12
PIPPA
“Pippa, darling, who are you getting freaky with lately?”
I’d respond to the sweet old lady sitting in the salon chair next to me, but I’m too busy choking on the latte I’d been sucking down. I sputter, trying to swallow the iced coffee that’d gone down the wrong pipe.
“Stop wiggling,” Rhonda chides, holding on tight to a chunk of my hair as I try not to die at the words from a lady who hosts her bible studies at Wake and Bake some mornings.
“What?” Rosemary asks innocently, like the question she asked me was completely normal conversation for a Saturday afternoon at the hair salon.
“You can’t just go asking young ladies who they’re boinking, Rosemary,” Lenora chides from next to her friend. They’re both old enough to be my grandmother. In fact, they both were very close with my Grandma Pat before she passed.
“Who uses the word boinking?” Rosemary fires back, her focus on the gossip magazine in front of her. I wish I was underneath one of the hair dryers so I could pretend this conversation wasn’t happening. That might not even work, considering the both of them seem to be hearing things just fine, despite being under the hair dryers themselves. “The kids these days are using the term getting freaky with it.”
If I wasn’t attempting to melt into a puddle of embarrassment because two sweet old ladies are arguing over which terminology to use while discussing my sex life, I’d correct them that neither are relevant terms.
“Leave the girl alone,” Rhonda demands, painting hair dye onto strands of my hair. It’d gotten a shade lighter than I prefer over the summer, so I’ve decided to spend my Saturday getting it touched up. Maybe I should’ve forgone the haircut and color. At least then I wouldn’t have to talk about my nonexistent sex life with half the women of Sutten. But Camden had dropped off a large check for me and everyone who helped with his opening, and I wanted to treat myself after dealing with the people he’d invited. At first, I wanted to tell him not to bother. But it took a lot of ingredients and overtime from my staff. His payment was the right thing to do. I deserved to pamper myself. I just thought it’d be relaxing and I wouldn’t be discussing my sex life with Rhonda and Rosemary on a Saturday afternoon. “Maybe Pippa isn’t sleeping with anyone,” Rhonda continues. “There’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right person.”
I groan, trying to slide down in the salon chair. Rhonda keeps a hold of my hair, pulling on it slightly, which I’m sure shouldn’t be good practice for hairstylists. Isn’t she supposed to be gentle with me?
“Can we have a new subject, please?” I beg.
Rosemary snickers. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I’m never serving her again. “No, dear. You aren’t getting any younger. Soon, someone will have to plant their seed in you.”
Oh my god. It keeps getting worse. My cheeks heat. I’m sure my entire body is red with embarrassment. I want to disappear. Move away from this town forever so I never have to look at Rosemary again and remember her telling me that someone needs to plant their freaking seed in me.
“I didn’t have my first baby until I was twenty-nine,” Rhonda says from behind me, finally being somewhat gentle with me again. “Pippa has time.”
“I had three kids by Pippa’s age,” Lenora adds.
That’s great, Lenora. I’ve started a successful business and have dealt with the loss of my mother on top of helping to keep my family’s ranch afloat in my twenty-three years of living. Just because I haven’t had children yet doesn’t mean I haven’t done anything with my life.
“I have Kitty,” I argue. “She’s high-maintenance enough that she counts as a child.” She was an impulse decision one weekend after my mom passed. I needed something to focus on besides work, something that made me want to come home. So I got Kitty. My next-door neighbor even helps take care of Kitty on long workdays. She lives the best life for a dog rescued from the streets, but it doesn’t make her any less high-maintenance.
Lenora and Rosemary both give me a disappointed look. Damn. They’re awfully judgy, considering they’re the ones prying into my sex life. “A dog named Kitty doesn’t count as a child.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me I shouldn’t have sex before marriage?” I blurt out. I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. I didn’t mean to bring attention back to the fact that I haven’t been properly fucked in a while. The words spilled from my mouth before I could do anything about it.