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THANK GOODNESS FOR SEX WEDGES

T he Past

Mother: When you grow up, you will be an actress or a dancer.

And you will marry a plastic surgeon who is very wealthy,

and he will give me facelifts and other cosmetic procedures for free.

Kids at school: You’re such a snob. Richie Rich girl growing up.

The Present

When I get back to my apartment, I check my mail and pick up a couple of packages.

As a hobby, I do some micro-influencing, which means I don’t have a ton of followers, but companies will send me their products and then I provide an honest review on my social media.

And, thankfully, one of the items they offered was a triangular pillow, otherwise known as a sex wedge. It made me giggle when I saw it, but the legitimate advertising around it is that it’s good for posture, and you can almost use it as a desk, or to elevate your feet. I figured that, without any furniture to start with, it might come in useful, and that’s what I picked for the month and had it delivered here, to my new apartment.

So I use that as a pillow, and I line up a small selection of my most sentimental stuffed toys—a whale, an octopus, Oscar the Grouch, and Sabre’s banana bed, and they become my bed for the evening. It’s not comfortable, but it’ll do the trick. I didn’t want to tell Timmy that this was going to be my bed, because I know he’d have invited me to stay over, and I’m not ready for that. We literally just met, and I want to spend my first night here by myself.

Truth be told, I’m also a little bit embarrassed about where I’m staying. It’s far fancier than I imagined it would be, with a really bougie lobby that looks like something off the front page of an interior design magazine, with a 24/7 concierge.

I’ve always railed against money, and I’ve had a money block for as long as I can remember, believing it was evil. I know that about myself.

My mother was just always so… obsessed with it. It was a huge source of conflict with my dad. It was her sole focus. Money makes her world go around. That and aesthetic appearance and keeping up with the Joneses.

And if there’s something I don’t want to be, it’s my mother. I want so badly not to be her that I’ve become hyper-independent. I find it hard to receive money from any man. ‘Fuck off, I can do it myself,’ is my automatic response. During my six-year relationship, I chilled on that for a while. I made more money than him, but he was generous and always paid his way and more. It was… nice! Even if it took a little bit of getting used to .

So I don’t want to make myself seem flashy or ostentatious, to Timmy or anybody else.

I really expected this place to be a little more low-key. Sure, it has nice amenities, but this screams extravagant luxury and it’s a little intimidating, a little cringe.

Before I go to sleep, I sit for a while, just looking out the window at the gorgeous city lights.

I don’t know how I got this lucky.

I wake up to my phone dinging.

Timmy:

Hey! Get up!

I’m coming to pick you up!

Me:

You are?

Timmy:

Yep! I’ve got a full day planned. We’re getting your apartment set up.

Me:

We are?

Timmy:

Yep! I’ll be there in 20.

Me:

Give me 30.

Timmy:

Fine! See you soon. Miss you! Xo

He pulls up and I hop into his truck, which I recognize from the photos he’s sent me. I’m still feeling a bit tired after the flight, and of course, my makeshift bed wasn’t the most comfortable.

“Hey! You look beautiful today,” Timmy says as I lean in for a kiss. I feel another spark as our lips make contact. There’s definitely chemistry between us.

“Thank you! You look nice, too.” I smile at him. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and board shorts with a cap.

“Thank you,” he grins. “I know I do.”

“Haha, okay,” I say, shaking my head and laughing at his confidence.

“How was your first night in the new apartment?”

“Good!” I say brightly.

“Good? Did you have anyone over?” He quirks a brow, a little seriousness in his tone.

I quirk my brow back. “No. Who would I have had over? You’re the only person I know here! You’re silly!”

He nods, seeming pleased. “Good, just making sure. How did you sleep?”

“Well, I made do with what I had. I figured I’d get a mattress today.”

“You slept on the floor? Oh my goodness. I had no idea.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you and have you think I was inviting myself to your place or anything.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. But…” he pauses, “we just got done with a condo at work and I got two brand new mattresses. They’ve never even been slept on. I put them underneath my main big mattress and you’re welcome to borrow them. Together they make like a queen size or whatever.”

“Oh, thank you,” I say, with hesitation. It’s a very generous offer, but it seems a little forward. “I’d be happy to buy one today. I don’t expect you to give me your furniture.”

“Look, you just got here. You want to make sure you pick out the right one. I’m not giving you the mattress. I’m just loaning it to you. But you need to be comfortable. And plus, when I come to stay, I’m going to need a comfortable mattress.”

I laugh. “ If you come to stay.”

He looks over and winks at me. “Okay, so I’m going to take you over to my place so we can grab the mattresses and a few other things. And then we’ll go shopping for more stuff.”

I’m thrilled. He feels comfortable taking me to his house, and it’s going to be a huge help to borrow his mattress.

We arrive at his place, and I have no idea what to expect.

It’s in an area of town that I’ve heard isn’t great, but I don’t really know much about it. And I’ve lived in up-and-coming areas in cities before.

It’s a multifamily property. He leads me up some external stairs to a door at the end, and the smoke alarm is screeching inside. He unlocks the door to reveal smoke is pouring out of the oven in a small corner kitchen, with no cook to be seen.

“Oh, Matty,” he says, rolling his eyes and laughing. “He always does this.”

“Matty!” he calls out in the direction of a very short hallway with a door at the end. “If you’re in there taking a shit, your pizza is about to be on fire! Don’t you hear that?”

A brown-haired guy of medium height stumbles out of the bathroom, his hair all messed up and his eyes groggy from sleep.

“Oh, hi,” he says, waving at me awkwardly while they both take care of the smoke alarm and a charred pizza.

“This is Matty!” Timmy says with excitement. “Matty, this is Margaux! She’s from New Zealand. She just got here yesterday!”

“Oh yeah. You mentioned,” he says, his voice monotone. Matty goes over to the couch, and flicks through some TV channels before landing on an action movie.

His behavior seems a little off, like he’s being friendly but also entrapped in his own little world. Like he doesn’t know how to make basic small talk. But that’s okay. I feel awkward being here, too.

Timmy gives me a grand tour of the apartment, which doesn’t take long, because it’s a tiny one-bedroom unit. There’s the main living room we entered into, with a small kitchen in the corner. Then there’s a bathroom. And one bedroom .

The first thing I notice about the bedroom is the two beds.

There’s a proper bed with a frame and everything on one side, presumably Matty’s. And then a pile of mattresses on the floor.

Side by side.

In the same room.

It seems weird, but I don’t want to be judgmental, so I stay quiet. Even though it looks like a setup right out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory .

But what do I know? It’s my nature to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this is totally normal here. The cost of living in this part of the city is super high, so maybe this is a common practice and everyone else lives like this, too.