Page 8 of Afternoon Delight

Meg

“You need to wash the window,” were the first words out of Mom’s mouth.

I would have been more annoyed if she’d been wrong.

“I was waiting for it to warm up outside.”

“So... June?”

I fetched the spray and a paper towel since I had meant to do the inside of the glass while I was dusting.

I gingerly stepped into the window display.

Up close, the winter grit on the outside of the glass was even worse than I’d realized.

I’d also need a step stool to reach the top of the window from the sidewalk.

“What on earth made Georgia want to open a store like this?” Mom asked with a note of disdain as she wandered, purse hugged tightly under her arm.

“I think she wanted to provide a place where people don’t feel judged.” I looked over my shoulder.

Mom held my stare. The silence thickened before she returned to browsing.

“What are rabbits and cages?” She turned the small tented sign on the table I had just uncovered.

“The cages are male chastity devices. The rabbits are those vibrators with the two prongs like ears. They stimulate the G-spot and the clitoris at the same time.”

“Do they work?”

I froze with a spritz running down the glass, bunched paper towel poised. “I don’t know, Mom. Do you want to try one and report back?”

“That sounds as though you’re judging whether I should or would,” she pointed out.

Ugh. I scrubbed the glass, polishing out the final streaks before stepping down to the floor.

“Let’s call a truce. We both want this to work for Georgia, right? If you want to help, then I have something I know you’d be good at.”

Her spine stiffened.

“I’m not being facetious. Come here and tell me what you think would help this window display. I realize it should be Valentine’s Day, but what’s your first thought?”

Her mouth pursed as she came over to inspect it. “It needs more color and texture—something inviting and playful. This isn’t a hospital.”

I always, always took remarks like that as criticism against myself, but she was on the right track, and I suddenly saw an opportunity.

“I don’t want to spend a bunch of Georgia’s money. Do you have anything in your craft supplies that you could loan her?” Maybe forever?

She tapped her chin. “I have a table runner with red roses and a white fringe that I made when I was trying to get back into quilting. It doesn’t bear up under close inspection, but it would work here.

Let me see what else I can find.” She took a step toward the door, paused, and reached into her purse, withdrawing a paper bag.

“I brought you a sandwich and a banana.”

“No juice box?”

“We don’t have any. I’ll pick some up when I get the rotisserie chicken for dinner.”

I opened my mouth to say I could roast one myself, but instead said, “I’ll pick one up on my way home, so it’ll still be warm. Do you want potato salad or coleslaw?”

“You decide,” she said absently, still studying the window display. “Once things are spruced up, you should host a Grand Re-opening to let customers know you’re here.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

Georgia was right. This apple had fallen directly under the tree.