Renee Williams Writes

I like interracial romance, reading and writing. This is the first short story I wrote. It’s available now from New Concepts publishing. Take a look!

Chapter 1

In situations such as these, Laura’s second thought is always Oh, God, I hope my mother doesn’t hear about this! This is always the second thought but it follows so closely on the heels of the first as to be nearly indistinguishable. First comes Not again! This can’t be happening to me again!

This episode was a little different than the other “oh no” moments that made up her story, which included but were not limited to ripping her costume in her first and last dance recital, exposing her unmentionables to an audience filled with amused spectators and her mother; launching herself completely over her horse at her first and last riding lesson, landing in an undignified heap so as to break her arm in front of a concerned riding coach and her mother; smashing the glass of the observation deck at the tennis club, earning angry glares from both the tennis pro and her mother; and most recently, being divorced by her husband less than one year after one of the biggest society weddings seen in the small southern town in years, earning her the unpitying scrutiny of said society and her mother. After all, what sort of woman ends up married to a gay man? Never mind that her mother engineered the wedding into one of the wealthiest families around with the precision of a master puppeteer.

This time, Laura had no one to blame but herself. Her own haste had caused this dilemma. And this time, Laura had a sufficient amount of time to really dissect all the whys and wherefores that got her here and to ponder possible escapes. But in one way, this time was just like every other mishap, mistake, and misfortune that seemed to follow Laura. Just like all the others, when her mother found out about this one, she was going to be so disappointed.

Laura was stuck. Lonely boredom, hot summer sun, and an empty freezer equaled the perfect storm of ice cream desire. After a fruitless search through the studio apartment’s tiny kitchen, Laura had determined that a trip to the shop around the corner would be the only solution to the craving following her these days. Laura walked there so regularly that the teen Goth-wannabe running the place knew what to serve if she asked for “the usual”. She never did, but she had the feeling that he would remember anyway. Ever mindful of her mother’s warnings, Laura had contemplated changing into more “presentable” attire, but the merciless ticking of the clock towards closing time had her turning from the mirror after a lick and a promise. With her mind already focused on how many scoops it would take to make it back to opening time, Laura rushed through the small apartment, opened the door, turned the lock, stepped through and slammed it behind her. Without her keys.

But that wasn’t what precipitated thoughts one and two. No, what led to this particular “oh no” moment was the realization that her skirt and shirt, gauzy and loose in deference to the aforementioned hot summer sun, were caught in the door. She was caught in the locked door. She was caught on one side of the locked door and her keys were safe and sound on the other side. It’s funny unless it happens to you.