THE NEXT day, I get to drink coffee with my mom after she brews it. I feel very official as I sip it, full of sugar to make the bitter taste less intense. We’re both bleary-eyed from a few hours ago when we were celebrating my poetry breakthrough. But we have an important e-mail to compose, although my mother doesn’t know it yet.
“Mom, I kind of want to do the National Accolades thing. I’d like to go to the city again, and maybe do the photo shoot thing too.”
“Only kind of? I don’t know if I believe that, Car.”
“Alright, I kind of really want to do it. I’ve wanted to since we got the letter…. But it didn’t feel alright until now.” I am enveloped in an espresso-scented hug.
“Let’s do this.” My mom grins. We go upstairs, nursing our coffees.
The e-mail takes a while to compose, though it comes together nicely in the end. To make a long e-mail short, we started out by thanking Alexander Brown for the invitation and accepting it, while also agreeing to partake in the photo shoot. I then proceeded to apologize for taking almost two full months to reply, because I had been unable to produce any poetry and thusly felt uncomfortable talking about poems in front of a bunch of people. However my feelings changed and my opinion accompanied it, and I graciously thanked the man for such a fine display of patience and for the opportunity. There was some other technical stuff, but that was the gist.
I ask my mom if I could invite Emmett, since the invitation let me bring two guests, which I assumed meant two parents or legal guardians, but having only one, I want to have Emmett come with me. She says yes. Despite his occasionally snarky attitude, Emmett is genuinely a good person, and he does care about me, unlike the majority of my peers. He wants to see me happy. The city might bring that out. That, and my mom also loves him.
My mom kicks me out of her office so she can do her work, and I start to text him.
Me: Want to go to New York City?
Emmett: Well, that piqued my interest quickly.
Me: Well, do you? It’s for the National Poetry Accolades thing.
Emmett: I’d love to. A moment.
Emmett: My mom wants to know about adult supervision.
Me: My mom will be coming too. Like she’d miss this.
Emmett: An excellent point, my dear Carter. Another moment.
Emmett: When?
Me: The weekend of the fourteenth.
It went on like that for a little while, us sending these little back-and-forths with Emmett needing information and me giving it. In the end he gets permission, and our trip for two becomes the expected trip for three.