Page 53 of Dirty Diana
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“I took it all off and I’msoglad I did.”
At the baggage claim, I eavesdrop on two conversations at once: a couple fighting over spilled lemonade in a carry-on; and two young women discussing bikini wax options. The full monty seemed to win in their opinions. “It hurts a little. Butsoworth it.”
Before the cabdriver turns into my neighborhood, I have him drop me at the Wax Pot. I don’t give myself time to second-guess. Instead I imagine Oliver’s face, so surprised and delighted by the effort that I’ve put in that he’ll agree that what we need is a reset. We can fix things.
“Just the sides?” the waxer asks as I lie flat on her table.
“No.” The exam paper crinkles and shifts beneath me. “The whole thing.”
She frowns and pulls on her reading glasses. “I hope you’re not in a rush.”
—
Emmy greets me with a huge smile when I get home. I’m lighter and stickier, but the women at baggage claim would be proud. After I put Emmy to bed and my bag is unpacked, I pour a glass of wine for me and Oliver and find him on the couch.
“Trip okay? How was the service?”
I tell him how well attended it was and how Barry would have been happy that everyone ate the food. I hesitate and then add, “You know when you go home or to a place that feels like home and you remember things about yourself that you actually liked? That were fun?” I keep my voice light and sunny.
“Like sports you used to play?”
“No. Not really. More like how I lived. I was so curious. And sensual. And I felt really young.”
“You were so young when you lived there.”
Why does this conversation feel combative? I expect my wine to be sour on the next sip. “I was just reminded that there are things I miss about myself. And I want to share them with you. I want to include you in them.”
“Like what?
This is the moment. I stand in front of him and unzip my skirt. I let it fall to my ankles and slowly strip off my underwear. I freeze when I see Oliver’s face contort in an odd way.
“Oh shit. What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do…what’s wrong with your vagina?” he whispers.
“I waxed it. I thought it might be fun. Something different for us.”
Oliver leans closer to get a better look but not in a good way. “Is it supposed to be so red?”
“Well. I just had it done.”
“I’ll get you some ice. It looks…kind of angry.”
Oliver hurries to the fridge and I want to sink into the couch and pull up my underwear forever.
“Try this.” He hands me a Ziploc bag of ice cubes, scooping up his car keys with his free hand.
“Where are you going?”
“Poker. I texted you in Santa Fe.”
“Oh, right.” I don’t think he did, but I don’t want to argue.
“Maybe we can come back to it later?” he offers.
