Under My Skin

  My stomach growls loudly, and I decide to ignore everything embarrassing that’s happened so far and focus on my hunger.

  “I’m hungry,” I mutter, scanning the list of appetizers. I don’t know why I bother with it, since we’ll probably end up getting the antipasto plate anyway.

  “Mmmmmmm,” Mom murmurs from across the table. “Working up an appetite, aren’t you?”

  Her insinuation is heavy with meaning, and it has nothing to do with our shopping excursion.

  “Mom! Seriously!!”

  She responds by giggling which only serves to irritate me further.

  “Mom, mothers are not allowed to talk about this. It’s on some Mom Oath you take when you give birth. Seriously, I can’t believe this is happening.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but thankfully, Joey, Carmine’s seventeen-year-old nephew, pops by with our bottle of wine. He uncorks it, pours a little for us to taste, and when we both nod, he pours us each a generous glass before taking our order and disappearing.

  I swear, this family has vanishing down to an art.

  Unfortunately for me, Joey’s appearance does nothing to diminish Mom’s delight in pursuing our conversation further. The second he’s gone, she leans over.

  “Honey,” she begins softly, “after the seventeen and a half hours of labor it took you to travel through my birth canal only to enter the world screaming your pretty little bald head off, I was granted maternal immunity. Which basically means I can talk about anything I want with you, including your sex life. Now, I will spare you the details of my sex life, but I must say, if what I’m hearing is true and you and Mark stay together, you might have a hope of rivaling the intimacy your father and I share.”

  Everything comes to a screeching halt as I stare at my mother in disgust. I love shocking people, I love saying what everyone else is thinking but no one else is saying, but this…

  This is…

  Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

  I inform her of this to which she replies, “Baby girl, do you think the stork dropped you off on our doorstep?”

  She laughs when I wrinkle my nose at her.

  “Mom, you’re crossing the line. Seriously. No more, please.”

  “Okay,” she agrees easily. “You’re right, the focus of this conversation is you, not me.”

  “Uhhh, Mom. Seriously, if you don’t stop this line of questioning, I’m going back to Nordstrom and getting the gray dress.”

  She gives me a small smile. “No, you won’t. I bought the only one left in your size. After the ball, I’ll return it.”

  I stare at her in shock and grudging admiration.

  Mom is good.

  “Take notes, sweetheart,” she grins, before taking a sip of her wine.

  I roll my eyes, but I do make a mental note on her stealth strategies in case I ever have a daughter.

  Although, if I ever do have a daughter, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure she’s nothing like me. If she inherits even a tenth of my personality traits, I’ll be in for my own special brand of purgatory.

  I shudder as our antipasto plate arrives and take a much needed sip of wine.

  “So, funny enough, even though she was a little scandalized to find you at Mark’s place, Bertha doesn’t really seem that put out about the whole thing.”

  Another sip of wine is necessary before I can respond.

  “Oh really?” I ask dryly. “Did she tell you she called me a hussy right after I opened the door?”

  And what does Mom do?

  She laughs again.

  Of course.

  “Bertha’s just old school, honey, you know that,” she says. “Plus, I’m sure she got the shock of her life. Besides, she said you were very gracious throughout the entire, um, visit. Plated her a muffin and poured her tea when she didn’t want coffee. You seemed to know your way around his place very well too.”

  I stare. “Mom, his apartment is like, seven hundred square feet. There isn’t a whole lot of space to familiarize yourself with.” I pick up a spear of asparagus and start to munch, humming with pleasure as the flavor explodes on my tongue.

  “So, things seem pretty serious if you’re spending a lot of time over there.”

  I shrug. Another sip of wine. More munching on asparagus.

  “Mark seems very…um…intense.” Her eyes are bright, and I know she wants to laugh again.

  I grunt. Better to make non-committal noises rather than give her more ammo.

  “All those muscles. Plus he’s so tall, sweetheart. And the way he calls you ‘Princess’ in that deep, manly voice.” She picks up a napkin and starts to fan herself.

  “Mom!”

  “What honey? I’m married, not dead. Plus, I’m in my prime, you’ll see as you get older, you’ll start to notice these things.”

  “Um, Mom, how about we start operating on a need-to-know basis. I did not need to know that about you, and you don’t need to know anything about what Mark and I do behind closed doors.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Baby girl, the other night when you two came over for dinner, the man spent at least ten minutes groping you in his car. It could have been longer, but I’m not sure because I’m estimating between when I first looked out the window and when the car horn honked—which I’m assuming was an accident because a minute later you were ringing the doorbell.

  Oh my God.

  My mother saw me getting happily manhandled by my boyfriend.

  “Please tell me Daddy didn’t see anything.”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “Baby, I like Mark. Your daddy might be older, weaker, and shorter, but if he saw what I saw, I guarantee you your boyfriend would have been in the hospital that night.”

  My mind races as I try to recall what exactly we did in the truck that night, but it’s all a blur. Did he have his hand up my shirt? Did I have my hand down his pants? If I had my hand in his pants though, it wouldn’t have been visible through the window because…

  I groan.

  “Oh honey, I wiped your ass for the first two and half years of your life.”

  Where are our meals? Are they beheading and plucking the chicken back in the kitchen? Okay, forget those ladylike, dainty sips. This time I take a freaking gulp of my wine. The liquid burns down my throat all the way down to my belly, and I immediately regret it.

  “Mom, please, you’ve got to stop,” I beg.

  “Remember that rebellious phase you went through from sixteen to, ohhhh, I don’t know-now? Well this darling, is called payback. You’re lucky we didn’t break out the naked baby photos of you in the kiddie pool.”

  I vow to find and destroy those pictures the next time I visit my parents.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “You haven’t been around the house much. You’re always with Mark or Sophie or at Jilly’s, so all of this would have been spread out over multiple visits, but because you’ve been too busy for your mother, you’re getting the concentrated version today.”

  This is true. I haven’t spent as much time with my parents as I’d like to, because well—everything Mom just said. I grimace, feeling guilty and she scoffs.

  “Only a small guilt trip sweetie. Wipe that wounded look off your face. Trust me, if I were you and had a young man that looked like that, my parents would never see me.”

  Guilt trip over. “Ewww, Mom. Stop perving on my man.”

  She waves her hand airily before lifting her wine to take a sip. “I’m not perving sweetie, just stating a simple truth. It was a good thing I met your dad after your grandparents moved to Florida, or they would have complained about the same thing.”

  Thankfully, I’m spared from replying to that gem because Joey appears with our plates. He clears the antipasto away before setting our meals down in front of us. He politely asks if we’d like fresh pepper and/or grated parmesan, but I notice a small smirk at the corner of his mouth.

  Which means he heard my loud-mouthed, oversexed, pervy mother.

  Jer
k.

  To think I used to babysit him. He was so much cuter when he was younger.

  When he leaves, Mom turns serious eyes on me. “Okay, I’m done having my fun with you.” She grins wickedly. “And it was fun, let me tell you. I promise I won’t torture you again, but some of this needs to be said.”

  I brace myself for what’s coming.

  “Honey, I’ve seen you with him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I see the way you look at him. You’re different when you’re with him—in a good way. Carmine’s right. You’re glowing. I also know how determined you are, and Daddy and I are so proud of you. You need to know that. If you were a lesser woman, we’d be having a chat about whether or not you can prioritize school while having such an intense relationship, but baby doll, you’re the kind of woman who if you want it all, you’ll have it all. And honestly, Mark has our seal of approval. A thousand fold.”

  Okay, well that’s good to know. Not that I was openly asking for their seal of approval, but my parents approving of who I’m with is important to me. This whole conversation feels weird, but suddenly I want to talk to her about everything. I want to lay it all out there, about how uncertain I am because I feel too much, and it’s too quick.

  And because Mark is who he is.

  But they think I’m strong, and knowing this, I’m loathe to share this vulnerable part of me. My parents have already done so much for me, the last thing I need is for them to attribute any of my hang-ups to anything that might have happened with our family.

  They’ve worked too hard to give us a good life, and they don’t deserve it.

  So I don’t say anything.

  I nod and cover Mom’s hand with my own. “Thank you Mama.”

  Her eyes are shiny with moisture once more, and this time, it’s not from laughter. “My sweet, beautiful, crazy girl. It makes me so happy to see you happy.”

  I blink hard, surprised at the moisture stinging my own eyes. “Okay, no more mushy stuff Mom. I can’t take it. Can we please talk about something else? Please?”

  “Okay, sweetheart. How about Drew?”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you know he offered to come by and mow the lawn? And he did it, too?” Mom still has that wicked light in her eyes, and I wonder what she’s playing at.

  “So?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Honey, for a smart girl sometimes you can be fairly dense.”

  I wrinkle my nose at her. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. What am I not picking up on other than Drew doing something he hates?”

  “Honey, he came over and mowed the lawn—shirtless. Then he told Bertha he’d mow her lawn, and he did that too, so he’s been over twice in one week. And he’s mowed them both without wearing a shirt. What’s changed in our neighborhood within the last few weeks?“

  “And Charlotte is staying over at Bertha’s,” I say slowly. “Oh my, Mom. This is good. Really good.”

  Thankfully, we spend the rest of our time speculating on my brother’s love life instead of mine. But when lunch is over, we’ve paid our bill, and we’re about to leave the restaurant, it doesn’t help when Carmine yells out at me that I need to stay with my ‘strapping young man’ because we’ll have bella bambinas and handsome bambinos.

  And of course, at this, my mother laughs.

  Liz

  I stare at my reflection in my floor-length mirror.

  If I don’t end up getting some and more after all this effort, I’m going to be supremely pissed off.

  Not to mention, I’ll be questioning the allure of my feminine wiles for the rest of my eternity.

  I’m wearing the gorgeous blush pink dress. I love how the strapless sweetheart neckline accentuates my girls without revealing too much. The empire waist is really flattering too, gathering right underneath my breasts, flaring gently over my hips, and falling straight to the floor. I’d paired the dress with a pair of pretty, strappy platinum sandals I’d been saving for a special occasion and a matching clutch.

  “Liz, you look stunning,” Sophie breathes. I meet her eyes in the mirror and give her a small smile.

  “Do you think Mark will like it?” I ask, hating the tiny hint of uncertainty in my voice.

  She stares at me like we don’t speak the same language. “Um, Mark seems to have X-ray vision where you’re concerned. He doesn’t see your clothes because all he’s seeing when he looks at you is your naked body. So—even if he didn’t like it, it wouldn’t matter because that’s not what he sees when he looks at you. But that said, he’s not a stupid man. He’ll like the dress because it’s beautiful and he’ll love the dress because it’s on a gorgeous girl.”

  I’m horrified when my eyes start to well with tears.

  What the fuck!

  “Damn it Sophie!”

  “Sorry!” she says, but she doesn’t sound sorry at all. She sounds pretty freaking satisfied.

  “I love that you’re in love,” she sighs dreamily.

  “Oh no. First my mother, now you,” I mutter.

  This is a disaster because I’m still coming to grips with my own feelings and as I was getting ready earlier, I’d decided I was tired of having feelings about my feelings. I was going to go with the flow, meaning, I was ready to admit how I felt to the world.

  But first, I have to admit it to Mark.

  And tonight is the night. I’m tired of being careful. It’s exhausting. I feel the way I feel, and it’s just time to deal with it.

  Plus, it doesn’t hurt that every time we finish having sex, he finishes by telling me I’m his and kissing me stupid every single time.

  My heart’s so full, I feel like I’m going to burst, and while the feeling is ah-may-zing, I am definitely ready to get back to being my normal, snarky self with my one-liners and quick witted comebacks. The man’s turned my brain into mush, and part of me figures once we just get all our cards out on the table, I’ll revert back to normalcy.

  At least, I hope so.

  “Your mother?” Sophie says from behind me.

  I nod. “Yes, my mother. She said the same thing to me a few weeks ago at lunch, I just forgot to tell you.” I glance at my alarm clock. Mark still has ten minutes until pick-up time. “Anyway, missy, you owe me some serious updates. You really like this guy you’re going out with? This is the third date. You haven’t had a third date in like—forever.”

  She blushes adorably, and for the first time, I pull my head out of my self-absorbed ass and really look at her. She looks so pretty in her delicate white blouse, dark jeans, and heels. She’s got on a minimal amount of makeup, but Sophie doesn’t really need it anyway.

  And her eyes look…excited.

  Which is something I haven’t seen in a long time—since her father died.

  “Yeah, he seems solid so far. He’s just so—I don’t know, nice. He pays for everything, holds all the doors open, he treats me like I’m a piece of fine china honestly.” She laughs at this. “Plus, it helps that my mother likes him.”

  “Wait a second, Jeannie likes him? Dump his ass immediately,” I instruct her.

  She giggles. “She’s not that bad, you know. Anyway, I know he’s a good guy because he hasn’t pressured me to do anything.”

  Hmmmm. I consider this while taking in the blush that stains both of her cheeks. Sophie’s a quintessential good girl.

  “You need to sleep with him,” I tell her.

  “Huh?”

  “You need to lose your v-card and sleep with him. If the sex is awful, dump him a.s.a.p. and find someone else who can rev your motor the way Mark does mine.”

  “Liz, really,” she huffs.

  “Seriously Soph—don’t underestimate the power of good sex. Why do you think Mark has me following him around like a lost puppy dog? Have you ever seen me this way? Not to mention—I’m happy to be this way,” I point out incredulously.

  She shakes her head at me. “I’m not sleeping with him,” she says firmly.

  “Fine, have it your way.
But, if he turns out to suck in the sack after you’ve said your vows in front of Father Donahue, don’t blame me,” I warn. “I will happily remind you for the rest of your life that ‘I told you so.’”

  She rolls her eyes. “Shut it and show me your shoes.”

  I don’t press my point, and I give in, pulling the hem of my dress up to show off my sandals.

  “Ooooohhhh, they look perfect with the dress!” she exclaims in awe.

  “I know, aren’t they just fabulous?” I twirl around, feeling like a Princess.

  I just need my prince to arrive to take me to the ball.

  We’re oohing and ahhing over my shoes and matching clutch when I get the call. Before I pick up, I notice the time on the display, and I frown. Mark should have been here five minutes ago, and he is the most annoyingly punctual person I have ever met. I’m tempted to call him to see if everything is okay, but my phone continues to ring, and I need to pick up because it’s Dad.

  “Hey Daddy-O,” I say lightly. “Are you guys on your way? I’m still waiting for Mark.”

  He starts to talk and just from his tone, before I’m able to process any words, I know something is wrong. Something is really really wrong.

  Then his words sink through, and it feels like every syllable is a sharp stab in my heart. My phone slips out of my hand and bounces on the soft carpet in my bedroom.

  Frozen, I stare at it. It’s all I can see, that piece of gray metal and plastic. It’s all I can focus on in that moment, the subtle curves of the design, and the contrast of the dark color against my white carpet.

  Dimly, I notice that Sophie’s feet enter the picture. “Liz,” she whispers. “Is everything okay?”

  I watch it as it falls to the floor. The huge drop of water that seeps from the surface of my eye into the corner of my eyelid before it falls into the air and floats to the ground only to be absorbed into the carpet like it never existed at all.

  Phone. Shoe. Tear.

  “Liz?”

  Now her hands are on my bare shoulders, and she’s shaking me.

  I lift my head and look at her. It’s a miracle I can get words out, but somehow, I manage. “That was my Dad.” It—whatever it is, this ugly, horrific feeling starts to rise in my throat and take up space, like it’s choking me and my tears begin to fall freely. “Mark. I need to get to the hospital. Mark’s been shot.”