anton

I was lying on her white pleather couch with my head in her lap. She was wearing that white singlet. Her nipples were hard. I liked that. We were watching reality television with vague disdain, hers genuine, mine an affectation. I looked up at her.

I had lunch with Matt today, I said.

Hows he? she asked, concentrating more on her cultural disdain than the conversation.

Fine. He puts a lot of gel in his hair.

She looked down at me in mock-disgust. Gross, she said, why do so many guys do that? Gel should be banned.

I nodded, and we went back to watching the show. She muted the television during the advertisements, but I kept watching them anyway. Matt reckons your mum is hot.

Hes never met my mum, she said, looking down at me, confused. She lives in Lismore.

Yeah, I know, I said, raising my knee and scratching it through my jeans. He still thinks shes hot. He said youre one of those girls.

One of what girls? she said, really confused, still looking down at me.

One of those girls who seems like shed have a hot mother, I said, smiling.

Matt is so weird, she said, looking back at the muted television. Seriously

She turned the sound back on. She ran her fingers through my hair and I felt like a puppy. In a good way. Do you think Im one of those girls?

One of what girls? I asked, not moving my head.

One of those girls who seem like theyd have a hot mum, she said, watching the television. Do I seem like Id have a hot mum?

Ive never met your mum, I said, not knowing how to answer. But Im happy to have dinner with you guys whenever.

Yeah, OK. But do you think my mum would be hot?

Well, youre hot,' I said, smiling, trying to look cute or something.

Yeah, but what about my mum?

Ive never met her! She stopped running her fingers through my hair, and I stopped feeling like a puppy in a good way. Once I meet her Ill tell you if shes hot.

I didnt ask if I was hot. I asked if you think my mum would be hot, she said, now looking down at me. Her face, visible between her breasts, looked scornful. Her nipples were soft now. Does that mean anything? No.

OK, well I guess shed be hot, I said, giving her what she wanted. Youre hot, and shes your mum, so I would guess shed be hot as well. She probably looks like you. She looked up at the television, looking contented.

She laughed a little. I look like my dad anyway. I turned to the television, a little confused. She started running her fingers through my hair again. I watched the show for a minute or two.

I couldnt help myself. Why, I began, knowing I shouldnt, did you bother asking if I thought your mum would be hot? What difference does it make? Its only a guess either way.

The fingers stopped. She looked unhappy. She turned the television off. She pushed my head off her lap. I watched her walking out of the lounge room. She was wearing a pair of my boxer shorts and her arse looked cute. I shouldnt be thinking about her arse, I thought, when shes just stormed angrily out of the room.'

I reached for the remote control and turned the television back on, kind of relieved I wouldnt have to pretend not to like reality television any more. I heard a door slam. A few seconds later, I could hear music playing loudly. Nine Inch Nails or Tool or something. I scratched my knee again.

God she likes shit music, I thought. I wish I had some pizza.