Mom's a Streamer

“Sweetheart, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’ve just been laid off from my job. I have some emergency savings, but if things maintain the way they’re going, I don’t know if you’ll be able to go to college this semester.”

Never before or since had I seen my mom so heartbroken. Not when she told me about the divorce, and not even years after that when she finally confessed that it wasn’t just a lack of love, but that my father had been cheating on her, which had led to their inevitable separation.

I guess it’s because at the end of the day, no matter how hard things got, she had always been able to provide everything I wanted. I got to play competitive soccer, even though it cost thousands of dollars, I was on the cheerleading squad and in the robotics club, and I even had my own car,which was a basic necessity for most people my age, but was always a special gift for me.

I’ve been accepted into LSU, my dream school, and we had popped some champagne to celebrate. We had been waiting for a while, but that’s when the economy started to take a turn for the worse. Groceries went up in price, gas became super expensive, and my mother’s job went from being invaluable to just a number that was too high on a spreadsheet.

I’d already started to suspect that my college dream would be delayed, and that my friends would leave me behind. As much as I didn’t want to blame anyone for this, I was still sad.

I took her hand in mine, and she started crying. “Mom, it’s OK. If anything, this is like a gap year. Sure, I’m not going to Europe, but maybe I’ll drive to the beach wearing a beret or something to give me that French feeling.” I laughed. She laughed too.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s OK, Mom. I know you’ve done everything you can. Now, how about we use what little disposable income we have to go get our nails done so we feel a bit better about this and ourselves?”

My mom and I had always been best friends, and we both looked similar enough that we could be sisters. The same dirty blonde hair, the same blue eyes, and the same booty. Our biggest difference was probably our chests, since hers was about double my size,a gift she was happy not to pass on to me, as it was usually accompanied by back problems and men who stared for too long.

I assured her that men stare too long anyway. But, of course, we weren’t friends just because we looked similar. We were mostly friends because, try as I might, it was always difficult for me to connect with other women. There always just seemed to be so much drama, weird jealousy, and envy. Sure, the guys stare at my tits sometimes or occasionally brush past my ass when we’re walking by each other in the hallway, but at least they don’t get mad when I score more goals than them in a season or design a robot that can differentiate between pants and a T-shirt when organizing laundry. Their valuation of my mind and abilities always overtook their sexual nature,which, it could be argued, isn’t even their fault since society has been telling them that’s how men behave since they were young.

Can I blame them? Of course I can. But can I be understanding? Of course I can.

So, whenever I needed some girl time, I would hang out with my mom. Fashion shows, getting our nails done, and gossiping,which I hated with other women, but loved to do with my mom.

At the moment, we were sitting at our favorite salon, All-Star Nails. Our nail technician, Mary, always did the best job, and we had been going to her for years,not just for nails, but for our other beauty needs as well. My feet were enjoying a nice, warm soak in the water while my mom was picking out her nail color.

“How about that one?”

“Oh no, Caroline,” Mary said. “That will look bad. Choose another.”

She pointed to some black ones. “How about these?”

Mary looked at my mom like she was silly.

“Caroline, are you Goth? You didn’t tell me you were Goth.”

My mom looked at me with a smile on her face. She loved that Mary was never afraid to call it like it is. “I’ll just do a natural color.”

“Excellent choice,” Mary said, heading off to grab the acrylics.

“So Mom,” I messed with my toes while I spoke to her, slightly nervous about the next question because I didn’t want her to think I was judging her, “you worked as a copywriter for so long. What do you think your next steps will be?”

She took a deep breath. “Honestly, I was looking at some options to possibly earn some income online. I was thinking of DoorDash, Instacart, or,and you’re gonna laugh at this one,I was even thinking of streaming video games. Me! Your old mom.”

“You’re not old, Mom. You’re only like forty-something, and on top of that, you’re gorgeous.”

And I knew other people thought she was gorgeous too, based on the way my male friends talked about her. They usually said it under their breath or to each other, but I’ve heard the whispers calling her a MILF. Which stands for Mother I’d Like to,well, you get the idea.

“Thanks, honey. I’m glad you think so, but why would people want to watch someone who’s bad at video games?”

That’s when an idea hit me. “What if,”

Mary interrupted, “Nora, how about you, sweetie?”

“Oh, no nails for me today. Just the pedicure.”

“Well, why? Your nails aren’t pretty,” Mary said with a smile.

“Thank you, Mary, but I’m good,” I said, and she left us again.

“You were saying?” Mom asked.

“You could make a channel where you talk about how you’ve never played video games before, but you’re really interested in learning. You could ask for the viewers’ help, because there’s a live chat that comes up while you play. That way, anytime you have a question, your loyal viewers are there to help out the pretty mom when she needs it.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “No one wants to see that.”