I KEEP EXPECTING I’LL cancel the date. I’ll find him outside class where no one’s listening and say I decided it’s not a good idea. Ethan would understand. He’d dismiss the whole possibility with some quip about how we were tired. Neither of us were in our right minds. We’d head to our next class and return to competing the way we always have.
It doesn’t happen. Thursday passes, excitement inexplicably growing in my chest. I remember what Hector told me. Sometimes you only think you outgrew someone when really you let them go. I don’t know if a date with Ethan will give me any confirmation. But it might.
We get the paper out on Friday, in part thanks to Ethan. It’s weird, having worked with Ethan instead of against him. It feels like having a fluent conversation in a foreign language for the first time. I’m picking up the nuances, the rhythms, and enjoying myself.
By six o’clock on Friday night, I still haven’t canceled our date. I’m standing in my room, having changed my outfit three times. Closing my closet door, I straighten my cream-colored sweater over my light pink skirt. While I want to look nice, I don’t want to look like I labored over dressing up.
It’s an odd feeling, consciously evaluating whether I’m enough myself. The idea of this formal date with someone who a year ago I never would’ve expected dating has me feeling like I’m playing an older, more mature version of myself. I want it to fit instead of hanging loosely on me like I’m wearing an oversized life.
I settle on my outfit from the day with a few minor modifications. Swapping out my oxfords for yellow heels, I wonder if Ethan will notice I’ve eliminated our height difference. In a moment of inspiration, I put on the peach lipstick I wore to the junior awards ceremony last year. Finally, I pull my phone and purse out from under my Princeton Review economics guide, making a mental note to pick up the notebooks, papers, and studying detritus scattered throughout my room.
When I come downstairs, I find my parents in the living room. Mom’s reading on her iPad, probably work documents, while dad watches The Proposal. Mom looks over, eyeing my outfit impassively over the rims of her glasses. “Hot date?”
I freeze. It’s the worst move I could’ve possibly made.
Mom’s eyes widen. My dad pauses the movie, which really speaks to how interesting I am since he’s in the middle of the scene where Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds are about to collide outside the shower. “Who is it?” Mom presses me. She must be great in depositions. Isn’t it true you’re going out for dinner with your onetime-nemesis-then-rival-with-benefits?
“Um,” I get out.
Dad’s eyes light up. “Oh my god. It’s happening,” he deadpans.
“Alison Sanger, are you going out with Ethan Molloy tonight?” Mom asks. She removes her glasses, like she plans to spend the entire night dissecting this with Dad instead of reading for work.
“Pay up,” my dad says, holding a hand out to my mom.
I inhale deeply, hoping it calms me. “Can you guys just pretend you’re normal parents?”
“Oh, would you rather us give you a safe-sex speech?” My mom’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Is that what normal parents would do when their daughter’s going out with a good-looking young man?”
“Never mind—”
“You really ought to have Ethan send you a note from his care provider on his sexually transmitted disease record,” my dad counsels. I honestly have no idea if he’s being facetious. Either way, I feel like screaming.
My mom opens her mouth, and I shove my hands over my ears. “We’re just teasing,” she says, and I reluctantly release them. “We’re happy for you.”
“How did you know?” I ask, hearing the vulnerability in my voice. “I mean about me and Ethan. How did you know we’d get together?”
My parents exchange a wry look. “You’re obsessed with each other,” Mom says. It’s what she’d tell me if she were joking, except she’s not. There’s no humor in her tone. “Besides, we’re your parents. We know stuff about you.”
The words soften me. “But I had no idea, and I really thought I knew myself.” I’m not used to voicing real fears to my parents. This one worked itself into my heart when I first recognized what I felt for Ethan. How could I be so blind to myself? If my hatred for Ethan could change without warning into what I’m feeling now, I wonder what other pieces of myself I’m wrong about. It’s the way I felt when I talked to Jamie and heard her side of her story, like the entire vision I have of my future might end up a mirage.
“No one knows everything about themselves,” Dad says.
“Sometimes the unexpected stuff is the best,” Mom continues, her hand finding Dad’s on the couch cushions. “Like getting pregnant with you.”
I roll my eyes, not ignoring the comfort in Mom’s reassurance. “Instead of giving me the sex talk, now you’re encouraging me to get knocked up.”
Dad cuts Mom a warning glance. “No, we’re not. We’re just saying you shouldn’t shut the door on new experiences or shaking up your own self-image. You might surprise yourself.”
I nod. It’s strangely meaningful, hearing good advice from my parents, and not what I expected from this conversation. I assumed they were pretty much over parenting—but maybe that’s one more thing I got wrong. “Thanks,” I reply, not knowing exactly what to say.
I walk to the front door. With my hand on the handle, I hear my dad call out from the living room. “Remember the STD check, Alison.”
“Okay, bye,” I say pointedly.
“Have fun, baby girl,” my mom replies.
I’m smiling as I shut the door. I guess the nickname isn’t the worst.