that one really caught me off guard.
“The ‘Gram,” she says.
My face scrunches in horror. “But you don’t have an Instagram.”
She slowly slides the newspaper, which covers up her torso, down on her lap, like an intimidating mob boss. I expected her to have a half smoked cigarette in her mouth. “I have a profile on there just to keep tabs on you. Just to make sure you’re not doing anything crazy. I know how wild teenagers are. I used to be one.”
“And?” I ask anticipating her disdainful judgment.
“You’re an angel. Thank God.”
“This is true.”
“It’s funny though. You used to post cool little Anime pics and stuff about Gandalf, now it’s just Retweets of shirtless Justin Bieber pics”. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what you girls see in that bird-chested boy.”
I choose not to entertain this light interrogation. “Well good to know I’m being spied on. Thanks Mom.”
She folds her newspaper and lays it on the coffee table. “Now you’re just going to dodge the question I asked you?” She folds her hands and rests them on her knee and waits for me to ramble and come up with another distraction from her query. But I don’t.
“Lucas and I aren’t together anymore Mom.” I fiddle with the strap on the umbrella and circumvent her watchful eyes.
“Well…obviously. But I’m asking why.”
As uncomfortable as this conversation is, I don’t want to prolong it by lying. She asks too many questions and I’m not willing to go toe to toe with her right now.
“He’s a football player, Mom. You can come to your own conclusions.”
She sighs like only a mother could after hearing her daughter got her heart thrown in a blender. “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it, but I already know the answer.”
“Some other time. And I’m okay. Breakups happen. They’re apart of any teenage girl’s life along with braces and getting her period right before third period Spanish.
“That’s very mature of you say.” She grins slightly and nods. “Your father would be proud.”
Those words stick me in the gut. It feels like a pin just burst on the balloon called my Friday night.
My stand rigid, preventing any emotions from welling up. “Right,” I say, my voice hiding the hurt in my throat. “I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Go Vikings!” she yelps. I pump my fist in the air as my left hand turns the doorknob.
“Do it for the ‘Gram and take a selfie with Kellen after the game tonight.”
My Mom’s attempt to incorporate slang into her bland maternal lingo falls short, but doesn’t fall short of embarrassing me. I’m just glad Justine or Kellen isn’t here or I wasn’t somewhere out in public. “Mom, don’t ever say ‘do it for the ‘Gram’…again. It’s disrespectful. Pure disrespect.” I snicker. “And contrary to popular belief, Kellen and I are not dating.”
She puts her palms out in defense. “I said not a word.”
It tastes sour having to utter those words. To the deepest crevice of my bone marrow I wanted those words to be the opposite. ‘Yes Mom, Kellen and I are dating. We’re in love. And it feels soooo amazing.’ I wanted to say it to her. I wanted to Snapchat it. I wanted to run on the field and snatch the microphone from Jacqui Carter signing the national anthem before the game tonight yell that Kellen is mine and how it makes me so happy. I wanted to. But until pigs start flying airplanes, that’s so not happening.
***
After last night I hadn’t heard much from Kellen. Okay, I didn’t hear anything from him at all besides a couple of texts about how much fun he had losing at putt-putt. But there was absolutely nothing spoken about the almost-kiss we had. As much as I wanted to bring it up to him and whether I thought it was pretend or genuine, another side of me prayed he wouldn’t mention it. If he did, so many other questions would have to be answered and that would only make our ordeal much more difficult. So going
“The ‘Gram,” she says.
My face scrunches in horror. “But you don’t have an Instagram.”
She slowly slides the newspaper, which covers up her torso, down on her lap, like an intimidating mob boss. I expected her to have a half smoked cigarette in her mouth. “I have a profile on there just to keep tabs on you. Just to make sure you’re not doing anything crazy. I know how wild teenagers are. I used to be one.”
“And?” I ask anticipating her disdainful judgment.
“You’re an angel. Thank God.”
“This is true.”
“It’s funny though. You used to post cool little Anime pics and stuff about Gandalf, now it’s just Retweets of shirtless Justin Bieber pics”. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what you girls see in that bird-chested boy.”
I choose not to entertain this light interrogation. “Well good to know I’m being spied on. Thanks Mom.”
She folds her newspaper and lays it on the coffee table. “Now you’re just going to dodge the question I asked you?” She folds her hands and rests them on her knee and waits for me to ramble and come up with another distraction from her query. But I don’t.
“Lucas and I aren’t together anymore Mom.” I fiddle with the strap on the umbrella and circumvent her watchful eyes.
“Well…obviously. But I’m asking why.”
As uncomfortable as this conversation is, I don’t want to prolong it by lying. She asks too many questions and I’m not willing to go toe to toe with her right now.
“He’s a football player, Mom. You can come to your own conclusions.”
She sighs like only a mother could after hearing her daughter got her heart thrown in a blender. “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it, but I already know the answer.”
“Some other time. And I’m okay. Breakups happen. They’re apart of any teenage girl’s life along with braces and getting her period right before third period Spanish.
“That’s very mature of you say.” She grins slightly and nods. “Your father would be proud.”
Those words stick me in the gut. It feels like a pin just burst on the balloon called my Friday night.
My stand rigid, preventing any emotions from welling up. “Right,” I say, my voice hiding the hurt in my throat. “I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Go Vikings!” she yelps. I pump my fist in the air as my left hand turns the doorknob.
“Do it for the ‘Gram and take a selfie with Kellen after the game tonight.”
My Mom’s attempt to incorporate slang into her bland maternal lingo falls short, but doesn’t fall short of embarrassing me. I’m just glad Justine or Kellen isn’t here or I wasn’t somewhere out in public. “Mom, don’t ever say ‘do it for the ‘Gram’…again. It’s disrespectful. Pure disrespect.” I snicker. “And contrary to popular belief, Kellen and I are not dating.”
She puts her palms out in defense. “I said not a word.”
It tastes sour having to utter those words. To the deepest crevice of my bone marrow I wanted those words to be the opposite. ‘Yes Mom, Kellen and I are dating. We’re in love. And it feels soooo amazing.’ I wanted to say it to her. I wanted to Snapchat it. I wanted to run on the field and snatch the microphone from Jacqui Carter signing the national anthem before the game tonight yell that Kellen is mine and how it makes me so happy. I wanted to. But until pigs start flying airplanes, that’s so not happening.
***
After last night I hadn’t heard much from Kellen. Okay, I didn’t hear anything from him at all besides a couple of texts about how much fun he had losing at putt-putt. But there was absolutely nothing spoken about the almost-kiss we had. As much as I wanted to bring it up to him and whether I thought it was pretend or genuine, another side of me prayed he wouldn’t mention it. If he did, so many other questions would have to be answered and that would only make our ordeal much more difficult. So going
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