Unfortunately, my life was about to take a turn for the worse, which happened Sunday night at Applebee’s, which I gather is a frequent site of disastrous life choices. My mom had wanted to get away from mall food, so we went out to Applebee’s because she made no sense as a human being.
“So how was the Snow Ball?” she asked.
Oh, it was great, we never went to the dance, just stayed at the Macaroni Grill all night drinking wine and coming up with a conspiracy to ruin the speech team. Some memories will last forever.
“Fine,” I said.
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mom.”
“You should wear makeup sometimes,” she said, finding a can of worms and opening it.
“What the hell? I just want a burger.”
“You know what we should do? Like a mother-daughter makeover.”
“Nope.”
“It would be totes adorbs.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“I mean it! Fine.” She huffed. “So which boy were you on the date with?”
“It wasn’t like a romantic thing, it was more like, um… talking.”
“Talking is good. Did you like the red-haired boy?”
“Can we eat in silence please like the other families at Applebee’s?” I tried to look at my phone.
“Sweetheart, you know the rule.”
I put the phone back in my pocket. The Rule, which may be the only rule in my family, was that No Phones Were Allowed at the Table. It was instituted somewhere in the earlier battles of the War of the Parents, when there was a heated meeting of some sort or the other, and it was determined that the cause of all problems in our family was that phones were being used to block out emotions.
Unfortunately, without phones, those emotions broke free, careened around the room, and destroyed everything. Turned out both of my parents loved their phones more than each other. Of course, lots of marriages survive people hating each other—it’s a pretty common thing that happens when you live with someone for fifteen or twenty years, but when the money runs out, the FBI turns up, and someone is shredding documents, the dominoes fall pretty quickly after that.
“I just want to talk to you and have a conversation,” said my mom. “Is that such a problem?”
“No,” I muttered. “But having a conversation isn’t the same thing as you criticizing my life choices.”
“How am I criticizing your life choices?”
“Um, ‘You should wear makeup it will be totes adorbs’?”
“It would be.”
“Mom.”
She raised her hands like she was being held up. “All right. Fine. You don’t need to wear makeup; you are beautiful as you are.”
“Thank you.”
“You never need to take a shower or wash your hair or do anything else, either.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not the same thing.”
“I know, I’m kidding, have a sense of humor, jeez. Just tell me what’s going on. I like that you’re making friends—”
“You don’t need to play matchmaker, though.”
“All right, fine, I won’t mention boys. Promise. Not even the cute red-haired one. I won’t mention him at all.”
I took a deep breath. “So school is not awesome and—”
“Hey, look at these two hot babes! You guys must be sisters.”
I’d recognize that braying anywhere. Luke.
Mom got up and gave him a hug. His hand slid precariously toward her butt, and he kissed her with a slightly open mouth. He had come from the gym, which meant he was still wearing his action tights and his loose-fitting Under Armour tank top that showed off his impressive biceps and shaved armpits. (I should point out that it was about twenty degrees outside, but when you’re a sexy CrossFit man, you become immune to all weather through the sheer force of your ego.) He sidled into the booth next to her.
“I thought you guys were sisters.” He chuckled, as if the joke might become funny the second time around.
Mom giggled, patting his hand. “You are the worst.”
“So how am I supposed to take that?” I said. “’Cause either way it’s disgusting. You’re either saying that my mom looks like a teenager, or I’m so decrepit that I look like I’m forty years old. Which is it, Luke? Am I super old or are you into teenagers?”
“O-kay,” he said, his eyes wide in mock fear. “Lesson learned.”
“I’m not comfortable with saying forty is ‘super old,’” said my mom, using finger quotes like a boss.
“How about seasoned?” he said, bouncing up and down slightly.
“I don’t like that, either.” She smiled.
Luke pulled out the abnormally large Applebee’s menu, which was a brightly colored extravaganza of food products that bore no resemblance to what came out of the kitchen. “So what’s good?”
The inoffensive rock-and-roll music wafted malevolently from the speakers as I realized he intended to have dinner with us. Not only that, but this rendezvous was in some way planned and sprung on me. I hoped a spontaneous black hole would form, sucking in all light and heat and energy from this universe and imploding on itself, utterly destroying Luke.
I’m not going to torture you with a transcription of the “conversation” that followed—here are the SparkNotes:
Minnesota Vikings. Injuries are bad. Evidence of a cruel God.
Minnesota Wolves. Lots of young guys. Exciting up-and-comers. Hope there are no injuries.
People at the gym who hurt themselves because they don’t know what they are doing and they don’t ask Luke for help.
Benefits of a paleo diet. Lean protein helps build muscle mass. Good to know.
Maybe Sydney would like to work out sometime.
Why bad attitudes are the real reason people are held back, especially Sydney.
Things came to a head over the question of dessert. Cavemen, who apparently were super healthy because they got a lot of aerobic exercise chasing after mammoths, never had dessert because they weren’t exposed to refined sugars. Nice. Seeing as how I wasn’t a caveman, I decided it would be cool to have a sundae lounging goopily on a bed of chocolate brownies.
“Sundae, huh? Wow.”
“Yeah. But it’s on top of a brownie, so that probably makes it healthier.”
His eyes went blank, as if he were witnessing the death of all he believed in. “That’s a lot of empty calories. I tell this to people at the gym all the time, eat for the person you want to be.”
“The person I want to be is a person having a sundae on top of a brownie.”
“All right,” he said, “just know that you’re making choices about yourself that have consequences. So, you gotta live with that.”
“I think I’ll manage,” I said acidly. “I have amazing self-esteem, Luke. Amazing.”
“Sweet.” He put out a fist like he was going to fist-bump me. I eyed it.
“What are you doing right now?”
“I support amazing self-esteem, so I’m fist-bumping you.”
“Uh-huh.” I looked coolly at the fist still hanging over the center of the table. Then I looked at Luke. He looked back at me. Apparently we were going to stare down until I fist-bumped him.
I can do this all day, motherfucker.
Mom chuckled nervously and pulled Luke’s hand back. “All right, all right.”
“Mental fist bump,” said Luke, smiling.
“Nope. I mentally blocked your mental fist bump.”
Luke’s snaggletoothed smile disintegrated as he realized I had outmatched him.
“We do actually have something to talk about while you eat your sundae,” said my mom.
I felt cold all over. A chill wind of evil blew through the Applebee’s, fluttering the unnecessary seasoning on the fries. I said nothing.
“Um…” she said. “So…” Her hand reached out toward Luke’s and wrapped itself around it. “Luke and I have been talking, and… well… he’s going to move in.”
The sundae arrived but it was too late—life was over.
The fallout from the Luke-moving-in bombshell continued long after our bus ride home.
“Are you kidding me?! You’ve been dating that guy like two weeks!”
“Six months!”
“Who moves in after six months?!”
“Lots of people move in after six months; it’s normal.”
“Doesn’t he have a place? Isn’t his mom’s basement available? Can’t he live at the gym like the rest of the meatheads?”
She slapped her purse down on the kitchen counter. “His lease is up at the end of February, and we thought it would be a good idea to do this.”
“Ugh.” I flopped on the couch, and Charlie scrambled onto one of the cushions like a mobile cannonball. “This is nuts. You don’t know anything about him.”
“He’s a very nice person.”
“Have you met him? He’s like an infomercial come to life! He’s like a pamphlet, Mom. He’s going to drop you as soon as he finds some other spray-tanned girl wearing tights that needs help on her quads.”
“All right, that is enough.”
“This is bullshit. Seriously. You don’t know hardly anything about him, and you’re inviting him into our home.”
Charlie started barking.
“That is ENOUGH!”
“No, it’s not! You don’t get to make these decisions without me! You made decisions about Dad without me and now look at—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t bring him into this! This has nothing to do with your father!”
“Well, he wouldn’t just bring in someone dangerous—”
“Your father is in prison, Sydney! He’s not winning dad of the year!”
Tears were brimming in my eyes now.
“Stop. Being. A. Spoiled. Brat. I can’t afford the rent.”
My face was hot with rage, but my breath caught in my throat.
“What do you mean, you can’t afford the rent?”
“Exactly what it sounds like—I can’t afford the rent.”
“I thought—”
“You thought what? I still owe lawyers money for the divorce and the trial. I’m making practically nothing at the mall. I’m taking every shift I can, but my credit cards are maxed out and my credit is shit and I’ve got nothing for you, okay? I am worth negative money. I’ve been alive forty-four years and I’m worth less than zero dollars. All right?”
I sank into the couch.
“And all I can think about is that I wish I had something to send you to college after you graduate, but—”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Mom,” I said, swallowing the brick that was in my throat. “I think my fall semester grades took care of that.”
Her jaw tightened. “Don’t say that.”
“Well?”
She sniffed. “You can explain it in your essay or something or—”
“I don’t think they want to hear it.”
“This is what I’m talking about. I want you to try. Give it a shot, see what happens. All people can say is no.”
I let that sink in for a moment. Was she right? She settled in next to me.
“I know this is soon with Luke. But I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was the right thing. And part of it is that we need the help. If he doesn’t help us, then… then we might have two or three months before we have to move. And this time I don’t know where we’re moving to. Okay? If he pays half the rent, then I can start paying off my credit cards, I can build a little bit of money back. We have a chance, at least.”
She patted my leg. “I don’t know whether or not this thing with him is going to last, and I know, you have made me very aware, that you don’t like him. And I understand that—you miss your father, I get it. There’s just no other way I can do this.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
I leaned up and hugged her, feeling her tremble just the slightest bit.