A flat waist and long shapely legs displayed by a super tight pair of denim cutoff shorts."Robin?" I asked, stunned."The one and only. " she said with...a happy grin."Thank you God. " What was that?" She asked.Oh shit, I hadn't meant to say that aloud."Never mind. Come on in. " I took her bags and ushered her inside.She stopped in the doorway to give me a quick hug and a kiss. "Thank you!" she whispered in my ear.I put her suitcases down in the hall and followed her into the living room. She. "I'll flip the coin in the air and you call heads or tails. If you get it right, you get the penny and I take a shot. But if you don't, you take a shot. Got it?" "Got it." I shuffled my barstool a bit closer to him. I attentively watched as he flipped the brown coin into the air and I called tails. Heads. I was desperate for a drink, so I was glad I got to take a shot. I quickly picked it up and downed it within seconds. "Piece of cake." I flicked my hair. "I'd like to hear you say that later.". Sadly I did as I was bid thinking that this adventure was perhaps over as the cold reality of what was happening hit her and wondering should I dress to save embarrassment. Instead I sat ever hopeful.I did not have long to wait as I heard the toilet flush and the gurgle of bath water vanishing down the plug hole before my mother, dry, with a dusting of sweet smelling talcum powder, her hair trailing over her shoulders and a pink towelling housecoat, appeared, took my hand and led me in a whirl. ’ Abigail slumped backwards in her chair, releasing a card bearing hearts and flowers to fall, slow-motion, onto the desk top, where it struggled briefly, flapping as if to regain its feet before giving in to gravity and abandonment. ‘Venita. You’re an artist.’ Said Abigail in flat statement. ‘I doodle.’ She denied, pouring hot tea into the two cups. ‘I’m not an artist.’ ‘You forget, Venita Prasad, I’ve seen your work. You,’ Abigail sipped sweetness ‘are an artist.’ ‘Ok. I’m an artist.’ Venita.
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