Maxine doesn’t say anything. She keeps driving, keeps listening.
“It feels like Woman to Woman takes us to all these places outside of our neighborhood, as if the places in our neighborhood aren’t good enough.” I pause to see if she’s going to say anything. She doesn’t. So I keep going. I say it all, “When you invited me over to have dinner with your family, I thought that was so nice of you. I thought you wanted to spend time with me and get to know me and that you cared about me enough to meet your family. But it felt like you just wanted to use me to get at your mom and prove some kind of point to her. Like you were showing off. You didn’t even let me speak for myself. I get so confused—because some of the time you act like you’re proud of me, and other times you act like you’re ashamed.”
Maxine pulls into the parking lot of McMenamins on Thirty-Third. She takes her seat belt off, but we don’t get out right away.
“Jade, I’m sorry. I feel horrible that you’ve been holding on to all of this,” Maxine says. “I’ve got a lot of learning to do. I’m so sorry I hurt you in the process.” Maxine sounds like she is about to cry, but the tears don’t fall. “I don’t pity you, Jade. Not at all. I don’t pity your friends. And you’re right: I shouldn’t be speaking for you. Ever. Sometimes I overcompensate, I think. I want to make sure you are comfortable, that you don’t feel on the spot—and well, I am proud of you, so maybe I brag a bit, make sure people know you are not the statistic they may be assuming you are. But yeah, you have a mouth and you can say all these things yourself.”
This conversation isn’t as intense as I thought it would be.
Maxine asks, “So what are some things Woman to Woman can do better?”
I take my seat belt off. “Well, I’d like to learn about real-life things—I mean, like you know, how to create a budget and balance a checkbook so I’ll know how much money I can spend and how much to put aside so the lights don’t get turned off,” I tell her. “You know, stuff like that. I do like a lot about the program. I’m not saying we should stop those outings, but it just seems like we can do more.”
“Jade, I don’t feel that you’re unappreciative. I think you’re right. We could do better,” Maxine says. “Any other ideas you have?”
“I’ve been thinking, what if we do a visit to your sister’s gallery? Maybe she can talk about how she started her own business.”
“Let’s talk to Sabrina. I’m sure she’ll think it’s a great idea.”
Maxine reaches to the backseat and grabs her purse. Before she opens the door, she asks, “Anything else you want to talk about?”
I didn’t think I would say it, but when I open my mouth, “Jon,” comes out. “It’s kind of hard to believe you care about me when you’re always standing me up for him,” I tell her.
Maxine sighs a slow deep breath. “You’re right,” she says. She opens the door. “Let’s talk about him over dinner.”
46
abandonar
to quit
As we walk through McMenamins, Maxine acts like a tour guide. “Isn’t it cool that this used to be a school? I love how they renovate old buildings. You know, they’ve done a funeral home, too.”
“I’d never want to go there. Ever.”
Maxine laughs. “There’s one close to your house, but this one is my favorite,” she tells me. We walk down a hall, and Maxine shows me what used to be the boiler room. It’s a bar now. “You’re too young to go in there. But maybe I’ll take you on your twenty-first birthday.” Maxine smiles at me.
I smile too and wonder if I’ll know her past high school.
“Here’s the movie theater,” Maxine says. “I love coming here. All the seats are secondhand couches and chairs. You can bring food from the restaurant in there too,” she says. “It’s a perfect cheap place for a date.”
“You sound like you work here or something.”
“Just come here a lot,” Maxine says.
We walk into the restaurant and wait to be seated. There are all kinds of lights hanging from the ceiling that are different sizes, shapes, and colors. They’re kind of weird looking, but also beautiful.
The hostess seats us at the window that overlooks the patio, which has a garden and outdoor fireplace. Maxine takes the lemon wedge that’s on the rim of her glass, squirts it into her water, and takes a sip. “So after meeting Kira and Bailey, I’m sure you see that you are not the first person to be anti-Jon,” she says.
“I don’t think we’re anti-Jon. I think we’re pro-Maxine,” I say.
Maxine smiles as tears fall. She wipes them quickly. “Oh, Jade, you have me in here, getting all emotional. You’re not supposed to be giving me the advice,” she says.
Now that I’ve spoken honestly with Maxine and she’s really listened, I feel like I can tell her anything. “I know I am the mentee,” I say. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think he deserves your time or any more attention from you.”
Maxine says, “I know.” Then: “I need to be better at setting boundaries and letting go.” She takes in a deep breath, releases it real slow, and puts her mentor voice back on. “And you need to work on not giving up so easily. How about we make a deal? I quit Jon; you don’t quit the program.”
“Deal.”
47
orar
to pray
If I don’t leave in the next ten minutes, I’m going to be late for school. I put two Pop-Tarts into the toaster and don’t even wait for them to shoot up. I slide the warm pastries back into the silver sleeve and put them into my backpack. I’ll eat them on the bus. I walk into the living room. E.J. is awake but still lying down, looking at his phone. “Morning,” he mumbles.
“Good morning.” I put my coat on and zip it.
“You hear about what happened Saturday night?” E.J. asks.
“No.”
He sits up and reads from his phone, “‘Vancouver, Washington, police manhandle black teen at house party.’”