“Does this story have a point?”
She flicks her fork at me and I cower as pieces of apple mush fly off the tines. “He’s protective. It’s kind of in his nature. You know he’s told Kirstyn to back off you a few times now? Which means he’s protective of you.” She narrows her eyes at me, like she’s trying to look through me for something. “It’s more than that with you, though.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Has Janie said anything to Kirstyn about me?
“I just thought you should know.” She scrapes the last of the crust off her plate. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. We need to go shopping.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She scrutinizes my outfit of jeans and a T-shirt that I suddenly realize has a hole in the shoulder.
I shrug. “Okay, yeah. Maybe.”
She laughs.
? ? ?
I get home and lay on my soft comforter. After two hours at the mall, my feet are sore and I feel like I walked across hot coals, if the hot coals were needles the size of hot dogs. Janie loves to shop, and she has three iguanas, and two tarantulas. She bought Better Off Dead and she’s bringing it over tomorrow, but I really just want to sleep for a few days. All this faking is tiring. I’m about to close my eyes when my mom’s voice echoes in the hallway.
“Dinner!”
I scramble from my room and slip into my chair at the table. The smell of onions and burnt meat wafts into my nose. I cringe. “Mom, what did you make?”
She sets the steaming plate in front of me. “Try it, you’ll like it.”
I nod and stick a fork into the green beans, the only thing I will be consuming. I place it on my tongue and take a bite, crunching down on the barely cooked bean.
“Honey . . .” she starts, pausing to look at the wall. “I’m worried about you.”
She knows. Oh, God. She knows. I freeze. I’m a statue. I want to be a chameleon. “I’m fine.”
She places her hand on mine. Her skin feels like smoldering ashes. “You just look so pale and tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“All teenagers look like this without makeup.”
She gives me the mom-eye, the look that knows everything about you at the same time as knowing nothing at all. Conversations with her have become stilted and strained since I decided to kill myself. But silence is uncomfortable. Silence means questions from her. I can appreciate that she wants to ask them, but I get tired of lying so much. I need to throw her off track. “I met a guy,” I blurt out.
Her eyebrows raise in a surprised expression. I try not to get offended by that. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s . . . .” I smile before I know what I’m doing. “He’s nice.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, I picture him rescuing cats out of trees and helping old ladies cross the street.”
“Well, nice isn’t bad. What’s the problem?”
“It’s complicated.”
She sighs. “It always is.” A concerned expression falls over her. “This boy, you haven’t . . . you know.”
“Mom. Really? We’ve had this conversation already, when I was, like, twelve. I was grossed out then, please don’t make me go through it again.”
She grabs a napkin and wrings it out like it’s soaked and she’s trying to make it dry. “I know, but . . . .” She glances in the air as a small smile grows on her face. Mom hardly ever gets nervous, but when she does she smiles the whole time. She could never play poker.
Before I realize it, I’m wringing my napkin, too. I place it back on the table and start to get up.
“Hold on,” she said in a serious tone, still smiling, because she’s still nervous.
I sit back down and set my hands in my lap.
“I’m just going to say one thing. If you . . . .” She cringes. “Decide to . . . .” She takes off her sweater and drapes it on the back of the chair. “Is it hot in here? What’s the thermostat at?” She laughs. “Okay, I can do this. Just be safe. I mean, don’t do it. For the love of God, just wait until you’re married.” She shakes her head. “No, that’s not realistic, is it?”
“Mom, are you okay?”
“It can’t be a hot flash, I’m too young.” She fans herself and glances around the room, a smile still on her face. She places her palms on the table. “Please, if you’re going to do it, just make sure it’s with someone you trust and love. It’s so much better that way. When you meet someone it can seem like it’s love, but it’s really not sometimes. But when you know, you know.” She pauses and I think she’s done, but she’s not. “But always be safe.” She heaves a breath out and starts laughing again. “Whew. I’m glad that’s over.” She gets up from her chair, opens the fridge, grabs a beer, and takes a huge gulp.
“You know what?” I say, rising from my chair. “I actually think that was harder on you than it was on me.”
She lowers the bottle and leans on the counter. “I think you’re right.”
23