“We need to talk,” my mom says.
“I thought we did this already.” My, am I sassy for a change. It feels kind of good.
“We’d both like to talk with you,” my dad says.
I poke a thumb in my mom’s direction. “Will she listen?”
“We’ll both listen. But I think we should pray first.”
I try not to roll my eyes. Not that prayer won’t help, because it might at this point. But I’m sure my dad is partially doing it because he hopes the awkwardness will diffuse some of my anger. He makes us hold hands, even though that means I have to endure their fractals while we pray. My mom’s is ugly mustard yellow, tightly twisted like a helix. My dad’s is pale blue, swirly and endless.
“Lord, please be with us as we work through some difficult feelings. Help us remember to be patient and loving, and not stubborn or bitter. Let Jesus guide our words and actions, so that we can love like he loved and forgive like he forgave. Amen.”
My mom and I mumble “Amen,” and drop each other’s hand. I don’t think either of us is feeling very Jesus-y at the moment.
My dad starts the conversation. “Mom told me that Zenn’s dad is Michael Franklin.”
I nod. It’s weird to be a teenager and not be denying things, but the truth is the truth.
“Obviously, that’s hard for Mom, considering that he is responsible for Lynn’s … and Tom’s … deaths.”
“Right. But Zenn isn’t.”
My dad holds up his hand to cut me off. “We know it’s not his fault. But can you understand how your being involved with him would stir up Mom’s feelings?”
I cross my arms. I don’t want to give up any ground.
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“It’s weird, I guess, but I really like him. And he likes me. And I don’t know why something that happened eighteen years ago should matter.”
My mom makes a derisive noise. “Something that happened? His father killed your parents in a horrific car accident that could have been avoided. That’s not a little thing, Eva. And you are more than friends.”
I ignore the last part of her statement. “I told you before, Mom. You guys are my parents. Lynn and Thomas Scheurich are just … ghosts to me. I don’t remember them. I don’t miss them. You and Dad have done too good a job raising me, I guess, because I’m not heartbroken every minute about being orphaned. It worked out okay for me overall. I mean … I wish I had known them, but I didn’t. And it’s hard to miss what you never knew.”
This seems to shut my mom up for a second.
“And I get that you had to sacrifice a lot for me, Mom. I do. I can’t imagine having to take in a child that isn’t mine, like, next year. I can’t. You gave up your own plans and raised me instead, and I can’t repay you for that. But … I’m not going to stop seeing Zenn because you hold a grudge.”
My dad clears his throat and I think he’s going to agree with me. He’s big on forgiveness, obviously, and he’s been working on my mom to forgive Michael Franklin for years. But instead of backing me up he says, “Your mom and I also recently learned that you gave up that scholarship opportunity.”
Oh, no. How did they find out? I’ve done all the communicating through email. No phone calls or messages, no letters. No evidence.
Except …
Wait.
My mom made me sign a contract when I got my first cell phone at fourteen: no sexting, no cyberbullying, she could check it at any time … that kind of stuff. I’d signed it without hesitation. At fourteen, I had nothing to hide from her. Hell, at eighteen I had nothing to hide from her. I figured she had stopped checking years ago. But now I wonder if she still slips into my room at night and checks my phone, especially now that I’ve been seeing Zenn. I’ve never even changed my screen lock: 3141. (Pi. Yeah, I’m that big of a nerd.)
She could have seen my email to Stephanie, or her reply back, asking me why I was withdrawing, or my second reply, which was vague … something about circumstances changing, me wanting to give the opportunity to someone who might need it more. I was slippery with my pronouns, I didn’t mention names. But still …
Now the shame settles in. They can kiss my ass if they want me to stop seeing Zenn because of who his dad is, but my giving up a hundred thousand dollars for him admittedly gives them more valid ammunition. Not that I regret giving up the scholarship, because I don’t, but I really didn’t think about how it would affect my parents when I did it. I didn’t think about them at all.
“It’s a hundred thousand dollars, Eva!” My mom’s voice is bordering on crazy now. “That’s more than your father makes!”
I don’t have any defense. I want to argue that Zenn needs it more than I do, that he’s had a difficult life, but I predict that would fall on deaf ears at the moment.
“I can’t believe you gave up this opportunity for a boy!”
My dad holds up his hand, trying to calm her down. She ignores him.
“A boy whose father killed your parents!”
“I get it, Mom! I know who his dad is!” I’m not sure I’ve ever actually yelled at my mom before, but I’m matching her tone decibel for decibel.
My dad interrupts. “We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Are you concerned about me getting hurt? Or the money?”
“Both!” my mom insists. “Boys your age can be … selfish.”
“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”
“With your …” — my dad searches for the word — “condition … I wonder how long he will be understanding.”
“What, because I can’t touch him?” I force a straight face. I don’t know how they can’t sense what happened last night, that my eyes don’t give away my lost virginity like flashing neon.
My mom is unfazed, but my dad looks mortified, even though he’s the one who brought it up.
“That’s what you’re saying, right? Because I can’t touch him, he’ll dump me? And then I’ll have given up the scholarship for nothing?”
“I’m just saying —”
“I know what you’re saying.”
There’s a dark part of me that wants to mention that Zenn can still touch me. Remind them that my mouth still works, and my other parts, but that would be way over the top. They both might have a stroke.
“What if I could touch him?” I ask. “Would that be better, or worse?”
My mom looks at me blankly.
“I mean, would you be happy for me, that I could? Or would you just be more upset because he wouldn’t have an excuse to break up with me? You just want a reason that doesn’t make you look like the bad guys.”
My dad speaks up. “Eva, we worry about you. All the time. That’s what being a parent is. We don’t see how this can end any way but badly.”
“Why do we have to figure out how it will end right now? We just started dating. Do I have to plan for the worst already?”