▪️Tuesday, December 15th, 2017▪️

▪️Chicago, IL▪️

"You're doing what?" Mom picks up the remote and pauses the 'RuPaul's Drag Race' rerun.

"I'm buying Mr. Chang's dojang. With Ben."

She gets up and walks over to where I sit. I close the lid of the laptop I've been staring at all evening, trying to figure out how the scheduling feature of the new software I bought for the Academy works.

"I heard you the first time. Why on earth would you do such a thing? Did Ben ask you?" She stands in front of me in a superman pose, fists on hips. Hard to be defensive when I'm sprawled on the recliner. I do my best and cross my arms.

"I asked him. And why not? It's a business opportunity." Man, I sound pathetic. I uncross my arms and move the recliner into its upright position. Mom takes the proverbial baton from me and crosses her arms on her chest instead. I stare at them and not her face. "I have savings, and after we renovate the space, it'll be just as nice as the fancy MMA studio that charges twice what Mr. Chang did. If we raise the prices by ten percent and get new clients, we'll pay off the renovation loan in four months."

"That sounds like something Ben would say."

"He's done the math. And is an investor. I'll put in what I have, but without his money or his business plan, we couldn't have done this. Once the renovation loan is paid off, I can start drawing a salary."

"You're spending your own money and you are not getting paid? It feels like a scheme. You'll lose everything you've worked for. This is not the future I've envisioned for you. And when will you find the time?"

"I'm going to be fine." My stomach sinks with the weight of her disappointment. I knew she'd be worried, but I hoped she'd also be happy. "Once I enter all the files into the new CRM software, it'll be easy to manage the schedule. I'll hire a high school student to help me with admin tasks. It'll run itself."

"I don't like this one bit. Mark my words. This is going to make your life miserable."

"Mom." She worries too much, but she'll come around. I've done way worse things, and she's been there for me through them all. This is just her wanting-my-life-to-be-perfect talking. I've tried to be perfect. It's not the same as happy. The dojang feels like the right thing for the first time in a long time, no matter how scary.

"Don't 'Mom' me. You should study for your next engineering exam, not buy a dojo."

"Dojang." I've been doing Taekwondo for almost twenty years. She can't not know that dojo is for Karate. Dojang for Taekwondo

"You know what I mean."

"Mom." Her being upset is the last thing I wanted, but I can't not follow through now. As long as we get the loan, buying Master Chang's Academy is a done deal. "I'll take care of this. It's not going to affect you. You won't see a difference."

"Not going to affect me? You're my son. Everything you do affects me."

She's twisting my words. "Mom."

"I'm done here." Mom rubs her temples and shakes her head as if I'm a child, not a grown man. "Louka's moving to LA. You are so grown up, you're not even asking me before making major decisions in your life. Neither of you needs me anymore. I'm just an old, tired roommate who you occasionally remember to talk to."

"Mom."

She turns away, mumbling a string of words I don't think I want to hear, and leaves me alone with RuPaul's half-open mouth frozen on the screen. My phone buzzes. I can't take another instructor canceling on me right now.

Angie: I'm in my hotel room. Alone. And I have a present for you.

Alone time with Angie. Since the situation in the elevator this afternoon, I should get hot and bothered immediately but don't. I've delayed video sex for as long as I could, but Angie keeps insisting on 'seeing' me. I won't admit to her the only sex I've ever had was in person. There never was a need for anything else. I have a reputation to uphold.

It's like when I lied to Nadine, my first girlfriend, about not being a virgin. That was definitely not something I was going to admit to. Couple of months into my first semester in college Nadine expected me to know what I was doing. To walk the walk I'd been showing off at the frat parties. None of them knew the high school late bloomer pimply Mike, with braces and a foot shorter than the six two I'd got to by my first year at Northwester, I didn't want to ruin the reputation I was so painstakingly creating.

I sprint up the stairs, lock the door to my bedroom, take my jeans off, lie down, pull the blanket over, and look at Bruce. He's witnessed a lot of my solo stuff in this bed, but I've never brought a girl over to the house. Why does it feel like having phone sex with Angie in my twin bed violates some invisible border I've set up around women?

Angie's name appears on my screen, and I swipe to answer. I force the thoughts of my fight with Mom away. Angie's lying on her stomach, her face close to the screen, her shoulders naked but for two bra straps. This looks promising. She's like a marble statue on the screen, if they wore bras. Not sure I've seen her wear a bra before.

The anticipation akin to waking up on Christmas morning as a child rises in my stomach. The constant want has been new and uncomfortable, but I feel closer to the image of her on the flat screen than any woman I've been with. Video might not have been a terrible idea. I hope she's not underwhelmed. Her bra is way fancier than my plain white T and boxer briefs. Answering her call naked could've back fired, so this seemed like good middle ground

"What are you hiding under that sheet? I'm sure I've seen all of your parts already."

I lower my comforter.

"Maybe remove the T-shirt as well?"

I put the phone down. "No, no, I need to see you take it off."

Right. The visuals. I jump up, grab a book from my desk, put it on the bedside table, and prop the phone on it. I turn sideways, so I can still see her and try to figure out how to stay in the frame and not cut off my head. Although it might be the least important of my body parts for this call. I lift the bottom of the T-shirt and drag it over my head, flexing any muscles I can.

"I miss the warmth of your skin." Her voice is wistful and low. My body heats up as I remove my clothes. Maybe this video sex thing wasn't something to be uncomfortable about. Without the audience I had in the elevator, I'm eager to resurrect the reaction I had. I sit up and move the phone farther away, so she can see as much of 'my skin' as possible.

"Are you going to show me your bra?" I'd much rather she show me what's behind the bra, but my lack of remote-sex experience is putting the brakes on my dirty talk.

"It's my go to seduction move. Removing a bra seems to turn guys on."

I know I'm not the first and probably won't be the last man who she chooses to be her partner, but the idea she's shown that bra to someone else brings up an irrational hate for all her bras. "I'd love to see it gone." It comes out with a growl.

"Didn't know you hated bras as much as I do." She sits up on her knees, unclasps the front and slides it off, letting it fall on the bed beside her. If I thought I had the image of her breasts burned into my brain, I was wrong. The view in front of me might be a poor replica of seeing them in person, but so much better than my mental porn of Angie. I'd love to touch her. Instead, I touch myself.

"You look so much better without it."

"I'll take that under advisement." She runs her hand from her stomach up to her sternum. "Which one do you like more." She runs her finger around her right nipple. "This one?" She moves to the other nipple and circles that one too. "Or this one?"

Fuck. She's good at this. I see no embarrassment or hesitation in her and it's so fucking sexy. "No way I can choose." I've gone without sex for months before and I know how to take care of myself, but the view of Angie's boobs makes me hard so fast I might explode before she gets to removing her panties. She better be removing her panties.

"Good." She brings the other hand up and plays with both nipples, and I hold my breath and my now very hard self, waiting for what's next. "Can you come closer?"

"I sure can." She puts her hands down on the bed, and . . . "Ouch. Damn. Fuck." She cries, and I'm looking at what must be the wood of her bedside table.

"Are you okay?" I move my face closer to the phone screen as if it'll help her.

"No. Wait."

I remove my hand from my boxer-briefs and grab the phone. "Angie. What's going on?"

Her face reappears and the background moves behind her. "I need to get some ice. I put my weight on my injured hand and I think I've made it worse. The cold compress I did in the morning helped. I'm gonna do that again."

"Show me." I've damaged my hands so many times in fights, I know all the tricks in the book about how to help with swollen hands.

"It's nothing. I've dealt with it before."

"Show me. Maybe I can help."

"I know you're magical, but healing my hand telepathically across the phone screen might just be out of your grasp."

"I might just surprise you."

She flips the camera view on her phone and shows me her palm and the fingers that look more like little breakfast sausages than the long fingers I got intimately familiar with. "I take it back. You need to see a doctor. This is bad. You can ice it, but you'd probably need steroids to take this swelling down."

"I've made an appointment on Friday in Los Angeles."

"That's four days from now." I sit at the edge of my bed, wishing more than ever I could be there with her. I'd drag her to an Urgent Care, or an ER, or find a private doctor to come. They must have those in Vegas. "How are you going to manage until then? There's no way you can play with those."

"I have to."

"Angie." I lift the phone, so she can see how serious I am. "You're going to make it worse. You'll have to find a way around this. Can't you skip your Vegas shows?"

"There's no skipping. We have four shows in two days. I need to perform. Finding a person who knows my set to play by tomorrow isn't possible. I'll ice and rest it today, take an extra painkiller tomorrow."

"Painkiller?" The heat gone, goosebump chill my skin. "What are you taking?" My first semester at Northwestern taught me that scoring someone's prescription opiates was easier than buying alcohol.

"It's the usual stuff." She's more aloof than I've ever heard her before. But maybe it's her pain talking. "I have it under control."

"You wanna chat about it?" I don't know how I can convey my fear of drugs to her without telling her something I'm most definitely not ready to disclose, but the offer is already out there. If she takes it, I'll do my best.

"Maybe we leave it for when I see you in LA? I'll show you my drug stash."

"Drug stash?" Memories cover my forehead in cold sweat.

"Kidding." Her laugh sounds artificial. It stirs memories from my past. But she's not me. "Turn of phrase." Yet I'm not sure I believe her. She flips the phone back over to her face. "I need to get dressed go to the ice machine. Rain check?"

"Yeah, but call me if you need to talk. We can just talk, you know. No sex required."

"Maybe." She doesn't stare into the camera like she normally does. Her face is too pale, and for the millionth's time I wish I would be there wrapping her in my arms, showing her she can be herself around me. She can tell me anything.

I put my phone on the charger and lie back down. Bruce's face looks angry. I should have pushed and made her tell me what she's taking. But she's a grown-up too. And seems like she's been living with this for a while. Who am I to tell her what to do with her body? Worry churns in my gut and I consider the time. I can cram an hour or two of studying for the exam before I fall asleep. I roll out of bed and turn on the desk light.