Never Met a Girl Like Her | ✔️

(12)

L E O N I E

Mom leaves for London tomorrow. Her organised boxes were being collected when I got home from school. Despite the fact that she'd packed up most of her sentimental items - photos, jewellery, shoes and favourite bath bombs - she had left a lot behind as well. Her walk in wardrobe had a ridiculous amount of clothes still hanging or folded in the wall drawers. Her bed was made and the night stand digital clock and lamp remained.

I suppose it did look more like a guest bedroom than a lived in bedroom now and I stood at the threshold while Mom pulled on her suede pumps before we went out for dinner. She looked like a knock out in her long sleeve maroon fitted dress. The neckline plunged lower than my standards after three tequila shots and the bottom was tight around her knees. If I look even half as good as her when I'm her age, I'll be thrilled.

She'd made a big fuss about the fact that we were going out to Laurent's. It was a high class joint that she frequented with her work gals. The price for a side of garlic bread could fund an annual subscription for vogue. But she insisted that we make a night of it as a form of farewell. I had suggested that we host a rave with neon paint, UV lights and white t-shirts. It'd been a definite no when I told her how much more intense the experience would be if we railed some MDMA too.

I have never touched drugs.

Well, I haven't since I accused a bouncer of murdering bambi's mother, licking the pavement when I was told that it was a footpath made of sherbert and throwing three hundred dollars cash in the ocean as a donation to save the whales.

What a night.

When the valet opened Mom's door and we stepped out of the car beside the entrance which was bordered with seven foot tall glass panels with faux flames lapping at the narrow windows, I smoothed out the dress that I'd chosen for the evening. It was a deep rich purple. It sat at the thighs and had thick straps and a high back. The material was smooth to the touch. Like butter and a pair of platforms were the perfect finish to the outfit.

"I'm sorry Ma'm. We are fully booked," the maître D stood at his tall desk with his book open and his expression bleak. The foyer was dark. A water feature made waterfalls in the corner, lights twinkled under the small pool that gathered at the bottom of the fountain. A bag and coat check station was situated to the right and through a set of frosted glass electric doors, was the dining area. Where we would not be eating so it would seem.

"Mom," I stared in disbelief. "You didn't make a reservation?!"

She winced and gave me a little shrug. "I . . . forgot?"

"Unbelievable."

"Sorry ladies," Chad - the Maître D - apologised again with a sympathetic smile. His black hair was swept back with enough grease keeping it slick that he could oil the damn engine in my car. "We can't seat you without a reservation. We can fit you in," he began leafing through his binder as he clacked his tongue. "In three months on November twenty eight?"

Mom shook her head but thanked him. Of course I wasn't opposed to attempting another tactic. Two birds with one stone if I could embarrass her. "What if I show you my tits?"

"Leonie!" From the red in her cheeks, it was safe to assume that I had embarrassed her. Mission accomplished. Paybacks a bitch Mom. And so am I.

She gripped my shoulder and apologised to Chad who despite his silence was staring at my chest as if he wanted to be polite but still express that he was most definitely interested in seeing my boobs. Mom began pushing me outside.

"What?" I shrugged as she pushed me towards the valet station. "F Y I, it was a joke. But look, if men are going to take advantage of us and treat us like objects, I don't see why I shouldn't use the breasts that God blessed me with to my advantage. I have to carry the lumps of flesh around. Why shouldn't I use them how I want?"