Chapter XXXIV

"Okay, guys," Abby asks. "What exactly should I wear for...when my boyfriend's mom who kind of hates me is coming to school to lead an assembly on sexual health? I mean, what makes me look less suspicious? Hair up or hair down?"

"I thought you didn't care what Dr. Milburn thinks," Maeve says.

"That was before I decided that, in the most abstract sense possible, I might want to have our relationship make it to graduation," Abby explains.

"Abby, literally all you have to do for that is to keep doing things the way you've been doing them," Maeve says. "Then when you go away to uni, you won't ever have to think about Otis' mum again. Or you'll end up in one of the marriages where you and your mother-in-law snipe at each other all the time, like in a bad American sitcom."

"Oh, and don't wear the shirt that says 'Succubitch 666'," Aimee adds. "Even cool mums aren't going to be impressed with that."

"Look, I wouldn't have called you guys to come over, except when I e-mailed Adam, he said I should skip school and come visit him at Mountview instead, which was my original plan, but it turns out he's not allowed visitors and was just fucking with me, and my 'going to visit my asshole best friend' outfit isn't quite a good 'normal school day' ting," Abby says.

Maeve wrinkles her nose. "Did you just say 'ting'?"

"'Course she did," Aimee says. "She's lived here like half a year now. She's learned our language by immersion, like Madonna did."

"See," Abby says, pointing at Aimee. "I go to freaking school with you guys, I hear how people talk, and I'm just not supposed to start using common slang after daily exposure? I'm not trying too hard, I'm just...immersed."

Maeve raises her eyebrows and Abby sighs. "Also, the word 'ting' has been on my mind ever since I had to use Urban Dictionary to see if Kyle leaning into my ear and whispering, 'Wagwan, piffting' was as creepy as I thought it was, which, you know, turned out to be so. Just not enough for me to assault him. Yet."

"Abby," Maeve asks. "Do you actually need us to pick out clothes for you, or are you just freaked about Dr. Milburn and thought you needed to give us something constructive to help you with?"

Abby flops down onto her bed. "That last one. ...Is it any better with Jackson's mums?"

"Roz likes me," Maeve says. "Sofia doesn't. And I call them both Ms. Marchetti to their faces as we all try to pretend we have anything in common for Jackson's sake, because they don't want him moving back in with me. Which, believe me, is the last thing I want, so we're all agreed there."

"...It was that bad," Aimee asks.

"There's a reason people only live with each other after school," Maeve says. "I don't think spending every waking moment together is healthy for any couple. And when you go to school for eight hours, and go home together..."

"That's true," Abby says. "I mean, things with me and Otis are good, but I think if we spent that much time together, one of us would snap and smother the other one with a pillow while they were sleeping."

"Otis wouldn't smother you with a pillow while you were sleeping," Maeve says. "He'd slip you arsenic and then leave the country so he doesn't actually have to see you die. And then extradite himself out of guilt."

"God, that's creepy," Aimee says with a shiver.

"I don't know, arsenic poisoning is a graphic and ugly way to die," Abby adds. "...Maybe he'd wait until we got old and then accidentally on purpose switch my heart medicine with sugar pills."

"That also sounds like Otis," Maeve says. "Especially the 'waiting such a ridiculous amount of time before getting it done' part."

"I mean, depending on how we theoretically got together, it could technically be called a mercy killing."

"Ugh," Aimee says. "Now if you and Otis get married and we all still know each other in seventy years, if you die first, I'm gonna be so suspicious at the funeral."

"Well, you should be," Maeve says. "On average, women outlive men by five to seven years. If any of us dies before our future husbands, it would be suspicious circumstances."

"Where do you guys even get this stuff," Aimee groans.

"True crime books," Abby says.

"Ooh, maybe Otis' mum watches murder shows on Netflix," Aimee says. "My mum does all the time. And his mum's a psych lady, she probably does it for work! You guys could bond!"

"Maybe," Abby says. "I don't know. How do you casually ask someone if they've seen the Ted Bundy tapes?"

"...Are you actually planning to talk to her," Maeve asks.

"I don't know," Abby says. "If it goes badly, it might mean that no matter who I marry or where I go in life, in seventy years, Otis will track me down and kill me." She shrugs. "Then again, if we break up and I continue living life the way I do, someone will probably beat him to the punch, so really, this is a low-risk scenario."

"Besides, Otis won't let you talk to her," Maeve says. "He'll tell you not to, and you won't."

Abby blinks. "I'm sorry," she asks. "Since when do I do whatever Otis tells me to?"

"Since you moved here," Aimee replies. "No offense, but you're, uh, what's it called...yeah, whipped."

"I am not whipped," Abby protests, and Maeve snorts. "I'm not! We've only been together for one term, so the honeymoon phase is wrapping up, and I don't act like a goofy simp anymore. I haven't since November. And...if I end up feeling like talking to Dr. Milburn tomorrow, I will. No matter what Otis says."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Maeve says. "Anyway, I'm sure you tell him all about your newfound spine tonight when you come climbing through his window."

"Ooh," Aimee says, perking up. "Speaking of which, have you two..."

"No," Abby says. "He'll probably come here tonight. He's been coming here, sleeping until around six-thirty, having a shower, and then going home since Jakob takes forever in the mornings."

"...Has Jakob moved in," asks Maeve. "Because it sounds like he already has a stepdad."

"No one knows, not even Ola," Abby says. "I mean, she still sleeps in her house."

"Stop changing the subject," Aimee says. "If I have to listen to you guys and your creepy murder talk, I think I've earned the right to hear some juicy details, and I can tell by Abby's voice something's happened."

Abby sighs and goes into one of her desk drawers, rummaging around until she finally hands Maeve thirty pounds. "Technically, I know Otis wouldn't charge me for this, but...this is in the arena of clinic business," she says. "...My vagina is entirely automatic."

"What," says Maeve.

Abby sighs even more heavily. "Okay, I guess I have spell it out," she says. "Manual stimulation, like any kind of fingering...I'm not getting anywhere with it anymore."

Maeve rests a hand on Abby's knee. "Have you considered that Otis may not be particularly good at fingering," she asks. "I mean, you may just have to help him."

"See, that's what I thought," Abby says. "And don't get me wrong, but...can I overshare?"

"I'd actually rather hear about Otis being bad at fingering than all this 'what-should-I-wear' crap, so go ahead," Maeve says.

Aimee nods. "Come on, tell us. You only ever talk about how bad you are."

"Well, I mean, I do think it's a 'me' problem," Abby clarifies. "And I mean, the first few times Otis...explored down there, it was pretty bad. Like 'cut your fucking nails, Edward Scissorhands' bad. And then it was okay, but it would do nothing for me, so I'd just hand him George Emerson and have him use that instead. And then...these past few days, I've been trying on my own and...nothing. I literally cannot come within the vicinity of an orgasm without a vibrator. I'm like the dark ending to a really sexual episode of Black Mirror."

"Jesus Christ," Aimee says. "You can't even flick the bean?"

Abby shakes her head. "And now I have to figure out how to tell Otis I've spoiled my clitoris so much that he will never be able to give me an orgasm like a human being."

Maeve casually slides Abby's thirty pounds back to her. "I mean, I'm sure a lot of women have that problem," Maeve says. "I mean, the female orgasm is an elusive thing and..."

"Both of you are still having orgasms with your boyfriends without electronic aid, correct," Abby asks.

"Yeah," Maeve admits, and Aimee nods.

"It's not even like I can say 'whoops, little buddy's tired out,'" Abby says. "Because it still works, technically. I'm like a wonky phone charger that you have to shake around in the port before the battery goes green."

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about how you can possibly break up with a guy who's already crushed his hand this term," Maeve mutters.

Aimee's eyes widen in surprise as she gasps. "You want to break up with Jackson?"

"Actually, this isn't shocking," Abby admits. "I kinda wondered what in God's name you two even talk about."

"Well, I mean, what do you and Otis talk about," Maeve asks.

"Manga, Buffy, music, our fucked up parents, you, Adam, the clinic, and books sometimes, but not that often," Abby says. "Also how much we hate TERFs, which is upsettingly a topic that's come up more than it should because that particular brand of suck is really more prevalent than it should be. Oh, and the toxic narratives surrounding female blonde teen pop stars from the late nineties. There's a lot to unpack there."

"I know," Aimee says. "Taylor Swift has been through so much."

"Actually, in comparison to Britney, Christina, and Jessica, Taylor's public image is heinous, but not nearly as battered by the patriarchy," Abby says. "In fact, her treatment is a really depressing sign of progress, in that it could be a lot worse, when where it is now is already so fucked up." Abby shrugs and turns to Maeve. "Maybe try starting a conversation with Jackson about stuff you care about that he hasn't learned from Otis. Show him some new things, let him tell you about stuff. And, I mean, then when it doesn't work, he'll probably be as ready to break up as you are. You just have to show him you two have nothing to bond over."

Maeve shoots Abby a look. "And when exactly was the last time you applied this particular method to anything," she asks.

"The stepmoms-in-waiting I had in between my parent's separations," Abby says. "They wanted to bond to prove themselves to my dad, but only in a 'let's-go-for-pedicures' kind of way. So instead I'd ask to go to Barnes & Noble or used book stores, or to spend time together over food, which for preteen me meant fries and chicken nuggets, and all of a sudden, they'd be reluctant to keep 'bonding.' And the thing was, I didn't do it so they'd break up with my dad, and I was never the reason why they did. I just curbed getting attached to the more demonstrative ones in as effective a way as possible. Oh, except for Kerri, who turned out to love books too, and even got me into the Bridgerton series, but of course, since she had a brain, she realized Gabriel was a prick really fast." Abby shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe Jackson and you will end up vibing, and you won't even have to dump him, and I'll look like the dummy I know I can be for thinking you guys wouldn't work. Worth a shot, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Maeve says. "Is it?"

"Of course it is," Aimee says, while Abby shrugs. "Maybe it isn't," she says. "But then you have to figure out how to break up with him if it's not worth it. Otherwise, you're prolonging the inevitable, and that's kind of cruel."

Maeve looks down at her lap. "Then I have to break with him. This week. Probably tomorrow."

"I mean, I don't know what to say other than, 'You can do it,' 'You go, girl', and 'Do what you gotta do,'" Abby says. "I've never dumped anyone before. I mean, apparently, I can't even properly reject Conor and Kyle."

"Oh, that's because Conor's so used to being initially rejected and then wearing people down until they say 'yes,'" Aimee explains. "And Kyle's just really, really, really thick."

"Who the hell said 'yes' to Conor's creep shit," Abby asks.

"Becca Marsh, Stacy Landers, Jenny Smythe, and Craig Marshall," Maeve says. "He has an upsetting track record of needling people into at least one date."

"...I'm going to have mace him, huh," Abby says.

"Probably."

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

"Otis? Otis, I know you're on your way to Abby's, but if you could just give me a moment..." Jean asks.

"Yeah, Mum," he replies, stopping in front of the staircase.

"Now, darling," Jean begins. "I've been looking through your SRE textbook. There is no mention of female pleasure at all. I was thinking of talking about it at the assembly, what do you think?"

"I don't know," says Otis with a sigh.

"Otis," pleads Jean. "I'd like your opinion, please."

"Why," Otis replies. After all, it's not if she asked his opinion about coming into his school in the first place.

"I've never worked with teenagers before, and you are a teenager," says Jean.

"Yep, I'm a teenager...who doesn't want his mother talking about sex at his school," Otis snaps.

"There has been a sexual health crisis, and it's my duty to help!"

"You know, he is right," Jakob butts in, stepping into the hallway from Jean's bedroom. "It is a bit strange."

Great, just what this conversation needed, Otis thinks. Jakob. "Mmm, I mean, my mum's a sexual health expert so it's not that strange, actually," Otis adds, resenting Jakob for trying to take his side, as if that would make things okay.

"Which doesn't mean you should have said 'yes,'" he adds, turning back to Jean.

"Would you prefer to call me Mum or Dr. Milburn at school," Jean asks.

"Neither," Otis says, moving to head down the stairs. "I'll be pretending you don't exist."

"Otis."

Otis sighs. Maybe this doesn't have to be so bad. He can give his mum a suggestion, and she might follow it, and it might not ruin his life at school. "Okay, just try and be a bit...try to be less intense. It freaks people out. And it's embarrassing." He sighs and takes a few steps down before turning back around. "I don't know, Mum, just be normal. Try and be more relatable. Whatever, just don't humiliate me."

With that, Otis heads down the stairs, as Jean shouts behind him, "Bye, darling. See you in the morning!"

On the walk over to Abby's, Otis tries to cheer himself up. After all, he's going to see his girlfriend and nothing his mother might do will ever get in the way of him and Abby. Probably. Besides, now that he's researched more about fingering, he knows she's going to have an orgasm tonight. And of course, the clock technique will work, because it's Abby. As Conor so delicately put it, Abby's almost always frothing at the gash for him. The fact that the last few times didn't pan out until the vibrator entered the equation must have been a matter of timing and poor preparation. All he has to do is be confident and not hesitate, and everything will go to plan.

He comes in through the back door and heads up to her room. As soon as she opens the door, Abby's face lights up and she pulls him into a hug. "Hey," she says. "You okay? Not too freaked about tomorrow?"

"I'm not cool with it or anything, but I did my best to tell Mum how not to embarrass me, so...fingers crossed." Otis smirks at Abby. "Speaking of fingers..."

Abby's eyes widen. "Who fucking told you? Did Maeve tell you? I was going to tell you myself," Abby says, looking panicked. "Jesus Christ, I cannot fucking believe this. And if I did something like this to Maeve, she'd freak, the hypocrite!" Abby begins to pace. "I'm going to have to fight her. That's it. I don't care if she knocks my teeth out, as long as I get one good hit..."

"...I was just talking about me fingering you tonight," Otis says. "What did you tell Maeve?"

Abby pauses and stares back at Otis. "Don't worry about it. Maeve didn't tell you anything, right?"

"No. Now, what about the part where you were going to tell me yourself what's going on?"

"Oh," Abby says. "...Fingering isn't going to work, I think. But, uh, you like using the vibrator, right? After all, it's practically the same thing."

"Abby, what are you talking about," Otis asks. "Why won't fingering work?"

Abby flops down onto her bed. "Because it doesn't do anything for me, even when I do it to myself. Well, that's only as of the last year, I figure, because it used to work fine, but now...it needs the vibrator."

Otis lies down next to her. "Uh, no offense, but maybe you've been doing it wrong," he says.

"Otis, I know how to masturbate. Basically. I mean, my clitoris isn't unresponsive," Abby says. "It's just...not very stimulated."

"Look, you don't have to be embarrassed," Otis says. "Just...let me try again. I think you'll be really impressed."

"Okay," Abby agrees, pulling down her underwear. "But, look, just don't be disappointed if it doesn't work. It won't be your fault, okay?"

"Don't worry," Otis says, grabbing the bottle of lotion on Abby's nightstand and lubricating his fingers. "I guarantee you'll be amazed."

Otis watches as he slides one finger in, and Abby's face goes from nervous to relaxing slightly. Then her lips slightly part...and she winces.

"Okay, stop," she says, moving Otis' hand. "You...things were rough at first, and then you were doing fine, and now you're actually somehow worse than you were the first time we tried this. What happened?"

"...I think you're just not relaxed enough," Otis says. "I mean, you have to give in to the sensation."

"The sensation feels like your finger is trying to smother my clitoris to death," Abby says.

"You're right," Otis says, moving away from Abby. "It is you, because if you're not willing..."

"Oh, come on," Abby protests. "There's a difference between this and last time, okay, and the difference is that last time, it didn't feel like...whatever this is!" She sighs. "Besides, I told you it wasn't working before, but for some reason, you..."

"I wanted to pleasure you for a change, damn it! But since you don't actually seem to want that, I can't help you!"

They lay there in silence, their backs to each other. "We're just going to have to try something else," Abby finally says. "But not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because we're having a fight right now," Abby says. "Talking isn't helping, and I really doubt more finger fucking is a solution. So, why don't we go to sleep before we wake up Nan, and try to talk about this in the morning?"

"What? When I'm feeling more calm and rational," Otis snarks.

"No," Abby says. "Be pissed tomorrow morning. Go home now if you think it'll help. But whatever argument you have isn't going to be particularly strong without a decent seven hours of sleep, so you may as well stay."

"Fine," Otis says, turning off the light on the bedside table. "Good night."

They lie facing away from each other, until Abby rolls over and wraps her arms around Otis' torso. "I'm still mad at you," she mumbles. "And I know you're still mad. This isn't a 'let's-kiss-and-make-up' spoon, it's a 'I'm-just-not-mad-enough-to-kick-you-out-of-bed' spoon, got it?"

"Stop being cute," he mutters, but doesn't move away.