My mom found me in my room that evening. I’d been playing on my keyboard for an hour, rehearsing a piece that my teacher had assigned. It was the most difficult thing he’d ever given me, and I’d struggled over it for months without success. But now I was brimming with new confidence, and for the first time, I found that I could actually make it through. I was determined to post a new recording on YouTube before the end of the week. Wearing the sleeveless yellow dress, of course.
I stopped playing when I heard my mom knock. She entered, glanced around the room nervously, and then sank down on my bed. “That sounded really good,” she told me proudly. “I was listening at the door.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She plucked at her sleeve and sighed; a few minutes of weird, pregnant silence passed and nothing happened. It was obvious that I was going to have to start this conversation.
“I went over to Jonah’s house today,” I told her innocently, as if she hadn’t known that. As if she wasn’t sitting there waiting for this information.
She nodded slowly. I could see her mind working furiously. What can I ask without seeming too nosy? she was thinking. What can I say that won’t make her shut down and tell me nothing?
“He seems really nice, Mom,” I said when she didn’t speak.
She made a brave effort. I could see her making it. There was an exhaled breath, a lip quiver, an eyebrow twitch. And then the frame collapsed.
“Oh God, Mom. Are you crying?”
She wasn’t exactly, but her eyes were very red. I heard a squeak from her and nothing more.
“Mom, I’m going to stop telling you things if you keep overreacting.”
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Give me a second.”
“Mom. I met him yesterday. Please.”
“Yes. You’re right. I’m just—”
“Do you want to talk about something else while you get yourself together?”
“I’m together. Totally together,” she insisted.
“Sure, Mom. You know, most girls my age have already been through half a dozen boyfriends. Some of them are on birth control.” What the hell was I doing? She looked like she was going to faint. “You know if Kristin’s parents acted like this every time she met someone, they’d both be in a coma. She’s been in and out of relationships since she was twelve.”
“I know, April. But you’re not Kristin.” She took a deep breath. “You’re not like a lot of your classmates,” she continued in a steadier voice. “Friendships mean more to you. And so will your relationships.”
“I’ll be careful. I’m taking things slow.”
She shook her head at me. “I’m not worried about the speed. I’m worried about the intensity. Honestly, I see a lot of myself in you. Now don’t roll your eyes, I actually know you, believe it or not. We’re the type that can get completely swept away. And we’ll stay loyal to the people we love, no matter what.”
She was talking about her own history now, not mine. Mom was raised in the ultra-Orthodox Jewish section of New Square, and her parents were the strictest of the strict, religious role models for their community. All their children followed their example—all except my mom, whose unexpected teenage rebellion shook her family to the core. At eighteen, she declared that she was going to stop “arranged” dating for a while and travel out of state to study psychology.
Near the end of her junior year, her parents’ worst fears came true. My mother met Mark Wesley: fellow psych major, handsome flirt, and lapsed Catholic. When they married the following summer, my grandparents mourned their daughter as if she’d died. My mom sent baby pictures after I was born and continued mailing photos of me and letters about my progress for several years. She never heard another word from her parents, and eventually she stopped trying.
“Loyalty isn’t a bad thing, Mom.”
“It is when you’re fifteen and you have no experience. The truth is I wouldn’t be worried about Kristin if I were her mother. Kris will drop a guy because he didn’t like a movie she liked.” She paused a moment to let her words sink in. Well, she got that right, I thought. Kris would drop a guy over a movie. Or a sports team. Or a flavor of ice cream.
“So what? Do you want me to be like Kris?”
“No. But I don’t want you to marry yourself to this boy after a week of dating either.”
“We’re not—we’re not even dating!” I was sure of that, at least. Well, pretty sure. Hold on a minute. Were we dating?
My mom shot me a doubtful look. “You’re not?”
I was supposed to know the answer to that. “I’m not sure,” I admitted in a low voice. “I was going to call Kris later and ask her what she thought.”
She laughed and leaned back against the wall. “Okay. Kris will tell you if you’re dating a guy that she’s never met?”
“Fine, you can meet him if you want, if you think you know so much about it,” I shot back irritably and then immediately regretted it. Don’t take me up on it, don’t take me up on it, please don’t take me up on it.
“Great!” she responded, brightening. “Bring him by tomorrow after school.”
Damn.
“Oh—but—but you have work…”
“It’s okay! I’ll take off early and fix dinner for us.”
“Oh, no. No, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She looked offended. “Why not? What’s going on with you? Are you doing that ‘my mom is so embarrassing’ thing? Because I’ve never actually given you a reason—”
“I know you haven’t.” Because I’ve never given you the chance to, I thought grimly. Kris is used to the fruitiness, and how often do I bring over new people?
“So what is it then? Just ask him if he’s free.”
He would be free, and just my luck, my mother would serve stewed tofu niblets and quinoa cakes. I could already picture it.
“Okay, fine,” I mumbled.
“Good, that’s settled,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I can’t wait to meet him. I’ll make my watercress omelet.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against my pillow. “Could we just order pizza tomorrow? Please?”
There was a short silence; I could hear her fighting the urge to argue. “Okay,” she agreed after a moment. “I suppose that’ll be all right.”
She hung around for a while longer, as if she expected me to speak again, but when I didn’t open my eyes, she slid off the bed and slipped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. It was a relief that she was gone. I didn’t want to answer any more questions about Jonah.
Normally I don’t mind my mother’s company. She’s a patient listener, and she’s so anxious to be a good parent that she rarely actually parents me. She usually alternates between the role of supportive older sister and timid roommate. I wished now that she had stayed that way. Her newfound maternal confidence and sage advice were getting on my nerves.
I needed time alone to think. If Jonah really was my boyfriend, then I had some serious texting and obsessing to do. Then, after I finished messaging Kris, I planned to devote the rest of the night to hard core daydreaming. I couldn’t wait. It would be the best fantasy ever, because now my dreams came with a tiny ray of hope.