I nodded, confirming her taste buds and as she replaced the lid, watched her head back to the plastic bag on the table.
“Might need to open a bottle of red as well to go with it,” she laughed. “Oh God, don’t let me out on the town, I’d be anybody’s!” She joked.
I tasted the sauce myself. The finger that had seconds before been in my mother‘s mouth, pressed to my own lips. Upon my own tongue. One degree of separation between our mouths. Almost kissing.
I heard the rustle of the bag and after turning the heat on the water for the pasta focussed again on Mom.
“So the good news is I’m not being laid off,” she stated and I headed across to the table opposite her. “But they ARE cutting hours.”
“Well that sucks,” I empathised, pulling out a chair and sitting, hiding my groin in case anything else untoward happened. Why would it? I asked myself. If I hadn’t seen that movie would any of these thoughts be running through my head? Would I have been so worked up by what was probably an innocent taste of food from my finger?
“Totally,” she agreed. “And I noticed it’s only mine and Monica’s.”
My mother’s friend Monica had been at the salon probably as long as Mom. Of similar age, if not older, I immediately saw a pattern.
“They want the younger staff!” I deduced and Mom nodded agreement.
“They didn’t come out and say it of course but we could tell by their spiel it’s the direction they’re headed,” Mom explained. “Younger staff, younger clientele, they’re changing the entire operation.”
“That’s bullshit,” I defended. “You and Mon have all the experience.”
“Which is why they’re not getting rid of us totally, I assume,” Mom reasoned. “They’ve changed the name, started playing loud music and this…” Mom placed her hands in the bag and began to draw out its contents. “New uniforms!” She stated.
What she pulled out was starkly white and I could see the nature of the clothing. In direct contrast to the current uniform my mother wore to work, baggy white, sometimes pink nurses scrubs-like outfits, what she held up looked like leggings and tank tops.
“Oh God look at these,” Mom presented the leggings. “I’ll barely even fit in them,” she added.
I held off saying anything as I imagined her wearing the clothing, thankful I was indeed hidden by the table. “I feel for Monica,” Mom continued.
Not having seen Mom’s colleague for some time, her words however assured me she hadn’t lost any weight, always being large around the breasts and rear.
She emptied the bag of most of its contents and spread the four pairs of leggings and similar number of tops upon its surface before looking up at me. “I’ll try them on after dinner. You’ll let me know if I look stupid won’t you?” She made a grimaced expression before looking back at the bag. “They want us to wear these!” She withdrew two pairs of high heels from the bag and placed them down on the plastic. “Imagine. Working in them all day! I should be thanking them for reducing my hours.”
The water had come to a boil and I left her to put on the pasta before letting my eyes drift back. One foot in a heel, she already looked alluring, what would I see post dinner? It couldn’t come soon enough.
wpDiscuz