Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell
24
Rachel
When Amanda first sends out the invitations for girls’ night, it’s at her house, but at the last minute she emails everyone—including me—to change the venue to Rush Creek Bakery. No explanation. I mean, not that she needs one. Nan’s baked goods have been a Rush Creek treat since before I was born. I’m not surprised when she pulls a tray of hot chocolate chip cookies out of the oven just for us.
But once the vibrators have made their appearance and we’re passing them around, Amanda explains herself.
“You guys know from the e-vite that it was originally supposed to be at my house?”
Lots of nods. Hanna’s here, and Lucy, along with a passel of Amanda’s other friends, mostly youngish moms who keep making not-exactly-jokes about how long it’s been since they had sex and how unlikely it is that that will change any time soon.
“Two days ago, I found out Heath had to work late. And I just kept picturing one of the kids waking up or not being able to sleep and running down the stairs and popping into the living room while there were toys spread out everywhere. And how would I explain this?”
She holds up one of the most popular toys, a rabbit vibrator. This is the original—like the one Miranda famously hips Charlotte to on Sex and the City. On this model, the part that juts out to provide clitoral stimulation looks like an actual bunny, even though the more modern rabbit designs only vaguely hint at floppy ears and hopping.
Amanda brandishes the rabbit. “One of the kids would totally grab it and be like, Mommy! It’s a bunny! How does it work? Oh, look, it’s a vibrating bunny! Can I take it to school for show and tell? Is it a kid toy? It has beads inside!” She bounces up and down, mimicking kid excitement, then drops abruptly back to adult tones. “I was like, no way we’re doing this at my house.”
Laughter bounces around the circle, and the moms all echo their fervent agreement. And then the stories start to fly.
“I’ve got one for you. My fifteen-year-old, who has gotten very self-sufficient lately and doesn’t usually want anything to do with me, came into the bedroom about a month ago when I was reading in bed, threw himself down on the floor next to the bed and started chatting with me about life, school, and everything. And then after we’ve been talking for a few minutes, he gets this weird look on his face, reaches under the bed, surfaces with my Magic Wand in hand, and says, ‘What’s this?’ And instead of being all cool and saying, ‘Oh, that’s a muscle massager,’ or using it as an opportunity to talk about masturbation and toys, I freak out and yell, ‘Put that down!’ He drops it like a hot potato. And obviously, that was the last mother-son bonding time we’ve had since. I’m still mad at myself.”
Murmurs of sympathy.
“Yeah, so, under the bed? Not the best hiding place.”
“Have to agree with that—my We-Vibe charging cable got mangled in the vacuum. While it was being run under the bed by our cleaning service. I came home to find it on my bed: vibe, mangled cord, apology note.”
“Did they come back? The cleaning crew?”
“Yeah. And I’ve never been able to be home when they have, since. I can’t face them.”
Laughter.
“Have you ever been walked in on?”
A moment of silence, and then a burst of simultaneous starts:
“Oh, my God, I have to tell you—”
“Oh, it was the worst, the worst!”
Amanda’s friend Susie:
“We were doing it in the bathroom because the door locks, except we were so sleep deprived that my wife unlocked the door instead of locking it, and my three-year-old walked in.”
Peals of laughter.
Kiona: “We were in bed in the dark, and I started to get that ‘you’re being watched’ feeling and I realized my four-year-old was standing by the side of the bed. Literally no idea how long he’d been there.”
Groans of dismay.
Jem: “They’re all going to end up in the therapy for all the ways we messed them up anyway, right?”
Whole-hearted agreement.
“What about you, Amanda, any horror stories?”
For whatever reason, my eyes happen to be on Amanda’s face when the question gets asked, so I can see her expression change. It goes studiously blank, a blankness I recognize because I saw a version of it on Brody’s face the other day when the subject of Justin came up. It’s Wilder for, “There be dragons.”
Then she smiles, an easy, practiced social smile. “You’d have to actually have sex to get walked in on, wouldn’t you? Double income, two workaholics, three kids under ten, you do the math,” Amanda says, with a shrug.
She gets more laughter and a round of amens, and the “easy” smile stays on her face, but she’s not fooling me.
And she’s not fooling Lucy, who’s watching her friend and frowning.
Huh, I think. And Amanda’s life seems so perfect.
Perfect.
There’s that word again.