His grandmother had left the door open and still had it open when we arrive, making the smell tolerable. I call my mom to check in and she comes over to thank Mrs. Anderson for the cake. We all four end up playing Scrabble. It’s the most fun I can remember having in a long time. Mrs. Anderson and my mom drink beer. Max and I drink soda. We take smoke breaks, everyone going out and sitting on the porch. It’s still raining. We have easy conversation with Mrs. Anderson and my mom tells stories of my grandparents. We finish the game. Max won, slaughtering us with zooecia, the plural of zooecium: a sac or chamber secreted and lived in by a bryozoan zooid. What the...
Max walks me and my mom home and she goes straight to her room to get ready for work leaving us standing in the front room.
“I guess I’m going to get my homework done,” Max says.
“See you later then.”
Oh no. The dreaded awkward pause that was missing yesterday has reared its ugly head. I try not to look at Max, who is looking only at me. I stand there not giving permission. We’re—I’m—saved by my mom.
“I’m off. Max, walk me to my car?”
The nervousness of the could-have-been kiss is replaced with the dread of why my mother wants Max to walk her to the car. Is she laying down some ground rules, and if so, why hadn’t she told me?
“Sure thing Ms. Freeland,” Max says wearing his easy smile.
Whatever the reason my mom wants him to escort her to her car doesn’t have him worried. Or maybe he’s just good at pretending. My stomach is in knots as I watch them walk to the car park on the street in front of our house. If she says anything it’ll be while they walk to the car and their backs are to me. By the time they reach the car Max opens the door, my mom gets in and they both wave good-bye to me; my mom from inside her car and Max from beside it. I wave back and close the door. What else can I do? Well I could run outside after my mom drives off and ask Max what she said. But I don’t. Instead I get my books and settle at the kitchen table to do my homework.
I’m opening my math book when the phone rings.
“Hey, you want to hang out when you’re done with your homework?” He must have called as soon as he walked in his house.
“I can’t, I have to study for a test I’m having tomorrow,” I say.
Of course I want to hang out, but I don’t want my grades to go down. Besides, my test is in literature and I don’t want to let Mr. Lewis down. I’m his best student.
There’s a pause on the other end long enough that I think he’s going to try to talk me into hanging out. “Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finally says.
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Doing my homework is easier today than yesterday but still takes longer than it should. Today I am daydreaming about Max instead of reading the same question over and over. When I’m finally done I start studying for my test. An hour goes by and I’m not sure if I’m ready but I can’t stand the thought of continuing the half-ass attempt at studying when all I want to do is call Max. Instead of calling I grab my book. I’m not finished and it lay neglected on the end table. I fall asleep reading and wake from the sound of hale hitting the windows.
It’s eight o’clock. Not too late to call Max. No reason to pretend that I’m going to do anymore studying. I decide to eat first and then call. It’s rude to eat while on the phone. I pull out some of the left over spaghetti and warm it up and eat while I read the last few pages of my book and then clean the kitchen before calling. He picks up on the first ring, as if he’s been waiting for me to call.
“Hey, I was hoping you’d call before turning in for the night.”
“Oh yeah, what’s up?”
“Nothing, just wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m glad I called then,” I say. I have butterflies in my stomach and I allow myself to hope that maybe he does want something more than friendship.
He tells me funny stories about his friends at his old school. I tell him about the time I shocked myself repeatedly trying to figure out why a fork on the counter had an electric charge. As it turned out the fork was in some water that the exposed wire from the can opener was laying in. It took me at least five tries before I finally figured that one out. I’ve smoked a pack of cigarettes by the time we finally say our goodbyes when I hear my mom at the front door and realize how late it is. She’s shocked to see me still up.
“What are you doing up?”
“I just got off the phone with Max.” I don’t lie. I think lies should be saved for something that really matters, like serial killing or mass murder; me lying about talking on the phone is stupid.
“Kind of late isn’t it?” My mom asks throwing her keys on the table. She looks tired. She is tired.
“I lost track of the time. I didn’t notice how late it was until I heard your keys in the door?”
My mom sits down and looks at me and before she starts I know what she’s about to say. I dread it, but it has to be said if she’s any type of good parent, which she is.
“Do we need to have the birth control talk?” Straight to the point, one of the things I love about my mom.
“No, Max and I aren’t dating, we’re just friends.”
And God I hope that changes. But I’m not quite ready to let that bit of information fly. Just in case friends are all Max want to be. I don’t want to get my mom’s hopes up. Okay, I don’t want to get my hopes up.
“Well I like him. I think you two like each other. Eventually you’re going to get there and when you do I’d like to know that you’re going to make smart decisions?” She doesn’t sound sad, but there’s sadness in her eyes and I know she’s thinking of her and my dad.
“I will mom, I promise,” I say.
I want to say more. Want to say something to take that look off her face, or at least out of her eyes. But what can I say? I’ll be smarter than you? Sorry dad was an ass and left you all alone to raise a kid on your own? Sorry you got stuck with me? None of those seem like good options. They’d make it worse. I know I feel worse just thinking them.
“Ok, you’ve always been a smart girl.” She pats my hand and gets up from the table. “I’m turning in for the night. You may want to check the weather channel before going to school in the morning. Might have some cancellations,” she says, as she walks down the hall to her bedroom.