After a moment’s silence, Terra goes first. “Uh-uh. I’m so freaking glad smart phones weren’t around when I was a kid.”
Kristen’s gone redder than me. “Um… Sounds like something I might have done.”
“Might have? Or did?” Terra questions her.
The tone of her face goes darker, giving me the answer without words.
“Were there any repercussions?” I ask, wanting to be reassured.
“Not in my case, but seeing the dangers of sexting nowadays, I got lucky. It was only the once, and I trusted him when he said he deleted it.”
Terra pats my hand reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. Owen’s just a kid—”
“He’s twenty-one.” My brow creases. “That four-year age difference is immense when you’re talking about a high school girl.”
Again Kristen refuses to meet my eyes. Thinking she might have some tips on how to handle a teenager who thinks she’s older than she is, I ask her directly, “How did you get on with your mom?”
“Honestly? My mom didn’t care what I did. I made a few mistakes, learned from them the way you do.”
I’m not sure what she’s saying. I tilt my head. “So, are you suggesting I back off and let Alicia find her own way?” I’m not sure I could even do that. Isn’t it a mom’s job to guide their children right?
“Hell, no.” Kristen looks aghast. “I said I made mistakes, and I don’t want to go into them. Learning from them was hard. It would have saved me a whole lot of heartache if I’d not gone down the road that I had. I’m lucky that I pulled myself out. I wouldn’t wish what I’d gone through on any kid.”
Kristen has, as she puts it, turned out fine. In fact, if we hadn’t had this conversation, I’d never have thought she’d had anything but a perfect past. Quickly, I think back over my interactions with her when she started at the firm a year or so back, and then remember there were times when a bleak look would come over her face, and she seemed closed off. That appears less often now, so rarely that I hadn’t thought about it in ages.
“Maybe you should get Kristen and Alicia together.” Terra looks shrewdly at the younger woman. “Get her to explain some of the seedier sides of life to Alicia.”
It’s an idea, but… “I don’t think Alicia’s in a space right now where she’d listen to anyone.”
“No one could have told me,” Kristen puts in. “I’d have known better, I always did. I was cleverer and knew more than anyone. In fact, I lost my best friend as I wouldn’t listen to her warnings. But getting back to Alicia, you said you caught her sending a picture. Did she actually send it, or did you stop her in time?”
On that occasion I had. I’d walked into her bedroom to drop off some clothes that I’d just taken out of the dryer and folded, and got the shock of my life when I found her half naked in front of the mirror. “I think so,” I say, biting my lip. “But I couldn’t take the phone off her, she needs to be able to contact me. I read her the riot act, told her how stupid she was being literally exposing herself, then grounded her for the weekend when she refused to listen. Owen is apparently the love of her life.”
“Has he sent her a dick pic?”
My eyes go theatrically wide. “God, I hope not.”
What is it with teenagers nowadays? Even now I wouldn’t think very highly of being a recipient of a picture of a man’s cock. In my experience, it’s nothing unless it’s connected to a man who knows what to do with it.
“Mary, you got that disposition done?” a male voice interrupts.
A bit guiltily, I stand, clasping the file to me. “Here’s the hard copy, Art. I’ve already filed it by email.”
“I knew I could depend on you.” As he speaks, I notice Art looks tired and relieved as I’ve confirmed I’ve completed my work. “Need to speak to you on Monday, we’ve got a new client who I want to discuss.”
“Sure.”
Once I’ve offered my agreement, Art waves his hand. “Have a good weekend, ladies. And,” he pauses and winks, “don’t get too drunk tonight.”
Terra snorts. “You’re invited too.”
As a boss, I probably couldn’t do better. Art respects people who work hard, and you know where you are with him. Do your best and he’ll have your back, slack off, and he’ll come down hard. Sometimes he joins us for after-work drinks, and isn’t shy on opening his wallet, but most times he doesn’t.
“Not tonight. It’s my wife’s birthday tomorrow, and she’s got something planned. But you lot have fun.”
The clock’s ticked around to clocking-off time, so I take my leave of my friends, wishing I was going out for a drink with them, or having a celebration to look forward to like Art. Instead, I’m going home for a weekend of babysitting my seventeen-year-old daughter who’s behaving more like a petulant child.
A drive through rush hour traffic is never my idea of a good time. Stuck in an unmoving traffic jam, I notice a line of motorcycles lane splitting, quite legally, between the cars. As they pass, I notice their cuts bear the same insignia as the biker who I’d met all those weeks back. Idly, I wonder whether he’s one of them. If so, right now, I envy the way their journey, at least, is unimpeded. I hadn’t recognised his distinctive bike, though I had looked out for it.
When I at last get home, I’m weary. All I want to do is collapse on the sofa having poured a welcome glass of wine.
“You’re late,” a disembodied voice calls out. “What’s for dinner? I’m starved.”
At least she’s home, I tell myself, having half feared to return
