girl.”
“People change, Mom. Try not to get all worked up.”
My mom wiped her hands on her apron even though they obviously weren’t wet from looking in the oven. She took a deep breath. I never would have spoken to my mom this way while my dad was still here. But they were the ones who decided to change things, so they should have expected that I would change, too.
“Well, have you made any new friends yet?” she asked brightly, turning back to a new cookbook she bought after my dad left and flipping a few pages.
My mom had no idea I was hanging out with Drake after school because she worked the swing shift so much. It would probably make her happy to hear I had a new friend, even a temporary one. It might make her think she had made the right choice by forcing me to stay in Hershey. I wasn’t willing to give her that satisfaction. I just shrugged. “Okay, I’m done peeling potatoes, is that all you wanted?”
“Now you need to cut them into one-inch squares for boiling.” She handed me a cutting board. I slapped it down on the counter and started a sloppy job of slicing.
“What book are you reading?” The investigation continued.
“
To Kill a Mockingbird
,” I mumbled, wishing I could be in my room reading it. “Dad told me to remind you about the mortgage payment.”
My mom sighed again and thumped her hand down on the cookbook where she was looking at the recipe for Old-Fashioned Pot Roast.
“I told him not to bother you about the bills,” she snapped. “Your father can call me if he thinks I need reminders about my responsibilities.” She twisted a finger into her curly, brown hair and then pulled it out.
I stopped slicing and stared at her.
“Sorry, Celia.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’ll be right back.” She took off her apron and headed toward the bathroom.
I finished cutting the potatoes and dropped them into a pot of boiling water on the stove. As tiny bits of the water splashed out, they made hissing noises against the burners. The yellow cubes were tumbling around in the water when the phone rang. I was just going to let it ring, since no one ever called for me, when it occurred to me that it might be Drake. Maybe he was calling on the way to New York for a last-minute check-in before seeing Japhy.
“Hello,” I answered, careful not to seem too eager.
“Gina?” asked a man’s voice I didn’t recognize.
“No.”
“Oh, sorry, may I speak with Gina?”
I hesitated, not sure I wanted to let this man, who called my mother by her first name, speak to her. “Gina, there’s a man on the phone for you,” I yelled down the hall without covering the mouthpiece.
My mother came out of the bathroom carrying a tissue in one hand and combing her fingers through her hair with the other. She took the receiver from me and put her hand over the end you talk into. “You still call me
Mom
, not Gina,” she said before taking away her palm and speaking a sunny hello into the phone.
After a pause, she said, “Oh yes, Simon from the hospital.” My mom turned her back to me and twirled the phone cord around her finger. “Sure, that sounds great,” she said after another pause. “I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone.
“Tell me that wasn’t a date,” I said with my hands folded over my chest.
My mother looked momentarily startled by my tone. “No,” she said defensively, “it wasn’t.”
“You said it was a
trial
separation. You said you were trying to work things out.”
She turned away from the phone and raised her voice. “I am your mother, and you don’t get to interrogate me, Celia.”
When I stomped down the hall and slammed the door to my room, she didn’t try to follow me. I plopped down and opened my email again, even though I knew there wouldn’t be anything new. I tried to read, but ended up writing a poem.
Autumn stomps around outside the house
like an annoying little sister, tapping
on all the shutters, kicking up the
“People change, Mom. Try not to get all worked up.”
My mom wiped her hands on her apron even though they obviously weren’t wet from looking in the oven. She took a deep breath. I never would have spoken to my mom this way while my dad was still here. But they were the ones who decided to change things, so they should have expected that I would change, too.
“Well, have you made any new friends yet?” she asked brightly, turning back to a new cookbook she bought after my dad left and flipping a few pages.
My mom had no idea I was hanging out with Drake after school because she worked the swing shift so much. It would probably make her happy to hear I had a new friend, even a temporary one. It might make her think she had made the right choice by forcing me to stay in Hershey. I wasn’t willing to give her that satisfaction. I just shrugged. “Okay, I’m done peeling potatoes, is that all you wanted?”
“Now you need to cut them into one-inch squares for boiling.” She handed me a cutting board. I slapped it down on the counter and started a sloppy job of slicing.
“What book are you reading?” The investigation continued.
“
To Kill a Mockingbird
,” I mumbled, wishing I could be in my room reading it. “Dad told me to remind you about the mortgage payment.”
My mom sighed again and thumped her hand down on the cookbook where she was looking at the recipe for Old-Fashioned Pot Roast.
“I told him not to bother you about the bills,” she snapped. “Your father can call me if he thinks I need reminders about my responsibilities.” She twisted a finger into her curly, brown hair and then pulled it out.
I stopped slicing and stared at her.
“Sorry, Celia.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’ll be right back.” She took off her apron and headed toward the bathroom.
I finished cutting the potatoes and dropped them into a pot of boiling water on the stove. As tiny bits of the water splashed out, they made hissing noises against the burners. The yellow cubes were tumbling around in the water when the phone rang. I was just going to let it ring, since no one ever called for me, when it occurred to me that it might be Drake. Maybe he was calling on the way to New York for a last-minute check-in before seeing Japhy.
“Hello,” I answered, careful not to seem too eager.
“Gina?” asked a man’s voice I didn’t recognize.
“No.”
“Oh, sorry, may I speak with Gina?”
I hesitated, not sure I wanted to let this man, who called my mother by her first name, speak to her. “Gina, there’s a man on the phone for you,” I yelled down the hall without covering the mouthpiece.
My mother came out of the bathroom carrying a tissue in one hand and combing her fingers through her hair with the other. She took the receiver from me and put her hand over the end you talk into. “You still call me
Mom
, not Gina,” she said before taking away her palm and speaking a sunny hello into the phone.
After a pause, she said, “Oh yes, Simon from the hospital.” My mom turned her back to me and twirled the phone cord around her finger. “Sure, that sounds great,” she said after another pause. “I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone.
“Tell me that wasn’t a date,” I said with my hands folded over my chest.
My mother looked momentarily startled by my tone. “No,” she said defensively, “it wasn’t.”
“You said it was a
trial
separation. You said you were trying to work things out.”
She turned away from the phone and raised her voice. “I am your mother, and you don’t get to interrogate me, Celia.”
When I stomped down the hall and slammed the door to my room, she didn’t try to follow me. I plopped down and opened my email again, even though I knew there wouldn’t be anything new. I tried to read, but ended up writing a poem.
Autumn stomps around outside the house
like an annoying little sister, tapping
on all the shutters, kicking up the
Similar Books
