something.
"No one."
"He's a foreigner," Lars said, unbuttoning his coat. "And he's not all there, if you know what I mean."
My grandmother pursed her lips. "He's not Swedish, is he?"
"He wears a skirt," Lars added, taking a seat across from Odin.
Odin raised an eyebrow. "A skirt?"
"You're dating a homosexual?" my grandmother asked.
"He says he's not a fairy," Lars said.
"What are you talking about? I'm not dating anyone." I dropped my backpack, then grabbed a krumkake. "And Malcolm wears a kilt, not a skirt. Lots of guys wear kilts.
It has nothing to do with being gay."
"She's right. Romans wore skirts," Ingvar said.
"Romans didn't wear skirts. They wore tunics," Ralph said, crumbs falling from his mouth.
"They wore skirts," Ingvar insisted. "With pleats."
Ralph grabbed another cookie. "I'll tell you who wore a skirt. Mel Gibson wore one in that movie."
"Yeah well, he's an actor, and everyone knows that actors are fairies ," Odin said.
The wisdom of the aged. I ate my cookie, then poured milk into a tall glass. The cookie helped me feel better after the whole "world freezing" episode. Maybe I'd just been tired, or hormonal.
"Where'd you get that cane?" Odin asked.
"Found it," Lars said.
Great, we were off the subject of boyfriends. My shoulders relaxed as I drank the milk. Why was it such a big deal whether or not I had a boyfriend? Of course, I wouldn't feel so defensive if I had purposefully chosen to be boyfriendless.
Lars moved one of the playing pieces. "Katrina's boyfriend said he was imprisoned.
That's what he said. That Katrina had imprisoned him."
Everyone stopped eating and cooking and playing, and grinned at me. Goofy little grins as if I had just said my first word or taken my first step. My face felt like it was on fire. I bolted into the office, but Grandma Anna, despite her arthritic knees, stayed hot on my heels. "Is that what the boy said?" she asked, blinking excitedly.
"Imprisoned?"
"I don't know." I looked around for the order sheets, trying to seem busy. One of my jobs was to place the orders for food and supplies. An unruly pile of papers covered my grandmother's desk. Shoe boxes overflowing with receipts lay on the floor. The desk drawers sat open. "What happened in here?"
She fiddled with some papers. "I'm trying to find the receipt for the television."
"The new one?"
She looked away. "I thought we could sell it on eBay. We don't really need it."
My stomach clenched. She loved that new television because she could watch two shows at once. Had we reached the point of having to sell our belongings? "Are things that bad?"
"We need a new dishwasher. It's a matter of necessity."
"Don't get rid of the television," I said. "We could have a garage sale. I've got all that stuff in the upstairs closet."
"We'll talk about it later." She turned her round face up at me, her eyebrows arched with hope. "Are you going to ask this boy to the Solstice Festival?" We were out of money and she was worried about my love life. Should I have been worried too? Does not having a boyfriend at sixteen put you on the fast track to spinsterhood? Did this mean I would spend the rest of my life alone, childless, dried up?
Aaron could start calling me Coffeehouse Crone.
"I'm not asking him to the Solstice Festival. I really don't know him." I picked up a bill from the power company. "Grandma, how much money do we need?"
"That's none of your concern." She whisked the bill from my hand. "How did you meet this boy?"
"He just showed up. He keeps following me."
She nodded. "That's what they do. Believe me, once a man falls in love, he follows you everywhere. He sends flowers, he calls, he takes you out to dinner, to the movies.
He embeds himself like a tick." She sighed. "So romantic."
"Well, I don't want a tick."
Her dazed expression faded and her down-to-earth, commonsense nature reappeared.
"Then you'll have to make that clear. If you don't love him, you don't love him. No good leading him on. Tell
"No one."
"He's a foreigner," Lars said, unbuttoning his coat. "And he's not all there, if you know what I mean."
My grandmother pursed her lips. "He's not Swedish, is he?"
"He wears a skirt," Lars added, taking a seat across from Odin.
Odin raised an eyebrow. "A skirt?"
"You're dating a homosexual?" my grandmother asked.
"He says he's not a fairy," Lars said.
"What are you talking about? I'm not dating anyone." I dropped my backpack, then grabbed a krumkake. "And Malcolm wears a kilt, not a skirt. Lots of guys wear kilts.
It has nothing to do with being gay."
"She's right. Romans wore skirts," Ingvar said.
"Romans didn't wear skirts. They wore tunics," Ralph said, crumbs falling from his mouth.
"They wore skirts," Ingvar insisted. "With pleats."
Ralph grabbed another cookie. "I'll tell you who wore a skirt. Mel Gibson wore one in that movie."
"Yeah well, he's an actor, and everyone knows that actors are fairies ," Odin said.
The wisdom of the aged. I ate my cookie, then poured milk into a tall glass. The cookie helped me feel better after the whole "world freezing" episode. Maybe I'd just been tired, or hormonal.
"Where'd you get that cane?" Odin asked.
"Found it," Lars said.
Great, we were off the subject of boyfriends. My shoulders relaxed as I drank the milk. Why was it such a big deal whether or not I had a boyfriend? Of course, I wouldn't feel so defensive if I had purposefully chosen to be boyfriendless.
Lars moved one of the playing pieces. "Katrina's boyfriend said he was imprisoned.
That's what he said. That Katrina had imprisoned him."
Everyone stopped eating and cooking and playing, and grinned at me. Goofy little grins as if I had just said my first word or taken my first step. My face felt like it was on fire. I bolted into the office, but Grandma Anna, despite her arthritic knees, stayed hot on my heels. "Is that what the boy said?" she asked, blinking excitedly.
"Imprisoned?"
"I don't know." I looked around for the order sheets, trying to seem busy. One of my jobs was to place the orders for food and supplies. An unruly pile of papers covered my grandmother's desk. Shoe boxes overflowing with receipts lay on the floor. The desk drawers sat open. "What happened in here?"
She fiddled with some papers. "I'm trying to find the receipt for the television."
"The new one?"
She looked away. "I thought we could sell it on eBay. We don't really need it."
My stomach clenched. She loved that new television because she could watch two shows at once. Had we reached the point of having to sell our belongings? "Are things that bad?"
"We need a new dishwasher. It's a matter of necessity."
"Don't get rid of the television," I said. "We could have a garage sale. I've got all that stuff in the upstairs closet."
"We'll talk about it later." She turned her round face up at me, her eyebrows arched with hope. "Are you going to ask this boy to the Solstice Festival?" We were out of money and she was worried about my love life. Should I have been worried too? Does not having a boyfriend at sixteen put you on the fast track to spinsterhood? Did this mean I would spend the rest of my life alone, childless, dried up?
Aaron could start calling me Coffeehouse Crone.
"I'm not asking him to the Solstice Festival. I really don't know him." I picked up a bill from the power company. "Grandma, how much money do we need?"
"That's none of your concern." She whisked the bill from my hand. "How did you meet this boy?"
"He just showed up. He keeps following me."
She nodded. "That's what they do. Believe me, once a man falls in love, he follows you everywhere. He sends flowers, he calls, he takes you out to dinner, to the movies.
He embeds himself like a tick." She sighed. "So romantic."
"Well, I don't want a tick."
Her dazed expression faded and her down-to-earth, commonsense nature reappeared.
"Then you'll have to make that clear. If you don't love him, you don't love him. No good leading him on. Tell
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