She walked up to the table, hair still wet, sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Slept well?” I asked innocently.
She stared at me like she was seeing me for the first time. She snorted, and shook her head. “Had the weirdest of dreams,” she said.
I smiled. “Do tell!”
She straightened her back. “It’s just nonsense,” she replied.
“C’mon! I always tell you of mine!”
She looked at me, the cups held in both hands in front of her mouth, and again she shook her head.
“It was strange,” she said. “Weird, really.”
“Dreams usually are.”
She smiled. “Yes. I had pink hair.”
“Really?”
She smirked. “Yes. Pale pink hair, long vulgar nails. I used a lot of make up.”
“You dreamed of going to a salon?”
But I was having a hard time sitting still. This felt like the first place I had visited, the universe in which both me and my mother (and Juliet, too) were oversexed sluts.
I lit up. The place where I had learned to smoke. The place I’d just die to visit again. My mother gave me a hard stare. “You know I’d rather you didn’t.”
I ignored it. The fact that she had been there simply made me detest her even more. Why she and not me again?
“Go on, what were you doing in your pink hair and long nails?”
She stared in the distance, longingly. I smiled. “It was a very different place,” she said. “The place where I was, I mean. In my dream.”
“Was I there too?”
She blushed. “Yes.”
“And? Did I have pink hair too?”
“No, yours were black, curly. Your fingernails were black, too.”
I ran a hand through my hair short brown hair. “I wonder what I would look like…”
“Oh, you were very…”
She blushed again.
“Very?”
She placed her hands in front of her chest. “Big.”
“What?” I hefted up my modest chest.
“You had implants.”
I pretended shock. “You had a dream about me with fake boobs? Mom!”
She chocked on her coffee and stared at me. “Well, I was responsible for them, if you must know.”
“For my big fake boobs?”
“I gave you implants as a gift for your eighteenth birthday.”
I laughed. “This is kinky.”
“I guess I wanted you to look like me,” she said, feigning indifference.
I did an exaggerated double take. “Mom? Pink hair and big fake tits?”
This time she grinned. “Yes!”
“What were you up to, mom?”
She shrugged, still grinning. “You know, the usual.”
I came closer, blowing smoke in her direction. “Did you have a wet dream?” I asked her in a low voice.
I saw her blush to the root of her wet hair, and I leant back, laughing out loud. “What a slut!”
“It’s a natural thing, you know,” she said defensively.
“Oh, I know. I know perfectly well.”
“I mean in dreams, you silly girl!” she blurted. “And you were a slut in my dream, too!”
“Like mother…”
We laughed together.
“So what happened in your dream,” I pressed her on. “Apart from us both being sluts…”
“Nothing much,” she said, and shrugged again. “I spent time with you and Juliet.”
“Was Juliet in it too?”
My mother’s eyelids were half-closed. “Oh, yeah.”
“And? What was she like?”
A strange smile curled her lips. “Hmmm, she was all right.”
“Mom! Juliet too? You are shameless!”
We laughed again. I crushed my spent cigarette in my plate and checked the packet by my elbow. I shook it and took a filter between my lips.
My mother was staring at me.
I lit up slowly, my eyes in hers, and I took a deep hit.
I could see she was breathing in deeply herself. Did she remember the taste, did she long to feel it again?
I took the cigarette between first and second finger and offered it to her.
“Wanna try?”
She hesitated just a few seconds too many. Then she snorted, stood and started collecting the plates.
“Don’t be silly!” she said.
I shrugged, and put the cigarette back between my lips.
“I was just thinking…”
“What?”
“A way to thank you for my eighteenth birthday’s fake tits,” I grinned.
She sat down facing me. Her hand reached for my pack. She pulled out a cigarette, held it between first and second finger, and placed the filter between her lips. “OK,” she said, squinting at me. “Let’s try.”
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