Free Hot Flash Holidays by Nancy Thayer

space worked well for her life. Especially since she was thinking about taking a sabbatical and doing some traveling.
    Now they were preparing to leave for Christmas Eve dinner with Marilyn’s son Teddy, his wife, and their family.
    “I’ve got all my presents tucked away in these big shopping bags,” Marilyn told Ruth, gesturing to the bags sitting by the front door. “Where are your presents?”
    “Ooops! Left them in the bedroom.”
    “I’ll get them,” Marilyn offered.
    “No, no, I’m not helpless.” Ruth toddled away, returning in a few moments with a large book bag. “I’ve got all my fits in here.”
    “Um, well, good, Mom!” Marilyn leaned toward the mirror in the hall, checking her hair. She looked rather messy today. Her Hot Flash friends would want to fix her up somehow, cut her hair, give her a different lipstick, brighten her up with a colorful scarf. But having her mother with her was pretty much like having a toddler around. She didn’t have much free time for herself, and what time she had was often interrupted.
    “What time is Fraidy coming?” Ruth asked.
    “His name is Faraday, Mom,” Marilyn reminded her for the hundredth time. “He should be here any minute.”
    She knew she sounded cranky when she talked about Faraday. Faraday McAdam was a charming man, also a scientist, always fascinating and courtly and attentive. When Theodore left Marilyn for a younger woman, Faraday’s flirtation had buoyed her up, convincing her as never before in her entire life that she was attractive.
    The problem was that Faraday, who at his best, when they first met, had been only a one-minute wonder, was now completely impotent.
    Whenever Marilyn tried to discuss this,
gently,
with Faraday, he changed the subject, turned on the TV, or left the room. Occasionally, Faraday hinted at their living together, traveling together, marriage . . . and Marilyn dreamed of Barton Baker, the cad who had betrayed her, but also had shown her just how amazing good sex could be. Marilyn didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. But did she want to live it without ever having delicious, skin-heating, heart-thumping, artery-flushing, serotonin-surging, passionate sex again?
    “Are you having a hot flash, dear?” Ruth asked.
    Marilyn jumped. “I am,” she replied honestly, abashed. How could she
think
of sex with her mother in the room!
    As Ruth adjusted a bow on one of her presents, she said, “Marilyn, did I tell you about Jean Benedict’s daughter? She’s about your age, you know. Well, she ran off with her gardener to the Dutch West Guineas! It was a shock to us all, because she had been a pillow of the community. But you see, you’re never too old for romance . . .”
    Marilyn gaped at her mother. Had she developed a talent for mind reading?
    Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
    “Here he is!” Marilyn opened the door.
    “Ruth! How nice to see you again!” Faraday, large, ruddy, and jolly, made a little bow to the older woman.
    Ruth smiled sweetly. “Hello, Fruity. Good to see you, too.”
    “
Faraday,
Mother!” Marilyn quickly corrected.
    “That’s what I said, dear,” Ruth placidly assured her.
    “Hello, Marilyn.” Unfazed, Faraday leaned forward to kiss Marilyn’s cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
    “Merry Christmas, Faraday. You look festive.”
    “I try,” Faraday admitted modestly. Today he wore his most replete and elegant apparel: a Clan McGregor kilt in a handsome red and green tartan, perfect for Christmas; his Prince Charlie jacket with the handsome buttons on the sleeves; a tartan tie; and a dress sporran. Between his high wool socks and the hem of his kilt, his legs, massive and covered with fine red hair, were bare.
    Marilyn’s mother threw her hands up in astonishment. “You look wonderful! I’ve never seen a real live man in Scottish garble!” Ruth bent forward, peering. “I’ve always wondered about the purpose of that little fur purse you’ve got