Page 55 of The Naughty Professor
“Yeah, and by the end of the affair, so was his second wife,” Betty muttered.
I groaned.“Oh, my God!Can we please stay on topic?”
“Sorry, sugar,” Frieda said, grinning.“Continue your tragic love story.”
I tried to find the right words.“It’s just… I don’t want to mess this up.He’s more experienced than I am.I’m awkward, quiet.I overthink everything, and I’m afraid I’ll blow it before it even begins.”
The women exchanged looks.
“Sweetheart,” Lisa said, “you’re not shy.You’re careful.There’s a difference.”
“And if he can’t appreciate that,” Betty added, tossing her cards aside, “then he’s dumber than a sack of hammers.”
Frieda nodded sagely.“Besides, the quiet ones are usually freaks in bed.”
“Frieda!”Grandma’s voice cracked like a whip.“Don’t talk like that in front of Felix.”
“What?”Frieda rolled her eyes.“He’s all grown up now, Vanessa.Anyhow, it’s true.If a man doesn’t talk much, he always uses his body to tell you how he feels.Like I said, the quiet ones are freaks under the sheets.”
“And on the dining room table, and in the shower, and in…” Lisa leered, and the laughter that followed loosened something in my chest.Even Grandma cracked a smile before swatting her with a dish towel.
Lisa ducked and wagged a finger.“Careful, Nessie.You swing that thing like a nun with a ruler.”
“Keep talkin’, and I’ll make you confess your sins,” Grandma said.
“Oh, honey, we’d be here till sunrise,” Lisa said, sipping her beer.
The room dissolved into another round of laughter, the kind that came from years of shared gossip, funerals, and bingo nights gone sideways.I couldn’t help smiling, even though my chest still felt like it was full of wet cement.
Betty stubbed out her cigarette in an old saucer and squinted at me.“You know, Felix, you’re too hard on yourself.You were always a sweet boy.Polite.Never got into trouble.I’d kill to have a grandson like that.”
Frieda nodded.“Same.Mine’s on his third divorce and thinks cryptocurrency is the next big thing.It’ll put him in the poorhouse, mark my words.”
“Mine’s a DJ,” Lisa said, grimacing.“At funerals.”
Betty slapped the table.“At funerals?”
“Don’t ask,” Lisa said.“He says it pays well.”
Grandma turned to me, still smiling but softer now.“See, sweetheart?You’re doing fine.You don’t need to be anyone else.Just be yourself.You can’t be anymore messed up than their grandkids.”
That one hit like a dart to the ribs.I shifted in my chair.“Myself,” I repeated.“Right.That’s the problem.”
Frieda frowned.“What’s wrong with you?”
“Yeah,” Lisa said.“You’ve got a job, you’ve got all your teeth—half the men I know can’t say either of those things.”
Betty leaned forward, squinting.“What is it, then?You think you’re not exciting enough?Let me tell you something, kiddo.Excitement’s overrated.You want stable, not some drama-llama with abs and a trust fund.”
“He’s a professor,” I muttered.
“Even worse,” Frieda said.“Those ones talk during sex, and it’s not fun or filthy conversation.Hell, I love me a filthy fucker.”
“Frieda!”Grandma snapped.
The table howled again, and despite myself, I grinned—but it didn’t last.Their laughter faded into a dull hum while the storm in my head picked up again.
“Being myself hasn’t exactly worked out great,” I said.“I’m… well, I’m good at one thing.Chemistry.That’s it.I can’t charm people, I can’t dance, and I can barely talk to men I like without sounding like an idiot.”
