I stare at that Good Vibrations selfie for a long time, at the way her hair tumbles around her shoulders and her mouth opens playfully. And then my chest squeezes hard and my mind floods with uncertainties and doubts, and I jam my phone back into my pocket.
I wish Tanner hadn’t asked me all those questions, even as I also realize that they’re necessary. I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, trying to put Devi in a mental box as I filmed my usual scenes, as I leaned down to whisper all my dirty, intense thoughts in the ears of other women, as I came on them and inside them, as I wrote monologues inspired by them.
But it was messier than that. The boxes I’d put Devi and Star-Crossed in were porous, and they seeped into everything else, creating these confusing scenarios where I fantasized about Devi as I fucked other women but I was still turned on and completely engaged by the other women. Is that a thing? Being able to want one person so utterly and consumingly, but also being able to throw myself into sex with other people without missing a beat? If porn wasn’t my job, I have no doubt I’d be monogamous. But porn is my job, so where does that leave me?
I stand up, suddenly determined not to think about this anymore. I don’t even really know that Devi has capital F Feelings for me; I don’t know that she’ll want me after Star-Crossed is over. Right now, the only thing that we’ve established for certain is how much we want to fool around with each other and that we maybe like each other in a more-than-friends way. Hardly the time to start thinking about the future.
Even if it’s all I want to think about.
God, she’d look good in my house. Sleeping in my bed, swimming in my pool. Sharing my life…
But no. I’m not going to think about this anymore. For all I know, I’m just setting myself up for heartbreak when I discover she doesn’t feel the same way.
My phone rings, and I fish it back out of my pocket, hoping against hope that it’s Devi and then letting out a world-class sigh when I see that it’s my mom.
Dutifully, I answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. Am I interrupting...anything?”
I can’t help but smile. My parents have been mostly supportive of my career choices—not as enthusiastic as Devi’s parents seem to be—but supportive enough. Except that neither of them, Mom especially, like to mention anything about my job by name. The words porn, sex, scene, and even adult as an adjective coupled with anything else, are never words you’ll hear around my family’s dinner table.
“No, Mom. I’m not working right now.”
“Good, because I need to talk to you,” she says briskly. “Dad and I are selling our house.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Dad got a job offer near Portland and he’s decided to take it. We never meant for California to be our forever-home, you know. We thought maybe we’d head back to Boston, but then this Portland offer came in, and we’ve always loved Oregon.”
I’m still frowning. “But…”
“But what, honey?”
“But I kind of like you guys being here and stuff. What about when I want to come visit my old XBox? Or my high school computer?”
She laughs. “Well, of course we will give you a chance to go through all your old stuff. Which reminds me, Phil from down the street said his grandson is about the right age for that old game set you had, the one with the plastic guitar and drums and stuff.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Rock Band, Mom. It’s called Rock Band.”
“Anyway, I gave it all to Phil. It’s got to be almost ten years old now—isn’t that like ten thousand years in technology time?”
“Yes, but still! I don’t like this. The giving stuff away and the moving stuff. What am I supposed to do for Thanksgiving? I can’t make a turkey by myself!”
“You’re supposed to book a plane ticket to Portland, or accept that you are almost thirty and that your dad and I have lives outside of being available for your turkey needs.”
“I guess.”
“Are you really upset about us moving?”
I think for a moment, standing up and drifting over to the huge window that looks out from my living room onto my sparkling blue pool. “No, I’m not. But I’ll miss you guys,” I say honestly.
I know. It’s gross and un-masculine. But I like my parents, and I have dinner with them at least once a month, and I guess I’ve also never really thought about my childhood being so ephemeral—that the biggest fixed geographical point in my life could shift so suddenly.
Plus, this means my mom is really right. I am an adult, and fuck, I hate being reminded of that. It makes me start thinking of questions I can’t really answer, like what am I going to do with the rest of my life? Will I ever really pursue film as a dream? And don’t I someday want to have adult sons of my own whining on the phone about Rock Band?
“We will miss you, too,” Mom assures me. “I’ll call you later next week to set up a time for you to come by and go through your stuff, okay?”
I decide to put my parents moving into a mental box, just like I’ve done with Devi. I’ll figure out how I really feel about it later. “Okay, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, sweetie. Goodbye.”
She hangs up, and as she does, I hear a strange clicking noise, clicking like little dog claws on the hardwood. It’s a sound that used to be as familiar as the washer running or traffic outside. Out of habit, I squat down and pat my leg, not even thinking about what I’m doing until Prior is actually butting up against my hand and giving me tiny, effeminate yaps to let me know how happy he is to see me.