Beyond Eighteen by Gretchen de la O Page A

and I met in
college. He was the T.A. for Professor Hall, my Algebra instructor.
It was my first year at Georgetown. I’ll never forget that day: I
was running late for class, I can’t remember why. Frank was
instructed to take over the class until Professor Hall got there.
Oh, heavens, there must have been seventy five to a hundred people
shuffling into the room at once. My foot caught the threshold of
the door and I stumbled forward and flew right into his arms. Oh,
God, our eyes met, he smiled, and I melted. From that day forward I
sat in the front row because at least two days a week Frank would
take over the class. Your dad says the moment I landed in his arms
he knew I was going to be there for the rest of my
life.”
    Mom stopped telling the story, choked by the
memories of how she fell in love with Dad. Her chin reflected her
battle to keep from losing it; her eyes squeezed shut to hold back
her tears. It took a minute for her to compose herself enough to
continue the story.
    “ He always told me he
knew, that very first day, I was going to be his bride.” Tears
soaked her cheeks as the battle was lost. She dabbed her face with
her napkin and struggled to continue without sobbing. Wilson
reached over and touched my mom’s arm. She smiled and laid her hand
on top of Wilson’s.
    “ Ha, right, little did he
know, I wasn’t that easy to get. He’d ask me out; I’d always make
up excuses. You know, I had to wash my hair, had homework,
girlfriend drama, anything that kept him just far enough away to
stay interested. Until one day when he showed up at my dorm room
with an armful of flowers, claiming he picked them from the
Chancellor’s private garden. He was romantic that way,” she pressed
her hand to her lips as she began to cry again.
    “ Yeah, just like stealing
baskets from restaurants…real romantic,” Calvin griped. Mom laughed
through her cry before she continued.
    “ I only found out later,
he actually went to a floral shop and picked out each flower
himself—daisies, daffodils, cosmos, tulips, and calla lilies—each
one just for me.”
    I looked at Wilson, her eyes glued on my mom
as she spoke about my dad, her hand still touching my mom’s arm. I
reached over and held Wilson’s other hand, breaking her mesmerizing
stare.
    “ That’s so romantic,” she
whispered, her sky blue eyes damp with the story of my parents as
she looked over at me. “I never knew how my grandparents met. I
guess I never really asked before.”
    I leaned in and kissed her temple. I’d
always known how my parents met. I always took it for granted,
because I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but this time
it was different. This time it meant more to me knowing that Wilson
was hearing it.
    Camille broke into her story, then, on how
she met Dan. But I didn’t listen. I was so entranced by Wilson, all
I wanted to hear was her heartbeat speed and her breath hitch when
I touched her. I wanted her to know that I felt the same way my dad
did when he saw my mom for the first time.
    Her eyes met mine, and I just wanted to be
alone with her. I wanted to hear what she had to say, wanted to
listen to her voice as it trembled when she talked about her
family.
    “ Well, Mom, this was the
best sea bass yet,” Calvin said as he stood up and picked up his
plate. “Thanks for dinner.” He leaned over and kissed his mom’s
head.
    “ You’re welcome, honey,
don’t you want some dessert? It’s vanilla bean ice cream and mixed
berry pie.”
    Cal looked at me then over
at Dan before he answered. “Ahhh, no thanks, Ma,” he said has he
rubbed his stomach, “I’m stuffed. And besides, I gotta talk some
business with Dan and Max. I bet Wilson and Cam will have some,
though. Isn’t that right, ladies?” Calvin smiled, winking at
them. There goes my hard-on.
    Camille sat up straight.
Her face—drawn long with narrow eyes—showed a different story. Her
expression looked like she was one of the last kids picked on