A La Carte by Tanita S. Davis

me like that.” As soon as the words are out, I wish them back. My mother is looking at me with a little worried furrow in her forehead, her eyes getting all shiny and soft with pity.
    â€œOh,
Lainey,
honey, you’re such a beautiful girl,” she begins, and tentatively reaches out a hand.
    There is nothing more lame than my parent apologizing because I
don’t
have a love life for her to worry about. I hold out my arm, stiff, to ward her off. “
Mom
. Please.”
    My mother straightens and blows out a sigh. “Well, Elaine, here’s the bottom line: I’m glad that you and Simeon are friends; you know I’ve always liked him, and I want your friends to be welcome in our home. However, I would prefer if when you two come over here that you stay…downstairs.”
    I shrug like I don’t care, but I can barely lift my face. How humiliating. I have so little social life that I don’t need to have a curfew. Now Mom doesn’t have to give me rules about Simeon, but she’s doing it anyway.
    â€œI’m sorry if this is embarrassing,” Mom says like she’s reading my mind. “Simeon is welcome to come here anytime, and when he visits, I know you guys will have fun. I’d just feel better if I didn’t have to come upstairs to find you and wonder…what you’d been doing.”
    I grind my teeth, wishing she’d shut up. “We weren’t doing anything. This is so unnecessary.”
    â€œElaine,” my mother says tiredly, “give me some credit for knowing a little about human nature. You weren’t doing anything today, but another day, who knows? When I was your age—”
    I sigh, feeling my shoulders slump in defeat. In high school, my mother had tons of friends, bunches of boyfriends, and a life totally different from mine. She always brings up her life like it has something to do with me. When Mom talks about her big homecoming-queen high school days, I feel stupid. This isn’t
necessary.
It’s like I’m six and my mom’s still arranging my playdates, telling me what I can and can’t do when she’s not there to watch. Even when she’s not watching, nothing is going on with Sim and me.
Nothing.
    â€œWell.” Mom realizes she’s started reminiscing, and her voice fades. She clears her throat. “Look, let’s drop this, okay? How about we split a piece of that banana bread? Did you use up all my pecan bark?” My mother trails off, turning toward the kitchen.
    â€œWait a second, Mom.” I clear my throat. “I’m not hungry, and I need to say this.”
    I don’t want any food. That’s how I always used to deal with things.
    When I used to skin my knees, Mom would give me a cupcake. When the first boy I ever liked threw rocks at me in the second grade, Mom taught me how to make frosting. Pretty soon I made frosting every time I felt bad. And I ate it. Now whenever Mom and I argue, we split something. A bite of bread, a piece of cake, a bar of chocolate. It’s a little sugar to make the bitterness ease. If Mom and I can’t eat together, she gets worried.
    Sometimes it’s hard to resist being given treats like a little kid. Everyone wants to be comforted, to have the hurt taken out of a fight. But food makes a sloppy bandage.
    â€œLook, whether you believe me or not”—I face my mother—“I’m telling the truth. Sim just spilled something. It was totally innocent. We are not getting involved. But if it makes you feel happy to make up rules for your daughter, who isn’t actually dating the guy without a shirt on, who was under her covers alone, without her, then fine: we’ll watch TV downstairs from now on, okay? With our
coats
on.”
    Mom’s eyebrows lower. “Watch your tone, Elaine.” She exhales and rubs her hands against her face. “Look, I didn’t mean to infer…I know he’s not your