19

august

Mom’s been in Vinnie’s Pizza for a half hour, which means either Vinnie’s hiring her or she’ll come out jobless with a claim that they’re kindred spirits or some crap.

I press my hands against the steering wheel and stare at the windshield blurred by heavy summer rain, the kind that suddenly dumps out of the clouds and then disappears just as fast. And I think about Tiny’s plan, about exposing Justin by making him think he’s lost control over Ella. There are a few ways it might work, but all of those involve trust—not an easily achievable milestone considering Ella only just stopped hating me.

I pick up my phone, selecting my thread with Ella.

Me

Question: have I graduated from mild dislike yet? I’m aiming for a solid neutral.

For a few seconds there’s nothing. Then the chat bubble pops up.

Ella

Who aims for neutral?

Me

Neutral is best.

Ella

Loved is best. Neutral is neutral.

Me

Disagree. Neutral is the gateway to friendship.

Ella

So you’re actually aiming for friendship, not neutral.

Me

Nope. Not sure you make the cut yet.

Ella

Riiiight. Which is why you offered to teach me to paint . . . because you’re so undecided. Totally believe that one.

I laugh.

Me

Nah. I’d have offered that to anyone. A world full of bad painters is the stuff of nightmares.

Ella

Said no one ever.

Me

Imagine if all the sign designers, clothing designers, building designers etc were TERRIBLE artists???

Ella

Fine. You’ve achieved neutral.

Me

Because I made a good point?

Ella

Lack of stupidity is definitely a plus in those I consider neutral.

I stare at my phone. This girl is witty.

Me

Woohoo! See you at the coffee shop in an hour.

Ella

Wait . . . How did you know I was going to be there?

Your parents told me you work on your blog there most afternoons, and since there are no parties and the weekend is over . . .

Me

I didn’t. I’m just going to be there.

Ella

Coffee shop is mine. I told you that you could have the park bench. Soooo

I consider typing a response, but my mom opens the passenger door.

“That Vinnie is such a nice man,” she says as she slides into the seat, her hair curlier than usual because of the rain. “Did you know he has five kids? How wonderful it must be to have all those children running around the house.”

My heart does a nosedive. “So you didn’t get the job.” I start the engine.

“All that laughter,” she says, tracing the rain down the glass.

I squeeze the steering wheel and tighten my jaw as I pull onto the street, trying to will myself not to care that this is the fourth place we’ve tried with a hiring sign, easy pickings. How do you not get hired to serve pizza? Is that even possible?

“I should’ve had five children. Five’s a good number. Don’t you think?” she asks.

No. You couldn’t support two, much less five. Hell, you can’t even support one.

“And think about all the grandchildren,” she says and sighs.

“Stop, Mom,” I say, frustration seeping through my words as I turn onto our street. “Just admit you didn’t get the job.”

She looks at her hands folded in her lap and then out the window. With her enthusiasm zapped she looks fragile, like a china plate balancing precariously on the edge of a table. She’s silent for a few seconds, her shoulders falling and her fingers worrying at her skirt. I already regret my tone.

I exhale. “Five kids, huh?” I say, giving her an apologetic look as I pull into our driveway. “Why not get wild and shoot for ten?”

Her smile reappears and for a second, she looks grateful I didn’t make her admit her defeat out loud. “Ten! We could have our own baseball team!”

I laugh, not bothering to point out that we’re the least likely family to have a baseball team ever. I park the car and turn off the engine. “Go ahead in without me. I’m heading over to Tiny’s.”