Part 16 (1/2)
”I can be nice, you know.”
”Oh, I know you can be nice. I'm just wondering what you're hoping to get from it.”
”Thanks a lot, Mom. You make me sound like a really great person. I can be nice just for the sake of being nice, you know.”
I could tell she didn't believe me. I went back to the kitchen and loaded up the plates with spaghetti. I delivered them to the table with a flourish.
”How are things at school?”
”I'm not in trouble.”
”I've noticed Joann hasn't been around much.”
”Yeah.” I twirled the spaghetti around on my fork and tried to figure out how to explain it.
”One of those things where you're both mad and you're not even sure why you're mad anymore?”
I looked over at my mom, surprised.
”I wasn't born a mom. I went to high school myself.” My mom put her fork down and pushed her chair away from the table. ”Did I ever tell you why I left Wheaton?”
”No. I figured you wanted to do something different.”
”Sort of. When I was in school, I had a crush on Thomas Evers.”
”Reverend Evers?” My mouth curled up in disgust, and my mom burst out laughing.
”He wasn't a reverend then, he was just Thomas. He was two years ahead of me, and he was handsome and popular, and I think every girl in school had a thing for him.”
”Did he do that nasty Donald Trump comb-over thing back then?”
”No. He used to keep his hair cut really short, sort of like a military buzz cut. He had this great body because he played every sport. He worked out all the time.”
”Mom, I'm eating here. Could we please not talk about his body?”
”Fair enough. Take my word for it: Thomas was attractive. I thought about him all the time, mooned around, wis.h.i.+ng he would notice me.”
”Mooned?”
”Not dropping-pants moon, mooning meaning I liked him, but he didn't know I was alive. I used to write him these long poems where I would describe how much I loved him. Really bad romantic poems. They were a bit steamy.” She blushed. ”At any rate, Sheila Hunter found one of the poems. It must have fallen out of my notebook. We had math together.”
”Sheila Hunter? Isn't that Mrs. Evers?”
”It is now.”
”Oh my G.o.d. She gave him the poem, didn't she?”
”Worse. She read it out loud in the cafeteria.”
”No!”
”Yes. I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.”
”What happened?”
”Not much really happened. I was a freshman and Thomas was a junior. He continued to pretend I wasn't alive. People teased me about it. They used to call me Lord Byron.”
”I saw that nickname in your old yearbooks. I thought it was because English was your favorite subject.”
”Nope. It came from my poetic ability.” My mom made finger quotations around ”poetic ability.”
”That must have sucked.”
”Thomas and Sheila started going out that year. When I look back at high school, I realize I spent most of my time hating being there. I couldn't wait to leave. I knew I wanted to live someplace where no one knew about the poem incident. I wanted a fresh start.”
”I completely get that.”
”But that's the thing. I thought if I moved away, I could move away from all of it, but the memories were still with me. The fact that I was shy and awkward didn't change just because I changed locations. I made the same mistakes, but in a new place with new people.”
”No matter where you go, there you are,” I said.
My mom looked over and broke into a smile. ”That's right, pretty wise words. How did you get so smart?”
”Genetics,” I said. ”Apparently b.i.t.c.hy genes can also be pa.s.sed down: Darci is just how you describe her mom.”
”Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
”You're doing that cliche thing again.”
”Do you know why they don't send mules to college?” my mom asked.
”n.o.body likes a smarta.s.s?” I said.
This joke has been knocking around our house for a long time. My mom raised her fork in acknowledgment and we shared a smile. I watched her eat. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone read your hot love poems out loud. I felt bad for my teenage mom. She looked up and noticed me watching her.
”I'm sorry things got so messed up,” I said.
”Sometimes a wrong turn leads us to exactly where we need to be, not where we wanted to be. If I hadn't gone to Chicago, I wouldn't have met your dad.”
”That might have been a good thing.”
”But then I wouldn't have had you.”
”And you wouldn't have had to drop out of college and move back here. You could have done anything you wanted.”
My mom stood up suddenly and came over to my seat. She kneeled down so we were face-to-face. She took my chin in her hand and forced me to look her straight in the eyes.