too loud!
“No attitude with me!” she returned. “And don’t think I don’t know about the tardy.”
When I returned after fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror and spreading some shimmery lip gloss on my lips, I found Ian already digging into the cookies. He looked up as I whipped past him to sit down and rewarded him with a secret smile he recognized as only ever given to him. I caught him sniffing the air and wondered if he found the bit of lavender I spritzed on.
“Eat your cookies, you two?” My mom’s small voice shouted from the kitchen. She came around the corner in her vintage looking apron tied to her waist with her blonde hair all frazzled from baking. She always put it up neatly on baking day, but by the end of seven to ten batches, her hair was hanging everywhere. She just didn’t want to stop baking, she’d say. She still had her yellow plastic gloves on from washing dishes. I couldn’t understand the obsession with gloves and washing dishes. It was archaic. Palmolive softens while you do dishes, right?
Ian was laughing.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You!” His killer smile aimed upward. “Your face tells it all, princess.” His words slowed making me incoherent until I realized he was laughing at me.
“Don’t princess me, heckler!” I kicked him under the table trying to regain my composure.
The bright otherworldly, green of Mrs. Starmen’s eyes suddenly brightened for as she rounded the corner of the table with another plate of cookies and sat them down. She claimed it let her “de-stress” from the everyday worries. Baking, that is!
“Oh, I see you already found them.”
I let my eyes shut for a second hoping to make her disappear or at the very least shut her up. I wanted my mom to stay out of my planning for this party of two. I screamed inside my head wanting to be alone with him.
My mom grabbed the top of her own head, shook it, and walked back to the kitchen. Weird ! She looked like she was about to say something and just stopped and left. I wondered if I myself had something to do with it. Just like the coach today at school and Kin. Like a brain jump or some weird crazy thing, which wasn’t possible!
I knew Ian accepted me and my mom for our weirdness. Like now, he gently put his hand on my arm to comfort me. I felt instantly calm from his touch.
When the kitchen sink was running and made the pattering splash sounds below the house, I thought of the plumber from last week who’d been shocked about our system. He’d released the clog our garbage disposal made but left saying things about superstitious crazy people, meaning my family.
My dad complained heavily about the cost of copper when mom wanted the pipes replaced after we moved into this old house the day before my twelfth birthday. Mom wanted more land and no neighbors. The house stayed on the market for all of two days before my dad, the lawyer, had it paid for with cash. And then mom insisted that the pipes below the house needed to be copper because copper lasted longer than iron. That was a fiasco. She was picky with our silverware not being iron, only certain flowers can be planted in our yard, and strange herbs even I had never heard of were growing in the kitchen. And much more I wouldn’t bore myself with thinking about right now. I didn’t want her weirder than me idiosyncrasies to sour my moment or my dad’s ability to always just give in to her.
I started to call her in and try making her laugh with a salt joke to apologize for being rude about my shirt and then the screaming, but Ian stuffed a cookie in my mouth. My mom’s obsession with salt across the window sills and the back door always made Ian laugh too. Ian never walked through the back door; he just made a joke and went back through the front door. My mom used to joke about it and say, “keeps the evil away from my baby girl.” Now, my mom doesn’t
“No attitude with me!” she returned. “And don’t think I don’t know about the tardy.”
When I returned after fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror and spreading some shimmery lip gloss on my lips, I found Ian already digging into the cookies. He looked up as I whipped past him to sit down and rewarded him with a secret smile he recognized as only ever given to him. I caught him sniffing the air and wondered if he found the bit of lavender I spritzed on.
“Eat your cookies, you two?” My mom’s small voice shouted from the kitchen. She came around the corner in her vintage looking apron tied to her waist with her blonde hair all frazzled from baking. She always put it up neatly on baking day, but by the end of seven to ten batches, her hair was hanging everywhere. She just didn’t want to stop baking, she’d say. She still had her yellow plastic gloves on from washing dishes. I couldn’t understand the obsession with gloves and washing dishes. It was archaic. Palmolive softens while you do dishes, right?
Ian was laughing.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You!” His killer smile aimed upward. “Your face tells it all, princess.” His words slowed making me incoherent until I realized he was laughing at me.
“Don’t princess me, heckler!” I kicked him under the table trying to regain my composure.
The bright otherworldly, green of Mrs. Starmen’s eyes suddenly brightened for as she rounded the corner of the table with another plate of cookies and sat them down. She claimed it let her “de-stress” from the everyday worries. Baking, that is!
“Oh, I see you already found them.”
I let my eyes shut for a second hoping to make her disappear or at the very least shut her up. I wanted my mom to stay out of my planning for this party of two. I screamed inside my head wanting to be alone with him.
My mom grabbed the top of her own head, shook it, and walked back to the kitchen. Weird ! She looked like she was about to say something and just stopped and left. I wondered if I myself had something to do with it. Just like the coach today at school and Kin. Like a brain jump or some weird crazy thing, which wasn’t possible!
I knew Ian accepted me and my mom for our weirdness. Like now, he gently put his hand on my arm to comfort me. I felt instantly calm from his touch.
When the kitchen sink was running and made the pattering splash sounds below the house, I thought of the plumber from last week who’d been shocked about our system. He’d released the clog our garbage disposal made but left saying things about superstitious crazy people, meaning my family.
My dad complained heavily about the cost of copper when mom wanted the pipes replaced after we moved into this old house the day before my twelfth birthday. Mom wanted more land and no neighbors. The house stayed on the market for all of two days before my dad, the lawyer, had it paid for with cash. And then mom insisted that the pipes below the house needed to be copper because copper lasted longer than iron. That was a fiasco. She was picky with our silverware not being iron, only certain flowers can be planted in our yard, and strange herbs even I had never heard of were growing in the kitchen. And much more I wouldn’t bore myself with thinking about right now. I didn’t want her weirder than me idiosyncrasies to sour my moment or my dad’s ability to always just give in to her.
I started to call her in and try making her laugh with a salt joke to apologize for being rude about my shirt and then the screaming, but Ian stuffed a cookie in my mouth. My mom’s obsession with salt across the window sills and the back door always made Ian laugh too. Ian never walked through the back door; he just made a joke and went back through the front door. My mom used to joke about it and say, “keeps the evil away from my baby girl.” Now, my mom doesn’t
Similar Books
