In the Mix by Jacquelyn Ayres Page B

before speaking up, “I brought laundry into Lindsay’s room earlier and she started ruffling papers around frantically when I walked in, like she was hiding something. I asked her what she was working on and she said nothing; she was just doodling. Why would she freak out like that if she was just doodling? Something’s up and she’s keeping it from me. Now you know, I wouldn’t pry—I’m not like that—but I have a strange feeling about this. I need to see what she was working on. Can you please, maybe during the party, go into her room and investigate?” she asks in a whisper.
    “Why don’t you look while she’s at work?”
    “I don’t snoop. I’m not a snooper. Never have been. Never will be,” she states matter-of-factly.
    “Oh, but you can send me in to do it and be the bad guy?”
    “Yes. Because you love your mother, right?” She nudges me.
    “Mom, this really is out of character for you.”
    “I know, but I just have a weird feeling. Please, just humor me.” She grabs and squeezes my hands.
    “I’ll see.” I shake my head at her slightly, smiling. “Alright, I better get going. I’ve got a letter to write tonight and work in the morning.” I stand up. “Thanks for listening, Mom. I really appreciate it.” I hug her when she stands up with me.
    “Anytime, you know that.”
    “Ok. I’ll see you at the party then.” I give her another squeeze before letting go. “Love you, Mom.”
    “I love you, too. C’mon . . . I’ll walk you to the door.” She slips her arm through mine, hugging it to her as we head towards the door. “Kyle . . .”
    “Yeah, Mom?” I turn to her after opening the front door.
    “Make sure to do the note thing with your flair,” she says.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “From what you’ve told me, which I’m sure has been dulled down a bit; you two seem to be over-the-top with each other in one way or another. Don’t change that.” She pats at my chest, hugging my arm to her one last time before letting go.
    “Mom, I’m not sure I know what you mean. I mean—I do—to a point, but what are you getting at?” I grab my keys off the little square table, meant for plants, by the door. We’ve always “planted” our keys there, instead.
    “What I’m getting at is this, if you do something that is completely out of character . . . she’s not going to trust it. She knows you overdo things. I’m not sure what it is you have to do; all I know is that it has to be consistent so she can trust it. Does that make any sense to you?”
    “Slightly, but I’m going to take your word for it and try to come up with something.” I lean down and kiss her cheek.
    “You’ll figure it out, son. Where there’s a will . . .”
    “There’s a way,” I finish for her. She gives me a slight nod, smiling, and pulls me in for a hug.
    I head out the door . . . on a mission.

“Hey, do have a twenty on you? I left my debit card at home and I’m like on ‘E,’” I ask Charley as I breeze into kitchen in a rush.
    “Whoa!” She grabs my arm to stop me. “Yes, but I want some details first.”
    “The only detail I’m going to give you is that I was right about him. Fuck, I hate that I was right!” I try to fight off my anger but not as hard as I’m trying to fight off my tears. “Do me a favor, please?”
    “What?”
    “Give me the twenty and never mention him to me again.”
    “Um . . . ok.” She hesitates then quickly grabs her purse and gives me the money. I look down and see that I’ve scored a Benjamin.
    “Thanks for the twenty.” I wave on my way out.
    “I didn’t give you a twenty!” she calls after me.
    “Who’s counting?” I shrug and get into my car before she can say another word. As soon as I turn the ignition, I see an envelope under my driver’s side wiper. What the fuck? Rolling down the window, I grab it. It’s simply addressed “Psst . . .” I open it. But I don’t have to tell you that, we all know I’m a nosy