Needless to say, my mom and I have quite a bit to talk about when we get home.
“Katie. What is going on?”
“Did you see my kiss on the court after the game?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mom. A girl kissed me, on the court, after the game.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It was my teammate, Nadia. We spent today together at the mall. I thought we were friends, but apparently, she thought it meant something else.”
“So you’re not into her?”
“Um, no. She’s not really my type. I’m still waiting for my Ryan Gosling.”
My mom snorts. “I thought you were done with that whole Emma Stone phase.”
Not even close. “It’s not a phase, Mom.” I try to explain. “Emma’s like my untouchable, much cooler, much older sister. Since I’m an only child and all.” I stare out the window. “I figure if I have to make up an imaginary sister, it may as well be someone awesome,” comes out more as a mutter.
My mom gives me a look of exasperation. “When are you going to let that go? Your father and I couldn’t have any more after you, you know this.” She grins at me. “You broke the mold.”
I pick at imaginary fuzz on the couch seat and roll my eyes at her age-old catch-phrase about my birth, even though hearing it feels as good as the first sip of hot cocoa on a winter day. “I broke your vagina, Mom. That’s what happened. I’ve got shoulders like a linebacker.” I lean back. “You could always adopt you know.”
“Katie! I’m not adopting an African American boy so your life can be like Easy A, a movie I still don’t understand. There’s way too much talk about sex in there, if you ask me.”
It’s an old argument, but I can’t help it. “First off, Mom, the focus of the movie was the ridiculousness of the emphasis of the importance of sex and peer pressure in high school and how damaging gossip can be. And the point of the invasion of the internet in our everyday lives! People need to stop living through other people’s lives on social media!”
“Says you, the blog queen and mad quoter of Emma Stone movie characters.” My mom mutters at me. She has a point, but I’m on a roll.
I take a deep breath. “Secondly, it is a well-known fact that the highest number of children waiting to be adopted in the United States are African American boys ages 9-12. You could be a mother to someone who needs a little love, and if it happens to fulfill my life-long dream of being an awesome big sister like Emma in Easy A, so be it.”
My mom sighs. “Katie. Life isn’t like the movies. I’m forty years old. I’m not up for raising a half-grown child I’ve never met.” We sit in silence a few minutes. Mom claps her hands; a thing she does when something occurs to her. “Why did you skip work today, Katie? That’s not like you. I wonder why your father didn’t call me.” Because he was too busy shagging his skanky receptionist in the closet, thereby causing me to knock the crap out of said skank’s younger sister in the hallway with all of my misplaced rage.
“I’m sorry what?” I’ve really got to block my imagination.
“I said, I think I’ll give him a call.” My mom’s voice has a slightly annoyed tone, which tells me I haven’t been listening.
“No, mom. Don’t do that.”
She looks at me funny. And why not, Katie?”
“I, um, have something to tell you.” Sometimes my mom frustrates me with her innocent naivety, but then I get mad at myself, because just because my mom’s super sweet and would never hurt a fly, doesn’t mean it gives others the right to dump on her, and right now I just want to leave her in her bubble of happiness for as long as possible, because part of me hates myself for the bombshell I have to drop, but another part of me is mad at my mom for making me have to be the bearer of bad news. “What I have to say isn’t good, so I’m just going to rip it off like a band-aid. I slapped a girl in the face in the hallway tonight, and I hope she doesn’t press charges because there were lots of witnesses, but it’s dad’s fault because he’s having an affair.”
I look up at my mom, who is white as a sheet. She stands in front of the island in our open kitchen. “Your dad is having an affair?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear it at school, because people make up rumors all the time, Katie, and you just need to not listen to them.” The desperation in mom’s voice makes me want to slap her, and now I feel bad.
“No, mom. I know it’s true. I saw him with her, in the flesh, with my own eyes.”
“Well, maybe you think you saw something you didn’t.” Ugh. Who knew denial was such a strong defense mechanism?
“No, mom. I saw them. Together. In a closet. At his work. Today. They were naked.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, mom. I think I know what my dad’s face looks like.” And now other parts I wish I didn’t. “I’m sorry, but I know what I saw.”
She sits here not saying anything, and I don’t know what to do. “Do you think it’s a phase?”
“What are you saying, Mom? Are you saying you’d take him back, after what I just said!”
“Katie. Don’t judge me. That’s not fair. I still love your father.” Her quiet voice breaks me. She gets all dreamy-eyed, and I want to smack some sense into her. “I still love his big capable hands, perfect brown eyes, and dazzling personality. He’s just the perfect specimen of a man. When I see him, all I see is the blonde-haired captain of the football team and prom King that swept me off my feet.”
I raise an imaginary glass. “Here’s to the ones who dream, foolish as they may seem.”
“Katie. Stop quoting movies and use your own words! And stop taking beautiful lines and making them sarcastic and snarky. You know I love La La Land.”
I feel a little bad. I really shouldn’t do that to Emma’s beautiful songs. Mom’s hopeful face frustrates me. She needs a wake-up call. One baller-girl talk coming up—“Mom. Get a grip. The man you fell in love with is gone. I’m sorry to tell you, but your white-knight syndrome needs a cure. You’ve got to be your own woman now. Take control of your life, starting with a change of scenery.”
“What are you saying, Katie? That we should move? This is the only home I know! I’ve lived here since I was a little girl. This is where my parents raised me, where I went to ballet school, where I met your father at the age of fifteen, and he was seventeen, and we were happy, Katie. We were sooo happy.” She’s bawling now, and I feel like a horrible person.
“I know, Mom. He made you happy, and I’m glad, but that part of your life is done, and you need to move on.” I’m grasping at straws. “It’s like Dr. Phil says, ‘you either let life happen to you or you make life happen.’”
She looks up at me, all runny-nosed and red eyes. I hand her a box of Kleenex. “Does he really say that?”
“Something like that. I’m paraphrasing a little, but this is our chance.”
“But where would we go?” Her voice comes out like a scared little girl.
It’s a shot in the dark, but I take it. “Athens, Ohio. My Instabestie JuneBug lives there. She’s going to be a senior, like me. She’s told me all about her town, and it sounds crazy amazing.”
“Katie. You know how I feel about you on social media and making all these virtual friends. You don’t even know who you’re talking to.” Oh boy, not another mom lecture.
“Mom, we Snapchat all the time.” I leave out my other remark, the one about spending so much time on the court that I have no time for a real life. Mom has made so many sacrifices for me over the years, and I try to appreciate them, but sometimes living and breathing basketball is exhausting, and I just want to feel normal.
“What’s that?”
I walk toward mom as I face-time JuneBug. A pink-haired, gum-snapping, bubble-popping, pierced-nose girl fills the screen. “Whaddup, my bee-yotch, make it fast, cause I’m workin’ the front desk at the hotel.”
“Hey, JuneBug. Say hi to my mom so she knows you’re real.” I stand beside my mother and hold my phone in her face.
“Oh, hey, Ms. Starbright.”
Mom looks stunned and confused for a second. I give her a nudge. “Say, hi, Mom. Man-ners.”
She blinks and peers into my phone screen. “Um, hi, June.”
JuneBug’s blows a big bubble in response and pops it loudly. A man in a toolbelt steps up in the background. His deep voice fills our ears. “Hey, there Juniper. What’s the 4-1-1.”
“Get back, Jack. What you repairin’ today?”
He peers over her shoulder, creeping. My mom sighs as his face fills the screen. He gives her a saucy wink. “Hey there, pretty lady.” I move the phone from my mom’s view as she blushes and giggles like a teenage girl. Ick.
“Jack. Where’s JuneBug?” My demand doesn’t faze him.
“She’s busy.” He answers me with a smirk.
Rainbow-colored nails flit in the distance. “I’ve got a customer. JuneBug out.”
I disconnect. “See, Mom? She’s real.”
“I think I could I like Ohio.” Mom’s distracted statement makes me feel a little uncertain, but I decide her brand-new harmless crash on Jack is no reason to be separated from my Instabestie any longer.
“So, we’re moving then?” I venture.
Mom sniffles. “I guess it’s good I’ve been doing inventory in the house for the past three months to keep my mind busy. Maybe it was a sign of changes to come. I’ll call up my friend Lacie Hamil, the Realtor. She’s got the best record around here. I bet she’ll have this place sold in no time.”
As soon as we get home, I get to work on cleaning my room and going through all my books, of which there are many. Apart from basketball, books are my favorite. I can’t believe I’m moving! I’m so psyched!
My closet door falls open as if cued. For the first time in my life, I feel a heaviness in my chest as I take in the shelves and shelves of trophies, team pictures, and medals that hide my closet wall of Emma Stone pics and quotes. My trophies are an awesome accomplishment, but I’m hit between the eyes with the realization that I have no social life whatsoever apart from my blogging and sports! It’s no longer acceptable.
Purging feels as natural as breathing as I box up all my trophies. An empty album up above is just right for my stack of team pictures. With all that out of the way, I methodically take down my Emma Stone Fangirl wall, and pack it in a Ziplock bag which I stick between the pages of my favorite Dr. Seuss book and stuff in my backpack. Next, I go through my clothes, weeding out all sports gear and athletic wear, including my team tees.
Mom pokes her head in the door. Inspiration hits me. There’s no time like the present to start the change. “Mom, I’m taking a break from sports. One small box of sports-related clothing items should be enough. The rest is going to goodwill, and I’m going shopping. No more sports bras for me. Victoria’s Secret should work for a proper fitting.”
Her eyes water and she harrumphs. “Are you sure, Katie? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
My carefree shoulders shrug. “I don’t know, but I’ve got no social identity now, so I’m going for it. New school. New rules. I need a makeover, and it starts today. I’m headed for goodwill, and then a mini shopping spree for just a few things. You in or out?”
“I’m in.” She heaves a big box at me. “This is your father’s baseball card collection. Think we can find your classmate, Justin? I read a school newspaper article about his baseball card business on the line.”
“It’s online, Mom, and yes, he works at the shop in the mall. We can catch him there.”