Page 4
When did my life get so weird?
2
Almost a month into the new semester, without a single prospective date under my belt, I finally break, confiding in my oldest and most trusted friend, Nicole Kapoor. After divulging every embarrassing detail from my heated debate with my mother, I let Nicole drag me from my bed at Delta Sig house and into the city for a wardrobe upgrade.
“I’d still rather have your mom than mine.” My soon-to-be ex-best friend, if she keeps making stupid comments like that, thumbs through a rack of see-through bras while I pick through the bin of panties.
The bright Pepto-Bismol–pink walls and overpowering stench of at least a dozen competing fragrances give me a headache. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t grow up with her.”
“At least she’s open to the idea of you having sex. I’d sacrifice half a cup size to have a mom who hasn’t made it her mission to cockblock me at every turn. My mom still thinks I’m pure as the driven snow. And as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way until I’m thirty. She’d drop dead of a coronary if she knew half of the crazy places Jeremy and I have done it.”
“Don’t remind me.” Shuddering, I shake off the memory of seeing Nicole’s naked ass print on our bathroom mirror. “At least your mom is halfway normal.”
Nicole rolls her eyes. “Define normal.”
“Normal moms don’t pimp out their daughters.”
She barks out a loud crack of laughter. “Exaggerate much? Be happy your mom’s cool with you having sex.”
“She’s a little more than cool with it. She called it my flower. And she didn’t come right out and say so, but I’m pretty sure she wants me to find a guy and let him pluck it.”
Nicole winces, a deep furrow forming between her dark brows.
“She even implied I should make a list! Why can’t she be cool with me doing it in my own time without assuming I’m either gay or asexual?” I loosen my stranglehold on a handful of lace, willing myself to calm down before I leave fingerprints.
“So lie. Tell her you did it.”
I choke out a laugh. “Have you met my mom?”
“Right.” Nicole shudders, undoubtedly remembering when we got caught sneaking out senior year. “Better you than me. I’d be screwed six ways to Sunday if my mom was a human lie detector.”
I inspect a pair of barely there panties, and sticker shock threatens to stop my heart. “How can something so small be so expensive?”
She shrugs. “They’re sexy.”
Mentally calculating the balance in my bank account, I lift the scrap of black, staring at Nicole’s smug face through the sheer fabric. “Why are we still holding on to the archaic notion that we need see-through underwear to be sexy?”
“We don’t.” She snatches the panties from my fingers and holds them in front of her. “But wearing them makes me feel sexy. Don’t you want to feel sexy?”
The truth is, I’m not sure what I want anymore. Why have I waited so long? Was it really all about my mother’s expectations? Or did I know—on a subconscious level—that Lucas wasn’t the right guy for me?
“Anything’s better than your damn high-waisted factory rejects. I still can’t believe this is your first time buying Victoria’s Secret.” Nicole flips her faded violet curls over her shoulder like a cape.
She’ll probably ask me to refresh her color any day now. I can almost see the purple stains on my fingertips.
“Admit it.” Nicole swats me with the thong. “You secretly love the old-timey bloomers.”
“Right.” I press out a stiff smile. “Because I love being mocked by the entire sorority house.”
“If your mom’s dead set on you grabbing life by the balls, make her chip in.”
“I wish,” I mutter, pulling a pair of lace-trimmed cheeky panties from the bin. “You have any idea how cheap she is?”
“So bite the bullet and buy what you need. They’re not that expensive.” She shrugs like a woman with a Victoria’s Secret credit card burning a hole in her pocket.
“Sure. I’ll just use my secret trust fund.” I shoot daggers at the outrageously expensive undies until I can almost feel them withering under my stare. The damn things would scarcely cover half an ass cheek, let alone my lady bits, and the less they cover, the more they seem to cost. I pluck the matching bra from the rack. Together, they’re more than my cell phone bill.
“So cancel Netflix. I’ll let you use my account.”
