Page 72 of The Tattered Gloves
“My mom is a prostitute.”
Rather than shocked horror or sympathy, he did the weirdest, most unexpected thing.
He asked a question, “LikePretty Woman? I mean, does she go out on the street and wait for cars to flag her down?”
I couldn’t help it. He made me smile, and the nervousness I’d had vanished with his ridiculous ramblings.
“You’ve actually seenPretty Woman?” I laughed.
“I have a sister. She’s fun to hang out with sometimes.”
“Hmm… well, I’m not sure your description is spot-on — at least, not from my frame of reference. But, to answer your question, no, it is definitely not likePretty Woman… although I have seen her come out of her room in a wig a time or two.”
I inwardly shuddered.
“But, sadly, no rich men have ever come to sweep her off her feet, despite her best efforts. We were and have always been poor. Like dirt poor.”
“I always thought prostitutes made good money. I mean, can’t you charge a lot for…that?”
I shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. How much she charged wasn’t exactly a topic around the dinner table at our house. Not that we had one — a table, I mean. But I’m pretty sure I was the reason she wasn’t higher up on the food chain.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.
I did the same, so our feet were nearly touching but not.
“She told me. Constantly. I was what kept her from moving up in the world.”
“She said that?”
I nodded silently. “I guess having a kid isn’t exactly sexy. The men — or clients, as she called them — came to her for an uncomplicated good time.”
“And you were a complication?” he guessed, his voice filled with sadness.
“Yep.”
“That’s messed up.”
“That’s me and my mom in a nutshell. Hell, that’s my whole family.”
“Welcome to the club,” he said. “We have a meeting every Thursday in the basement of the old church down the street. I bring cookies.”
His words were in jest, but they carried a certain tone I was familiar with.
Pain.
“Count me in,” I replied with the tiniest wisp of a smile.
My eyes were still trained ahead, focused on our feet that were right next to each other, so it took a moment for me to recognize the sensation.
It was foreign yet familiar. Something I remembered but had almost forgotten.
I followed the feeling until my eyes froze.
In fear?
In surprise?
I wasn’t sure.
