CHAPTER

6

On the heels of our Annapolis trip, the next week is actually pretty great. The palpable awkwardness between Nat and Carter seems to have faded, and the three of us even start planning our next road trip.

Plus, Mom’s segment went well on The Today Show, so she’s in a good mood too, which always helps.

It feels like the universe finally realized I needed a break.

So I’m almost excited to go to this party tonight at Carter’s friend’s house. Almost.

Carter’s picking me up in an hour, so I have to get out of bed. And shower. And get dressed.

I hate getting dressed.

People who aren’t tall love to tell me how great it must be to be 5^′9^″. But being tall is terrible. It means I stand out in a crowd when all I want is to be invisible. And being the tall, fat daughter of a tiny, perfect Instagram influencer is the actual worst. Take it from me.

I turn off Chopped and, after a moment of silence, drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom.

I’d feel proud of myself if it weren’t the absolute bare minimum of what it takes to be a person in the world.

Carter and I make terrible party guests. First, we arrive at Trey’s house late, mostly because it took me thirty minutes of throwing clothes on the floor in frustration before I finally decided on something to wear. I still hate myself in it, but I’m dressed and I’m out of my house. That is serious progress.

But second, I have zero interest in talking to anyone at this party except Carter and Natalie, and she’s already found her field hockey teammates.

So Carter and I each grab a drink and then head for the second floor to find a guest bedroom. I lock the door behind us.

Carter’s hands are immediately on my waist, then sliding my shirt over my head. I shouldn’t have even bothered to get dressed.

“Why do you think people even invite us to parties?” I ask when I’m curled up next to him with my head on his chest. “Actually, I take that back. No one invites me, they invite you. I’m just your arm candy.”

Carter laughs, squeezing me against his side. “You’re way better than candy. You’re like chocolate soufflé. You’re delicate and a little temperamental, and you need to be ordered in advance, but you’re worth the wait.”

I pull the pillow out from under his head to hit him with it. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. “But it sounds offensive.”

He grabs the pillow from me and stuffs it back beneath his head. “It was the opposite, actually, but leave it to you to turn my positive into a negative.”

There’s a sour taste in my mouth. “And that’s just one of the things my mom has written about me on her blog.”

Carter’s smile drops. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

I’m already shaking my head even before he apologizes. I know he didn’t know that. And I know he was just trying to be nice and cute. And now I’ve ruined it. Just like I ruin everything.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say, rolling onto my side so I can kiss him. So I can pretzel our legs and snuggle into the crook of his neck. He kisses the top of my head. “I know you didn’t. I just can’t get her voice out of my head sometimes, telling the world that I’m fragile and moody and hard to be around.”

He nudges my cheek with his chin until I pull back to look at him. “I love you. You are perfectly flawed in all my favorite ways. And you are none of the things your mom has written about you.”

Somehow, he always knows just what to say.

Mom is waiting up when I get home. Her long blond hair is in a scrunchie on top of her head. She pats the couch next to her.

I hate being next to her. It just highlights how big I am in comparison. But I sit.

“I know you aren’t going to want to have this conversation with me, but I’d like you to hear me out,” she starts.

That’s never a good sign. My muscles clench from my jaw to my toes. I’m poised to run away.

“I’m aware that you and Carter are having sex.” She says it matter-of-factly, but not naturally. I’m pretty sure she’s been practicing it aloud.

My first instinct is to deny it, but my cheeks are burning so hot, there’s no point. I do wonder how she found out though.

She sets a box of condoms on the couch between us, and my mouth drops open. “I know I can’t stop you, and I know that you love each other, so I won’t try. But I really want you to be careful. You should use a condom every time, not just for pregnancy but for sexually transmitted infections too. And always pee afterward. It helps prevent urinary tract infections.”

Before I can close my mouth, she adds, “No judgment, I promise. When you need more, ask. And I’ll make you an appointment with my gynecologist on Monday to discuss getting on the pill.”

And then she stands and heads upstairs. It is the least Britt-like conversation we’ve ever had, if you can even call it that. And if it hadn’t been held over a box of condoms, I might have hugged her.

“Minding Her Business” column, the Washington Herald

PEAK MOM MOMENT

By Britt Monaghan

It took sixteen years, but I’m pretty sure I just peaked as a mom.

I had “The Talk” with Jules. Not the birds and bees—we covered that when she was eleven and got her period for the first time. This was a recap of the birth control talk, which means a lot more now than it did then.

Over dinner with a longtime friend on Friday, it came up that Jules was out with her boyfriend. And the friend asked how long they’d been dating. Four months is a long time in teen time, she pointed out. “Do you think they’re having sex?” she asked.

Of course I’d considered it. It’s impossible not to worry when your daughter has a boyfriend. But I guess I’d been in denial because the question hit me right in the solar plexus. “Am I bad mother if I don’t know the answer to that question?” I wondered.

So I’m not proud to admit it, but I read her diary. And of course, this friend was right. She’s having sex.

But instead of freaking out, I sent Chris out to get condoms.

When Jules got home, I sat her down and told her that I wasn’t going to be mad or judge her, but I wanted her to be safe. I gave her the condoms and told her I’d make an appointment with my gynecologist for birth control.

And Jules didn’t even get mad! It was such a civil conversation. There was no yelling or crying. She didn’t hide from me or tell me to mind my own business. I almost didn’t recognize her.

Chris struggled with it a little more, to be honest. He didn’t like the idea of buying condoms for his sixteen-year-old daughter. But given the alternative—becoming grandparents in our forties—he came around pretty quickly.

I know this isn’t going to be a popular column with some readers. I imagine there will be lots of opinions about how I handled this situation. But I’m proud of myself. And I’m proud of Jules.