Leon finally left my sister when he found her in bed with yet another landscape technician, something about boys with lawnmowers made her a little crazy. On the way out, he noticed that he’d spent a little longer looking at the Asian landscape artist than he should have and realized he was jealous of both people in his bed. ’That bitch is sleeping with more boys than a priest!” He was sorry he blurted out that stuff about the condoms next to her bed at the party, he didn’t know what was happening to him half the time anymore. Life seemed to come at him in waves of overwhelm.
A few months after the lawn boy incident, he was living with his corporate compliance officer, Jorge. They’d both been married to women and both were trying something new. Real new. Running was Jorge’s passion, following Athena around was Leon’s. When he wasn’t driving around town looking for her car he was stalking her on Facebook or through her bedroom window. He was headed to her house now when he thought a coffee sounded like a good idea, he pulled into the mini mart. Impulse control was not a skill he’d mastered.
My sister was a trip, the Grammarian popped her out right after the assistant principal died and named her Athena. Athena, she explained with a wry smile, was the goddess of the hunt. I don’t think she meant to give her daughter a stripper name, but it all worked out. Goddess Athena loved to dance. For tips. Naked. Lately, she decided she was intuitive and psychic, she claimed to be able to see auras around the people she danced for. Her lap dances consisted of something called EMT, she had her customers tapping on their hands to release stress while she waved her chest around their noses. She claimed they were therapy sessions and thought we were daft for not believing she could heal with the energy of her tassels.
The mini mart money would allow her to retire from topless healing and focus on her preferred career of life coaching. She paid some customer thousands of tip dollars to become a Certified Life Coach, he was the one who convinced her that her tits had magical powers.
One problem: she’d never had a kid, neither one of us had, and that left us in great danger come inheritance time.
Larry, the dead mini mart guy, had three daughters and 12 Grandkids. We were fringe beneficiaries, at best.