Chapter Seven
Nora
When Mom gets home just after ten that night, I’m in the kitchen in my bikini, making cinnamon rolls. I don’t have Gigi’s pie-making skills—or any baking skills, really—but I can pop a tube of dough and shove it in the toaster oven easy enough.
Mom bursts out laughing when she sees me. “A bikini? I didn’t get the memo. Or are swimsuits optional?”
It makes me happy to see her happy. It’s been a rough few months around here. “I was just trying it on.” More like trying to talk myself into actually going to this beach party. Yes, if I want my license and some semblance of freedom from Eli, I need to practice driving. I’m just not sure seeing Eli bare-chested all day is going to help my cause. “You hungry?”
She tsks, shaking her head. “Ugh. So many carbs. But yes. I’m starving.”
“Did you have a good day?”
She’s the PE aide at the elementary school and most days she’s ready to drop, and that’s before she heads out to the community college to practice scraping plaque off people’s teeth.
“Yes, the kids were crazy today. I did pass my gum disease exam, though, so that’s good.”
“That’s great,” I say. “And also gross.”
“Oh, it was.” She plops down on one of the red vinyl chairs that surround Gigi’s vintage kitchen table. “Both of those things.”
I stick the pan in the toaster oven, set the timer for ten minutes, and stare up at the wall behind the real oven. It’s soot-colored from the smoke of the fire Gigi started when she was baking a pie and left the potholder inside. We cleaned up the mess as best we could, but we don’t have the money to repair the damage, and the oven is dead.
“You still liking it—the teeth, I mean?”
She screws up her mouth. “There are good days and bad days. I do think I’m going to like it as a job, though. Plus it’s good money. God knows we need it.”
Money is the biggest worry around here. Gigi’s retirement fund is paying for the assisted living center, but I know Mom’s afraid it’ll run out. Even though State is cheap for college, I know it weighs on her. A scholarship to Emory might erase that worry, except that it would add another one—I’d be leaving her on her own.
Her mood is souring. I have to fix that. “I’ll be working this summer. Don’t worry, I have a lot saved, and Dad will pitch in for school.”
She blows a raspberry. “Sweetie, I wouldn’t count on that.”
My shoulders slump. “No, Mom. The last time I talked to him he said he had some money saved, and I didn’t even bring it up.” I know very well, though, that my father isn’t known for keeping his promises when it comes to money.
“It’ll work out. Somehow,” she says.
Marie zips into the room, like she knew we needed some comic relief. She attacks the strap of Mom’s purse, and we both crack up.
Mom watches the cat, then looks at me. “Do we have a cat now, honey?”
I give her a pleading smile. “I don’t know, do we?”
“Well.” She leans an elbow on the table, rests her chin in her hand. “I guess since you’ll be living here next year, you’ll be around to take care of it.”
Living here. Right. Crap.
Nothing’s ever easy.
She bends down and takes off her ugly dental hygienist shoes. “So, no school tomorrow? Plans?” She gets up and pours herself a glass of wine. “Please tell me they have something to do with a bikini?”
I wrap my arms around my middle. “A group of kids is going in to help with the book drive.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “In their swimsuits?”
“No. This is for…” I clear my throat. “Eli invited me to some party the team is having at the beach, but I don’t know.”
She watches me. “You don’t know what?”
I bite my bottom lip, not sure of my answer. “I just haven’t been to any parties in a while, and you know there’s probably going to be drinking.”
“Are you going to drink?”
“No! I don’t drink, Mom.”
“Well, there was that one time.”
My body stiffens remembering what an idiot I was. “Yeah, I know.” That one time sophomore year. I was at Abby’s house and her older brother had a bottle of vodka in his bedroom. We mixed it up with some orange juice and the next thing I remember was puking my brains out in her toilet. Her mom called my mom and it was pretty clear what we’d done. Mom was mad at me, but not as mad as I was at myself. I don’t like to lose control.
I shudder at the memory. “Right. The one and only time. Never again. Trust me.”
“I do trust you, honey. You should definitely go.”
Wait. How did that happen? I don’t even want to go.
She takes a sip of wine and sits back down. “What about Eli? He’s driving. Will he be drinking?”
I lift a shoulder and take the opportunity to turn this in my favor. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t know what he does when he’s with them.”
She smirks. “Hmm. Well if you tell him not to drink, he won’t.”
My jaw drops and I laugh. “Eli? Are you kidding? He never listens to me!”
The timer on the toaster oven dings. I take out the rolls, still gooey in the middle, just the way I like them. The smell of warm cinnamon wafts up around me, and I’m hit with a huge wave of missing Gigi, who made everything from scratch.
“That’s baloney.” She leans forward on the table, chin in hand. “That boy would walk across burning coals if you told him to.”
I almost drop the hot pan. That wine must be stronger than she thinks. “Eli? Eli-our neighbor-Costas? No.”
She puts her feet up on one of the other chairs. “Oh yes. Yes he would.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, I forgot,” she says. “Eighteen-year-old humans know everything.”
I hand her a plate with a still too-hot cinnamon roll. “Mom. Come on. Stop.”
Her whole face lights up when she takes it. “Never mind, I’m not going to argue with you. Just go to the picnic. You have, what, three months left of high school? Go have some fun. If he drinks, you call his father to come and get you in a police cruiser. That’ll teach him.”
She laughs as I take a violent bite out of a cinnamon roll and burn my mouth.
“So you’ll go? To the beach?”
I lift a shoulder, lick some icing off my fingers, and wonder why my mom thinks that Eli would do anything for me. I know he cares about me, and maybe something could have happened between us, at one time. Then I kissed him and that was the end of that.
I yank loose the strap of my bikini top. “I think this thing’s too small on me now.”
Mom chuckles. “No, honey, it’s not too small, you’ve just finally filled it out.”
“Mother!”
“Well I’m sorry, it’s true. You, my dear, are a lovely young woman, inside and out.” She picks up her glass of wine and kisses me on the forehead. “I’m going to take a shower and dive back into bed with my Scottish laird.”
“Gross, Ma.” She loves romance novels and has been on a Scotland kick lately. All the covers feature a very hot guy in a kilt. It’s embarrassing.
My mind immediately pictures Eli in a kilt, shirtless, maybe riding a horse. Wearing his glasses. See, this is not healthy, the fantasies that I have about him, not when I’ve got a bona fide scientific hypothesis to prove. I shove down another cinnamon roll. I’ll go to the stupid party. Only a few weeks of driving lessons, and I’ll be free of him. Then my first kiss research can continue, unhindered. Maybe even at Emory.
The kitten rubs against my foot and I scoop her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay, Marie. Let’s go upstairs and get some scholarships.”
It takes me forever to finish the applications, but I finally hit send in the early morning. I try to sleep with not much luck. Between Marie pouncing on me whenever I move and sexy dreams about kilt-wearing hotties, one hottie in particular, I get no rest.
I wake up to my phone, buzzing on the nightstand. I totally overslept. It’s already ten thirty, and Eli is texting.
Mom wants to know if you want ham or turkey. I told her you don’t give a shit but she made me text you.
He sticks in a growly-face emoji to make sure I know she’s driving him crazy.
Ugh really don’t want to go.
TEXT NOT RECEIVED
Real mature. I don’t want to go.
WTF ur going. Ham or turkey?
What does he care if I go or not? I don’t answer. A few minutes later:
Fine. Turk-ham it is. See you out back in thirty.
I slog out of bed and go downstairs to feed Marie. There’s a note on the kitchen table next to a Sonic gift card.
Got this from a student at Xmas, only $10 but that buys a lot of slushies. Just don’t add vodka, lol! Have a great time at the beach. You are my genius angel girl—it’s okay to have fun!
Wow. I’m really that boring, my own mother has to tell me to have fun and jokes about alcohol?
Fine. I go upstairs, put on the freaking bikini and adjust my boobs, which aren’t giant but are definitely bigger than when I wore this bikini last summer. I pull on a T-shirt and jean shorts and check myself in the mirror. My hair is pulled back. Part of me, the stubborn part, wants to leave it that way. My mother thinks I need a life? Eli thinks I need to loosen up?
No one tells me what to do. I’m fine the way I am. Marie nudges my foot.
“What, you, too?” I pull out the hair tie and let the wild mane fly. It’s hot outside, though not humid, which means it actually might look halfway normal today. So I leave it down, not because I’m trying to be “fun” or to “loosen up.” I leave it down because I look damn good.
I’m almost out the bedroom door when my laptop dings, telling me I have a new email. I open my inbox.
Thank you! Emory University has received your scholarship application.
I inhale deeply and try to push down the feeling of panic that sits just on the edge of my mind.
This is good. Everything’s going according to plan. Not that there is a plan when it comes to Emory. It’s more like wait and see what happens and then cross that bridge if and when I get to it. I can’t control any of that scholarship business.
Truth is, I don’t feel much in control of anything lately.
The only thing I can control is not drinking vodka with orange juice and washing my mind clean of Eli. I grab my keys. Time to get scrubbing.