..."
"We zipped our hoodies together, what do you think it means?"
"Cute. I was just checking. You know, we used to call it 'getting lucky.' Do you guys ever call it that?"
"Only if we rolled a seven into a model's vagina."
"Jeez, forget I asked."
"I'm trying to."