“How am I going to do that? No one mails cash.”
“You could come home.”
“No.”
Momma scoffed. “Ain’t you ever comin’ back? You know Bobby Pritcher’s been askin’ about you.”
I frowned. Bobby Pritcher wasn’t going anywhere in life, and I doubted he had rotting teeth left in his sneering, perverted mouth. When he spoke, never saying nice things, it looked like a slithery snake tongue slipping past his lips.
“That’s not the way to get me home.” All the things that made home a tolerable place weren’t there anymore.
“Then what will it take? You’ve been gone three years. It’s enough already.”
“I thought you wanted me to make something of myself. That’s what I’m doin’.”
“By hooking? That ain’t what I meant, Avery Dean. I don’t know what’s become of you. You ain’t even a Mudd anymore. Got yourself a fancy name for all those fancy Johns.”
My jaw locked, but that didn’t stop the sharp prickle of tears burning my eyes. “That’s not what I do, Momma. I have to go.”
“Don’t you blow me off, young lady. I raised you better.”
She’d always been the one person capable of cutting me down. No matter how much I said her opinions didn’t matter to me, they still stung. And now, with her out of work, she’d become more dependent on me for help, more entwined in my life, more toxicity eating away at my goals to be normal.
Unable to draw in enough air, my lungs burned as if I were drowning. “Goodbye, Momma.”
After I got off the phone, my mood and focus were shot. In no state of mind to study, I cleaned my apartment.
Within an hour, I had an enormous pile of designer clothes on my bed mixed with shoes, purses, and jewelry that were hardly worn. One by one, I took pictures of each item and uploaded them onto an online auction site. Once I made it halfway through the pile, my tears had gotten the better of me, and I needed to find a tissue.
I was not a hooker. I’d never have sex with someone for money, and certainly not with any of my clients. Though there were a few I enjoyed spending time with, like Micah and Josh, there wasn’t any real attraction there.
As I reorganized my closet, I thought about how empty my life remained. I had company almost every night, but no one to really call a friend.
Even on campus, when other students spoke about their weekends, I longed to chime in and relate, but I couldn’t because I had nothing relevant to add. My life remained different, shrouded in secrets typical twenty-somethings didn’t keep.
“Fuck this.” I shoved the rest of the shoes into a laundry basket and went to the kitchen in search of something to make me feel better.
As I rummaged through the fridge, shoving away various high-protein, low-carb snacks, my frustration grew.
“Goddamn it!” I slammed the refrigerator door.
My back hit the stainless steel as I slid slowly to the floor and wept. I was pathetic, giving into shame that shouldn’t be there.
There was no shame in what I did. Prostitution was a different animal entirely.
If she wanted more money, I’d send her more—enough that she’d never be able to make a comment like that again. But I had to send something fast. Without a paycheck, her calls would turn relentless, and I had too much going on to battle her criticisms on a daily basis. Her words would distract me from my goals, and the guilt for hating her would eat me alive.
Avery Johansson didn’t do guilt.
I also didn’t easily accept the hatred my mother spurred. Such negativity grew from bitterness. Little comments and digs that cut deep and failed to heal over the years, seeping pain into my dreams for an ordinary life until nothing but mirrored resentment between us remained.
I wanted her to love me but accepted she never would, so I paid her to leave me alone. She wanted to be paid. End of story. I honestly don’t think she cared about me as a daughter and the older I got, the less I cared that she might have never loved any of us, which was why we all left the second we finished high school.
Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, I withdrew my phone and scrolled through my contacts. My sole purpose became finding the money to shut her up as fast as humanly possible.
My thumb hovered over a name I hated above all others. It wasn’t because of his bad hair or unpleasant breath. His personality grated on my every nerve. But he paid amazingly well, and I wanted to make a point. I hit send.
His heavy breathing preceded his words. “Well, well, well. It’s been a long time, Avery.”
“Hi, Don. How have you been?”
“The same. And you, my little doll?”
I rolled my eyes. “The same. I was wondering if you were looking for company?”
He grunted, and I could hear him shifting his position over the phone, his breathing that of a man carrying an extra hundred pounds. “I’m always up for your company, sugar. What do you say to tomorrow night at seven?”
I hesitated and shut my eyes. “How should I dress?”
“Mmm. I want a skirt short enough that I can tell the color of your panties and a shirt low enough that it’s a guessing game when your little nipples are going to show. And put in some pigtails.”
And this was why he paid well. “How long and where?”
“I’ll pick a nice place. Say, four hours?”
A second longer and I wouldn’t be able to take it. “That’ll be two.”
“Your price went up.”
“Inflation. Did you still want to meet?”
“Four hours, two grand? You better hope I see your nipples. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
Do I ever? “I’ll see you then.”
I ended the call and dropped my head back to the fridge. Four hours and I’d send my mom enough money to shut her up for at least a few months. And then I’d just have to get through my last semester and never have to do this again.
It was all about assuming control. So long as it remained my choice, outside judgment couldn’t hurt me. I was in command of my future, and I was doing what needed to be done. Fuck anyone who didn’t understand that.
Feeling a bit more grounded, now that I had a plan in place, I went to my desk and stacked my school stuff to the side. My bills weren’t overdue, but they were piling up, and they were high. I hated debt, hated owing anyone anything. My profession allowed me to finance my own education so I could graduate without a single loan, and that pleased me more than anything.
One by one, I signed off on checks and slowly emptied my savings until there was only enough for a few meals and most of next semester’s tuition. Once school was paid, there would hardly be enough to buy anything else, but I’d get by. I always got by.
The next day was one of those off days that started on the wrong foot and never straightened out. First, it was the machines at the gym. Did no one know how to clean up after themselves?
Then it was a red sock someone left in the laundry room. I didn’t think anyone used the facility except me, but apparently, there was another person too poor to hire a service. And now they were running around with one red sock while half my white wardrobe looked like an Easter peep costume.
On top of that, my Lit professor, who apparently hated me for some reason and refused to give me anything more than a C+, put another massive dent in my GPA. My last paper should have earned at least a B. Part of me questioned if she even read the papers. Maybe she had a TA grading them, and that person just randomly threw out any old grade he or she felt like assigning.