About a third of the American history department.”
“Ooo,” said Tess. “A woman of mystery.”
“History, not mystery.” Mom hit Tess with some limp celery. “So, you girls have fun. I have to get ready.”
We watched her go.
Tess kicked me.
“Ow,” I said, and not just from the kick.
“She has a boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a date.”
“Oh, come on,” Tess said. “It is so a date!”
“If it is, it is,” I said wearily. Tess is great, but sometimes she pushes. It was not a date, obviously. It was a meeting. It was colleagues. They would probably be discussing the Reconstruction period, as usual. She had those people over sometimes.
“Does she go on a lot of dates?”
“How many is a lot?”
“I don’t know,” Tess said.
“Such a vague term.”
“Every week?”
“How about never? Is never a lot? Zero—I think that would fall below the ‘a lot’ threshold. It is not a date, Tess.” I blew air fast out of my lips, the way Darlene does sometimes when she’s being dismissive. On me it sounded a bit like a lawn mower.
“Okay,” Tess said, looking slightly wounded.
“It’s not.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s just—you shouldn’t tease her like that. She’s getting old, you know, she’s over forty, and she doesn’t date, and I think she doesn’t mind, but she doesn’t need to feel, you know, judged. By my friends, of all people.”
“Ouch,” Tess said. “I wasn’t trying to—sorry. Okay?”
“I just, I try to stay out of her personal life,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Up until this week she didn’t really have a personal life, or if she did I certainly didn’t know about it. And it was completely possible that she still had no personal life.
“Well,” Tess said, eating another string bean. “Anyway.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Tess and I ate our salads together sitting at the breakfast bar. They were good. There was corn, which always zests it up. Mom came down and gave us another round of kisses. She was wearing her funky red clogs, a T-shirt, her yellow denim jacket, and jeans, all normal—plus lip gloss and mascara. Not normal. She looked beautiful.
“Have fun,” Tess said.
“You, too,” Mom said, grabbing her keys from the hook. “I won’t be late. Be good, and call me on my cell if you need me.”
I need you now , I randomly thought. “Bye,” I said, and watched her walk out the door.
“Where do you think she’s going?” Tess asked. “With her colleagues.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“We should check and see if she still has that lip gloss on when she gets home,” Tess whispered. “That’s how my mom busted my sister Lena for kissing—swollen lips, no more gloss.”
Before I could puke, the phone rang.
eleven
“HELLO?”
It was Kevin’s voice, but I was not about to make the same mistake twice. “Hello,” I said, all neutral, though my hand was shaking so much the phone clanked against my head.
“It’s Kevin,” the voice said.
“Who is it?” Tess whispered.
I gave her the “sh” sign and said, “Hi.”
“Did, um,” he said. “Is your . . . Did we get any homework in French for over the weekend?”
“No,” I said. How awkward that he would say the word French to me, given our history. I leaned against the wall for support.
“Who is it?” Tess demanded.
I stuck my finger in my exposed ear. “We never do on Fridays.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot. I was looking in my assignment pad and I didn’t . . . um . . . that’s a lie, by the way. You knew that, right?”
I smiled. I closed my eyes. I wanted to make this last. “Yeah.” Kevin.
“Who?” Tess tried to grab the phone.
I put my hand over the talkie part and whispered, “It’s Kevin. I bet he’s looking for you. Sh. ”
Tess grinned wickedly at me and sat back down. She loves a scheme.
“That obvious?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone. “So why are you really calling?” I grinned back
“Ooo,” said Tess. “A woman of mystery.”
“History, not mystery.” Mom hit Tess with some limp celery. “So, you girls have fun. I have to get ready.”
We watched her go.
Tess kicked me.
“Ow,” I said, and not just from the kick.
“She has a boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a date.”
“Oh, come on,” Tess said. “It is so a date!”
“If it is, it is,” I said wearily. Tess is great, but sometimes she pushes. It was not a date, obviously. It was a meeting. It was colleagues. They would probably be discussing the Reconstruction period, as usual. She had those people over sometimes.
“Does she go on a lot of dates?”
“How many is a lot?”
“I don’t know,” Tess said.
“Such a vague term.”
“Every week?”
“How about never? Is never a lot? Zero—I think that would fall below the ‘a lot’ threshold. It is not a date, Tess.” I blew air fast out of my lips, the way Darlene does sometimes when she’s being dismissive. On me it sounded a bit like a lawn mower.
“Okay,” Tess said, looking slightly wounded.
“It’s not.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s just—you shouldn’t tease her like that. She’s getting old, you know, she’s over forty, and she doesn’t date, and I think she doesn’t mind, but she doesn’t need to feel, you know, judged. By my friends, of all people.”
“Ouch,” Tess said. “I wasn’t trying to—sorry. Okay?”
“I just, I try to stay out of her personal life,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Up until this week she didn’t really have a personal life, or if she did I certainly didn’t know about it. And it was completely possible that she still had no personal life.
“Well,” Tess said, eating another string bean. “Anyway.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Tess and I ate our salads together sitting at the breakfast bar. They were good. There was corn, which always zests it up. Mom came down and gave us another round of kisses. She was wearing her funky red clogs, a T-shirt, her yellow denim jacket, and jeans, all normal—plus lip gloss and mascara. Not normal. She looked beautiful.
“Have fun,” Tess said.
“You, too,” Mom said, grabbing her keys from the hook. “I won’t be late. Be good, and call me on my cell if you need me.”
I need you now , I randomly thought. “Bye,” I said, and watched her walk out the door.
“Where do you think she’s going?” Tess asked. “With her colleagues.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“We should check and see if she still has that lip gloss on when she gets home,” Tess whispered. “That’s how my mom busted my sister Lena for kissing—swollen lips, no more gloss.”
Before I could puke, the phone rang.
eleven
“HELLO?”
It was Kevin’s voice, but I was not about to make the same mistake twice. “Hello,” I said, all neutral, though my hand was shaking so much the phone clanked against my head.
“It’s Kevin,” the voice said.
“Who is it?” Tess whispered.
I gave her the “sh” sign and said, “Hi.”
“Did, um,” he said. “Is your . . . Did we get any homework in French for over the weekend?”
“No,” I said. How awkward that he would say the word French to me, given our history. I leaned against the wall for support.
“Who is it?” Tess demanded.
I stuck my finger in my exposed ear. “We never do on Fridays.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot. I was looking in my assignment pad and I didn’t . . . um . . . that’s a lie, by the way. You knew that, right?”
I smiled. I closed my eyes. I wanted to make this last. “Yeah.” Kevin.
“Who?” Tess tried to grab the phone.
I put my hand over the talkie part and whispered, “It’s Kevin. I bet he’s looking for you. Sh. ”
Tess grinned wickedly at me and sat back down. She loves a scheme.
“That obvious?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone. “So why are you really calling?” I grinned back
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