Original Cyn by Sue Margolis Read Free Book Online Page A

not some black-and-white Japanese thing with subtitles, but can’t we just chill out for a bit?”
    “I’m perfectly happy to chill out,” he replied evenly. “I like a bit of escapism as much as the next person. But chick flicks are just so tedious and idiotic.”
    “But you’re gay. Gay blokes are supposed to love chick flicks.”
    “You’re right,” Hugh said, his sarcasm rising, “and we can watch it with me in a tank top, giving myself a leg, chest and back wax while at the same time whipping up a pomegranate mousse and arranging a vase of calla lilies. Ooh, why not go the whole hog and have a Judy Garland CD playing in the background?”
    “Oh, for Chrissake, ’Ewge, get down from your blinkin’ high horse, will you? You know I didn’t mean anything.”
    “I’m not remotely on my high horse.”
    “Yes, you are. In fact your horse is so high I’m surprised you haven’t got altitude sickness. Anyway, I want to watch the film.”
    “Well, I don’t.” Hugh’s arms were folded in childish defiance.
    “OK,” Harmony said, “there’s only one way to settle this. Arm wrestling. Whoever wins gets their way.”
    “Right, you’re on.”
    As Cyn opened the front door, she could hear an occasional deep, primal grunt coming from the living room.

Chapter 3
    Since the drive to therapy would take about twenty minutes, Cyn decided to phone her mum back as she’d promised. Of course now Barbara couldn’t remember the other thing she’d wanted to talk to Cyn about.
    “There was definitely another reason I called. Now what was it? Oh, yes, I was talking to your cousin Miriam, you know—who got married last year while you were away. Anyway, she just had a baby boy. So sensible to get married and have a baby while you’re still in your twenties.”
    Gawd. Cyn could practically read the sign. Welcome to Lectureville. Population: you.
    “Mum, please. I’m thirty-two. Hardly any of my friends are married. I know you think my ovaries are shriveling as we speak, but I do have plenty of time.” Cyn screwed up her face. She knew precisely what was coming and had started to mouth the next part of her mother’s speech before she had even gotten going.
    “OK, maybe at thirty-two your biological clock isn’t exactly going tick-tock, but it’s certainly going tick. And it’s been ages since you finished with that nice Mark.”
    “No it hasn’t, it’s been three months.” Actually it had been three months, two weeks and five days. Three and a half months since she’d last had sex. If she carried on like this, pretty soon she would be qualified to go to the Vatican and hold master classes in celibacy. Of course she wasn’t about to admit to Barbara that she was missing having a man in her life. She and Grandma Faye would only get busy setting her up on blind dates with the grandsons and nephews of the women in Faye’s bridge club.
    “Like I said, ages. Anyway,” Barbara went on, “it wasn’t your biological clock I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “It wasn’t?”
    “No. I just wanted to ask you if you agree with me that it’s in poor taste for Miriam to serve miniature frankfurters at the baby’s circumcision.”
    Cyn giggled. “It’s up to her.”
    “OK, I’ll get straight on to her mother and suggest Miriam has a rethink.”
    “Mum, that’s not what I said.”
    “Oh, by the way, I bumped into Sylvia Goldman the other day—you know, from the synagogue Ladies’ Guild. Turns out her daughter is your age and not married. Anyway she’s frozen some of her eggs. Sylvia promised she’d get her to ring you with the name of her gynecologist.”
    For a while Cyn had been wondering what she was going to bring up at her therapy session. Now she had something: why she seemed incapable of getting her mother off her case.
    “So what are you doing tonight?” Barbara asked. Cyn had blurted it out before she had time to think. “I’m on my way to therapy.”
    “Darling, I really don’t understand