Blurred Lines by Lauren Layne

glass. “I miss…yeah, I guess.”
    But my tone is lukewarm, and her eyebrows lift. “Maybe you miss being in a relationship more than you miss Lance?”
    I bite my fingernail. “Um, kind of…”
    She gives me a puzzled look, and I know why. She and I have the type of relationship where I tell her everything. But right now, I’m holding back on her, and she knows it.
    “I miss sex,” I blurt out, giving a frantic look toward the entry of the room to make sure my dad is still in sports heaven with Ben.
    “Ah,” she says, sitting back in her seat.
    To my relief, she looks merely understanding instead of uncomfortable. Seriously. She’s the best.
    Mom purses her lips. “Was Lance…Was he—was it bad? With Lance I mean?”
    “Not really,” I say, knowing what she’s asking. “It had become, um…infrequent, toward the end. Which I guess should have been a warning sign. But lately I’ve just been thinking, I’m young, I’m healthy, and I just want—”
    “Sex,” she says.
    I take a sip of wine. A big one. “Yeah. And please tell me you’re not going to call all your friends tomorrow and tell them your daughter’s a hussy,” I say, mostly joking.
    She grins. “Please. If anything, I’ll be bragging about what an awesome mom I am for being able to have this conversation.”
    “I can confirm that you are, in fact, awesome,” I say. “And, as such, I’m sure you have some sort of wisdom socked away about how physical relationships aren’t everything, and I just need to cool my jets until the right guy comes along?”
    “Absolutely not,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’m far too cool and liberal for that. I didn’t just live through the seventies, I embraced them in
every
way.”
    I can’t hide my wince, and she gives me an evil grin. “I see the daughter’s not quite as cool as the mother.”
    “Definitely not,” I mutter into my wine. Thinking about my mother and free love, or whatever. Eek.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll spare you my glory days at Berkeley,” she says. “But I can tell you this, based on my experience…your heart doesn’t need to be engaged to have, um, well, fun. But you’ll enjoy it much more if you at least like the person.”
    “See, that’s the thing,” I say, scooting toward the edge of the chair. “I’ve been going around to bars with friends for a week now. Not looking for a random hookup, so much as seeing what’s out there. And…
blech.
I see a good-looking guy, but two minutes into a conversation I want out.”
    She nods. “Chemistry is like anything in life. The more you look for it, the harder it is to find.”
    I slump back. “That’s your advice? That it’s going to be hard?”
    “Nooo,”
she says slowly. “I’m just saying that maybe you’re looking for the wrong thing. You’re trying too hard to find raw animal magnetism when what you really need to be looking for is connection.”
    “Raw animal magnetism, Mom? Really?”
    “You know what I mean.” She waves her glass. “What I’m trying to say is…go to the bars, be twenty-four, have fun. But you’re a smart girl with a good head on your shoulders, which means a great body and a nice face is perhaps never going to be enough for you.”
    “Great,” I mutter. “So I don’t get good sex until I meet my soulmate?”
    She smiles. “No, I’m saying find someone who you can
talk
to. Someone who makes you laugh. I think you’ll realize that that’s what you find attractive.”
    I sigh. “So you’re saying I can’t just bone an empty shell of a man?”
    Mom smiles. “It’s never that simple. But if you ever find one particularly well-endowed—”
    “My ears! My ears are burning!”
    We glance toward the doorway to see an appalled-looking Ben with his hands over his ears.
    He shakes his head. “Since I can never unhear that, there’s only one thing to be done.”
    Somberly, he makes a pistol shape with his right hand and holds it to his temple before glancing at