Chapter 4

It was Sunday morning, and I was in the kitchen reading the Sunday paper when Mom came down in her blue chenille bathrobe, still looking dejected. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down with a heavy sigh. I put the paper down and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

“Just some toast, dear.”

I got up, popped a slice of the marbled rye she liked into the toaster, and took out the butter and jam. As I set the butter and jam on the table, I asked, “Still feeling bad about last night?”

Mom stood up quickly and screamed at me. “Of course, I still feel bad about last night! Do you think I don’t have feelings?” She pounded her fist on the table, spilled her coffee, and shouted: “I don’t know why men don’t like me!” She broke out in tears and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom.

I stood stunned as the coffee dripped onto the floor. I have never seen my mother lose control as she did just now. A quietness settled over the kitchen. Then the toast popped up and startled me.

“Oh shit.” I got myself moving and went upstairs to Mom’s bedroom. The door was open, so I walked in. Mom was lying on the bed face down with her head on her arms, sobbing. I went over, sat on the edge of the bed and started to rub her back. “It’s okay, Mom, it’s okay, we can fix this.”

Mom sat up while wiping the tears from her cheeks. “How can we fix this? Men just don’t like me.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Can I ask you some personal questions?”

“Of course, you can. You know you can ask me anything.”

“Did you have a boyfriend in high school?”

Still wiping tears from her eyes, she answered, “No, you know I skipped three grades, so they all made fun of me because I was so much younger and always got A’s.”

“How about in college?”

“No, I was too busy with my heavy course load, and I was only fifteen when I went to MIT.”

“When was the last time you had sex?”

“You know, last...”

“Not counting last night.”

“Three years ago at the Mensa convention.” She replied.

“And before that?”

“Six years ago.”

“And before that?”

“When your father got me pregnant.”

My mother’s total sexual experience consisted of four one-night stands in nineteen years.

“I know the problem, Mom, you may have an academic knowledge of sex, but you haven’t had any practical experience with someone willing to court you, not just ... you know...”

“Just fuck me?”

I had to suppress a laugh. I did not think my mother even knew that word. Never mind, use it, “Yes, Mom, that’s exactly what I mean. You are certainly willing enough, so it’s not that. I think it’s because you didn’t have the opportunity to progress and experiment in your teenage years with flirting, dating, kissing, puppy love, and petting, then have a true romance. You skipped all the research and jumped to a final conclusion.”

“I understand what you are saying, but I can’t go back.”

“I think Bill Carter might be able to help us out,” I replied.

“Your friend, the nice young man I tutored last year?” She asked.

“Yes, let me talk to Bill and see if he is willing to give you some advice.”

“Okay, if you really think he can help.”

“Now, come back downstairs when you’re ready, and I will make you another piece of toast.”