J
The next afternoon, I'm picking out what to wear but can't seem to locate any clean, weather appropriate clothing. I don't own many winter shirts, besides what I've already worn this week. I choose a purple long sleeved shirt and smell it, deciding it's clean enough. I spray some perfume though, just in case it isn't. I brush my teeth, touch up my makeup, brush my teeth again and let down my ponytail. I curl a few sections of my hair and pull some silver earrings out of my drawer when I hear a knock on the bathroom door.
My mother enters with a handful of towels. She opens the cabinet next to the shower and places them inside.
"Going somewhere?" she asks. She sits down on the edge of the bathtub while I continue to get ready.
"Yes, somewhere." I try to hide my smile as I put in my earrings. "Honestly, I'm not sure what we're doing. I really never even agreed to the date."
She stands up and walks to the door, leaning up against the frame as she watches me in the mirror. She has aged so much in the short time since my dad's death. Her bright green eyes against her smooth porcelain skin used to be breathtaking. Now, her cheekbones stand out above the hallowed shadows in her cheeks. The dark circles under her eyes overpower their emerald hue. She looks tired. And sad.
"Well, you're eighteen now. You've had enough of my dating advice for a lifetime," she says. "But I'll provide you with a quick recap just in case. Don't order anything with onion or garlic, never leave your drink unattended and always use protection."
"Ugh, Mom!" I roll my eyes. "You know I know the rules, and you know I don't have to worry about the last one. Please don't give Lisa a recap of your rules. Promise?" I make her promise.
"So tell me about Lisa. Does she work? Is she in college? What's her major? Is she a serial killer?" She says this with such sincerity.
I walk the short distance to my bedroom from the bathroom and bend down to search through my shoes. She follows me and sits on the bed.
"Honestly Mom, I don't know anything about her. I didn't even know how old she was until she told you."
"That's good," she says.
"Good?" I glance back at her. "How is not knowing anything about her good? I'm about to be alone with her for hours. She could be a serial killer." I grab my boots and walk over to the bed to slip them on.
"It'll give you plenty to talk about. That's what first dates are for."
"Good point," I say.
Growing up, my mother did give great advice. She always knew what I wanted to hear, but would tell me what I needed to hear. My dad was her first boyfriend so I have always been curious how she seems to know so much about dating, boys, and relationships. She's only been with one person, and it seems most knowledge would have to come from life experiences. She's the exception, I guess.
"Mom?" I say as I slip on my boots. "I know you were only eighteen when you met dad. I mean, that's really young to meet the person you spend the rest of your life with. Do you ever regret it?"
She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she lies back on my bed and clasps her hands behind her head as she ponders my question.
"I've never regretted it. Questioned it? Sure. But never regretted."
"Is there a difference?" I ask.
"Absolutely. Regret is counterproductive. It's looking back on a past that you can't change. Questioning things as they occur can prevent regret in the future. I questioned a lot about my relationship with your father. People make spontaneous decisions based off of their hearts all the time. There's so much more to relationships than just love."
"Is that why you always tell me to follow my head, not my heart?"
My mother sits up on the bed and takes my hands in hers as she speaks. "Nini, do you want some real advice that doesn't include a list of foods you should avoid?"
Has she been holding out on me? "Of course," I reply.
She's lost the authoritative, parented edge to her voice, which makes me aware that this conversation is less from a mother-daughter standpoint and more woman to woman. She pulls her legs up Indian style on the bed and faces me.
"There are three questions every woman should be able to answer yes to before they commit. If you answer no to any of the three questions, run like hell."
"It's just a date," I laugh. "I doubt we'll be doing any committing."
"I know you're not, Nini. I'm serious. If you can't answer yes to these three questions, don't even waste your time on a relationship."
When I open my mouth, I feel like I'm just reinforcing the fact that I'm her child. I don't interrupt her again.
"Does she treat you with respect at all times? That's the first question. The second question is, if she is the exact same person twenty years from now that she is today, would you still want to marry her? And finally, does she inspire you to want to be a better person? You find someone you can answer yes to all three, then you've found a good one."
"Wow, those are some intense questions." I take a deep breath as I soak in even more sage advice from her. "Were you able to answer yes to all of them? When you were with Dad?"
"Absolutely." She doesn't hesitate. "Every second I was with him."
I watch the sadness enter her eyes as she finishes her sentence. She loved my dad. I start to regret bringing it up. I put my arms around her and embrace her. It's been so long since I've hugged her, a twinge of guilt rises up inside me. She kisses my hair, then pulls away and smiles.
I stand up and run my hands down my shirt, smoothing out the folds.
"Well? How do I look?" I ask.
"Like a woman," she sighs.
It's seven-thirty sharp so I go to the living room, grab the jacket Lisa insisted I borrow the day before and head to the window. She's coming out of her house so I walk outside and stand in my driveway. She looks up and notices me as she's opening her car door.
"You ready?" she yells.
"Yes!"
"Well, come on then!"
I don't move. I just stand there and fold my arms across my chest.
"What are you doing?" she throws her hand up in defeat and laughs.
"You said you would pick me up at seven-thirty! I'm waiting for you to pick me up!"
She grins as she gets in the car. She backs straight out of her driveway and into mine so that the passenger door is closest to me. She hops out of the car and runs around to open it. Before I get in I give her the onceover. She's wearing loose fitted jeans and a black long sleeved shirt that outlines her arms. It's the defined arms that prompt me to return her jacket to her.
"That reminds me," I say as I hand her her jacket. "I bought this for you."
She grabs the jacket and slides her arms inside. "Wow, it even smells like me," she laughs.
She waits until I've buckled up before she shuts the door. As she's walking around to her side, I notice the car smells like...cheese. Not old, stale cheese; but fresh cheese, cheddar maybe. My stomach growls. I'm curious where we're going to eat.
When Lisa gets in, she reaches into the backseat and grabs a sack. "We don't have time to eat, so I made us grilled cheese." She hands me a sandwich and a bottle of soda.
"Wow. This is a first," I say as I stare at the items in my hands. "And where exactly are we going in such a hurry?" I twist open my lid. "It's obviously not a restaurant."
She unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite. "It's a surprise," she says with a mouthful of bread. She navigates the steering wheel with her free hand as she simultaneously drives and eats. "I know a lot more about you than you know about me, so tonight I want to show you what I'm all about."
"Well, I'm intrigued," I say. I really am intrigued.
We both finish our sandwiches and I put the trash back in the bag and place it in the backseat. I try to think of something to say to break the silence, so I ask her about her family.
"What are your parents like?"
She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. "I'm not big on small talk, Nini. We can figure all that out later. Let's make this drive interesting," she says as she relaxes further into her seat.
Driving, no talking, keeping it interesting. I'm repeating what she said in my head and hope I'm misunderstanding her intent. She laughs when she sees the hesitation on my face and it dawns on her that I've taken what she said out of context.
"Nini, No!" she laughs. "I just meant let's talk about something besides what we're expected to talk about."
I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought I had found her flaw. "Good," I laugh.
"I know a game we can play. It's called 'would you rather.' Have you played it before?"
I shake my head. "No, but I know I would rather you go first."
"Okay." She clears her throat and pauses for a few seconds. "Okay, would you rather spend the rest of your life with no arms; or would you rather spend the rest of your life with arms you couldn't control?"
What the hell? I can honestly say this date has definitely not started the way any of my previous dates have gone. It's pleasantly unexpected though.
"Well…" I hesitate. "I guess I would rather spend the rest of my life with arms I couldn't control?"
"What? Seriously? But you wouldn't be controlling them!" she says, flapping her arms around in the car. "They could be flailing around and you'd be constantly punching yourself in the face! Or worse, you might grab a knife and stab yourself!"
"I didn't realize there were right and wrong answers," I say.
"You suck at this!" she teases. "Your turn."
"Okay, let me think."
"You have to have one ready!" she says.
"Jeez, Lisa! I barely heard of this game for the first time thirty seconds ago. Give me a second to think of one."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I'm teasing."
She repositions her hand underneath mine and our fingers interlock. I like how easy the transition is, like we've been holding hands for years. So far, everything about this date has been easy. I like Lisa's sense of humor. I like that I find it so easy to laugh around her after having gone so many months without laughing. I like that we're holding hands. I really like that we're holding hands.
"Okay, I've got one," I say. "Would you rather pee on yourself once a day at random, unknown times? Or would you rather have to pee on someone else?"
"It depends on who I'd have to pee on. Can I pee on people I don't like? Or is it random people?"
"Random people."
"Pee on myself," she says without hesitation. "My turn now. Would you rather be four feet tall, or seven feet tall?"
"Seven feet tall," I reply.
"Why?"
"You aren't allowed to ask why," I say. "Okay, let's see. Would you rather drink an entire gallon of bacon grease for breakfast every day? Or would you rather have to eat five pounds of popcorn for supper every night?"
"Five pounds of popcorn."
I like the game we're playing. I like that she didn't worry about impressing me with dinner. I like that I have no idea where we're headed. I even like that she didn't compliment what I was wearing, which seems to be the standard opening line for dates. So far, I like everything about tonight. As far as I'm concerned, we could drive around for another two hours just playing 'would you rather'-and it would be the most fun I've ever had on a date.
But, we don't. We eventually reach our destination and I immediately tense up when I see the sign on the building.
Club N9NE
"Uh, Lisa? I don't dance." I'm hoping she'll be empathetic.
"Uh, neither do I."
We exit the vehicle and meet at the front of the car. I'm not sure who reached out first, but once again our fingers find each other in the dark and she holds my hand as she guides me toward the entrance. As we get closer to the entrance, I notice a sign posted on the door.
Closed for Slam
Thursdays
8:00-Whenever
Admission: Free
Fee to slam: $3
Lisa opens the door without reading the sign. I start to inform her the club is closed but she seems like she knows what she's doing. The silence is interrupted by the energy of the crowd as I follow her through the entryway and into the room. There is an empty stage to the right of us, with tables and chairs set up all over the dance floor. The place is packed. I see a table toward the front that looks like a group of younger kids, around age fourteen or so. Lisa turns to the left and heads to an empty booth in the back of the room.
"It's quieter back here," she says.
"How old do you have to be to get into clubs here?" I ask, still observing the group of out of place children.
"Well, tonight it's not a club," she says as we scoot into the booth.
It's a half circle booth facing the stage so I scoot all the way to the middle to get the best view. She moves in right beside me.
"It's slam night," she says. "Every Thursday they shut the club down and people come here to compete in the slam."
"And what's a slam?" I ask.
"It's poetry," she says as she smiles at me. "It's what I'm all about."
Is she for real? A hot guy who makes me laugh and loves poetry? Someone pinch me. Or not; I'd rather not wake up.
"Poetry, huh?" I say. "Do people write their own or do they get it from other authors?"
She leans back in the seat and looks up at the stage. I can see the passion in her eyes when she talks about it. "People get up there and pour their hearts out just using their words and the movement of their bodies," she says. "It's amazing. You aren't going to hear any Dickinson or Frost here."
"Is it like a competition?" I ask.
"It's complicated," she says. "It differs between every club. Normally during a slam, the judges are picked at random from the audience and they assign points to each performance. The one with the most points at the end of the night wins. That's how they do it here, anyway."
"So do you slam?" I ask.
"Sometimes. Sometimes I judge, sometimes I just watch."
"Are you performing tonight?"
"Nah. Just an observer tonight. I don't really have anything ready."
I'm disappointed. It would be amazing to see her perform on stage. I still have no idea what slam poetry is, but I'm really curious to see her do anything that requires a performance.
"Bummer," I say.
"You want something to drink?" she says.
"Sure. I'll take some chocolate milk."
"Chocolate milk? Really?"
"With ice."
"Okay," she says as she slides out of the booth. "One chocolate milk on the rocks coming right up."
While she's gone, the emcee comes to the stage and attempts to pump up the crowd. No one is in the back of the room where we're seated, so I feel a little silly when I yell 'yeah!' with the rest of the crowd. I sink further into my seat and decide just to be a spectator for the remainder of the night.
The emcee announces it's time to pick the judges and the entire crowd roars, almost everyone wanting to be chosen. They pick five people at random and move them to the judging table. As Lisa walks back to the booth with our drinks, the emcee announces it's time for the 'sac,' and chooses someone at random.
"What's the sac?" I ask as she hands me my drink.
"Sacrifice…It's what they use to prepare the judges," she says as she slides back into the booth. Somehow, she slides even closer this time.
"Someone performs something that isn't part of the competition so the judges can calibrate their scoring."
"So they can call on anyone? What if they would have called on me?" I ask, suddenly nervous.
"Well, I guess you should have had something ready," she says as she smiles at me.
She takes a sip from her drink then leans back against the booth, finding my hand in the dark. Our fingers don't interlock this time, though. Instead, she places my hand on her leg and her fingertips start to trace the outline of my wrist. She gently traces each of my fingers, following the lines and curves of my entire hand. Her fingertips feel like electric pulses penetrating my skin.
"Nini," she says quietly as she continues to trace up my wrist and back to my fingertips with a fluid motion. "I don't know what it is about you…but I like you."
Her fingers slide between mine as she takes my hand in her and turns her attention back to the stage. I inhale and reach for my chocolate milk with my free hand, downing the entire glass. The ice feels good against my lips. It cools me off.
They call on a young woman who looks to be around twenty-five. She announces that she is performing a piece she wrote titled 'Blue Sweater.' The lights are lowered as a spotlight is positioned on her. She raises the microphone and steps forward, staring down at the floor. A hush sweeps over the audience and the only sound in the entire room is the sound of her breath, amplified through the speakers.
She raises her hand to the microphone, still staring down to the floor. She begins to tap her finger against it in a repetitive motion, resonating the sound of a heartbeat. I realize I'm holding my own breath as she begins her piece.
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that?
(Her voice lingering on the word hear)
That's the sound of my heart beating…
(She taps the microphone again)
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.
(She begins to speak faster, much louder than before.)
It was the first day of October. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard's? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
You promised to love me forever that night...
and boy
did you
ever!
It was the first day of December this time. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard's? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
I told you I was three weeks late.
You said it was fate.
You promised to love me forever that night…
and boy
did you
ever!
It was the first day of May. I was wearing my blue sweater, although this time the double stitched hem was worn and the strength of each thread tested as they were pulled tight against my growing belly. You know the one. The same one I bought at Dillard's? The one with holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
The SAME sweater you RIPPED off of my body as you shoved me to the floor,
calling me a whore,
telling me
you didn't love me
anymore.
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating.
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.
(There is a long silence as she clasps her hands to her stomach, tears streaming down her face)
Do you hear that? Of course you don't. That's the silence of my womb.
Because you
RIPPED
OFF
MY
SWEATER!
The lights come back up and the audience roars. I take a deep breath and wipe tears from my eyes. I am mesmerized by her ability to hypnotize an entire audience with such powerfully portrayed words. Just words. I'm immediately addicted and want to hear more. I'm still immobile when Lisa puts her arm around my shoulders and leans back into the seat with me, bringing me back to reality.
"Well?" she asks.
I accept her embrace and move my head to her shoulder as we both stare out over the crowd. She rests her chin on the top of my head.
"That was unbelievable," I whisper. Her hand touches the side of my head, leaning me slightly forward as her lips brush my forehead. I close my eyes and wonder how much more my emotions can be tested. Three days ago, I was devastated, bitter, hopeless. Today I woke up feeling happy for the first time in months. I feel vulnerable. I try to mask my emotions but I feel like everyone knows what I'm thinking and feeling and I don't like it. I don't like being an open book. I feel like I'm up on the stage, pouring my heart out to her, and it scares the hell out of me.
We sit there in the same embrace as several more people perform their pieces. The poetry is as vast and electrifying as the audience. I have never laughed and cried so much. The way these poets were able to lure you into a whole new world, viewing things from a vantage point you have never seen before. Making you feel like you are the mother who lost her baby, or the boy who killed his father, or even the man who got high for the first time and ate five plates of bacon. I feel a connection with these poets and their stories. More so, I feel a deeper connection to Lisa. I can't imagine that she's brave enough to get up on the stage and bare her soul like these people are doing. I have to see it. I have to see her do this.
The emcee makes one last appeal for performers.
"Lisa, you can't bring me here and not perform. Please do one? Please, please, please?"
She leans her head back against the booth. "You're killing me, Nini. Like I said, I don't really have anything new."
"Do something old then," I suggest. "Or do all these people make you nervous?"
She tilts her head toward me and smiles. "Not all of them. Just one of them."
I suddenly have the urge to kiss her. I suppress the urge, for now, as I continue to plead. I clasp my hands together under my chin.
"Don't make me beg," I say.
"You already are!" she laughs. "Alright, alright. But I'm warning you, you asked."
She pulls her wallet out of her pocket just as the emcee is announcing the start of round two. She stands up, holding her three dollars in the air. "I'm in!"
The emcee shields his eyes with his hand, squinting into the audience to see who spoke up. "Ladies and Gentlemen it's one of our very own, Ms. Lisa Manoban! So nice of you to finally join us," she teases into the microphone.
Lisa makes her way through the crowd and walks onto the stage and into the spotlight.
"What's the name of your piece tonight Lisa?" the emcee asks.
"Death," Lisa replies, looking past the crowd and directly at me. The smile fades from her eyes as she begins her performance.
Death. The only thing inevitable in life.
People don't like to talk about death because
it makes them sad.
They don't want to imagine how life will go on without them,
all the people they love will briefly grieve
but continue to breathe.
They don't want to imagine how life will go on without them,
Their children will still grow
Get married
Get old…
They don't want to imagine how life will continue to go on without them,
Their material things will be sold
Their medical files stamped 'closed'
Their name becoming a memory to everyone they know.
They don't want to imagine how life will go on without them, so instead of accepting it head on, they avoid the subject altogether,
hoping and praying it will somehow
pass them by.
Forget about them,
moving on to the next one in line.
No, they didn't want to imagine how life would continue to go on…
without them.
But death
didn't
forget.
Instead they were met head-on by death,
disguised as an eighteen-wheeler
behind a cloud of fog.
No.
Death didn't forget about them.
If they only would have been prepared, accepted the inevitable, laid out their plans, understood that it wasn't just their lives at hand.
I may have legally been considered an adult at the age of nineteen, but I still felt very much
all
of just nineteen.
Unprepared
and overwhelmed
to suddenly have the entire life of a seven-year-old
In my realm.
Death. The only thing inevitable in life.
Lisa steps out of the spotlight and off of the stage before she even sees her scores. I find myself hoping she gets lost on her way back to our booth so that I have time to absorb this. I have no idea how to react. I had no idea that this was her life. That Leo was her whole life. I'm amazed by her performance but devastated by her words. I wipe tears away with the back of my hand. I don't know if I'm crying for the loss of Lisa's parents, the responsibilities of that loss or the simple fact that she spoke the truth. She spoke about a side of death and loss that never seems to be considered until it's too late. A side that I'm unfortunately all too familiar with. The Lisa I watched walk up to the stage is not the same Lisa I'm watching walk toward me. I'm conflicted, I'm confused, and most of all I'm taken aback. She was beautiful.
She notices as I'm wiping tears from my eyes. "I warned you," she smiles as she slides back into the booth.
She reaches for her drink and takes a sip, stirring the ice cubes with her straw. I have no idea what to say to her. She completely put it all out there, right in front of me.
My emotions take control over my actions. I reach forward and take her hand in mine and she sets her drink back down on the table. She looks at me and smiles as she reaches to my face and traces the side of my cheek. I don't understand the connection I feel with her. It all seems so fast. I turn her hand over and gently kiss the inside of her palm as we hold each other's stare. We suddenly become the only two people in the entire room; all the external noise fades into the distance.
She takes my face in her hands and I close my eyes. I feel her breath draw closer as she pulls my face toward her. When she touches her lips to mine, she hesitates. She slowly kisses my bottom lip, then my top lip. Her lips are warm, still wet from her drink. I try to kiss her back, but she pulls away when my mouth responds. I open my eyes and she is smiling at me, still holding my face in her hands.
"Patience," she whispers. She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. She moves her mouth to my other cheek and kisses me again. I close my eyes and inhale as I try to calm the overwhelming impulse I have to wrap my arms around her and kiss her back. I don't know how she has so much self-control. She presses her forehead against mine and slides her hands down to my arms. Our eyes lock as we open them. It's during this moment that I finally understand why my mother accepted her fate at the age of eighteen.
"Wow," I exhale.
"Yeah," she agrees. "Wow."
We hold each other's gaze for a few more seconds when the audience starts to roar again. They are announcing the qualifiers for round two when Lisa grabs my hand and whispers, "Let's go."
As I make my way out of the booth, my entire body feels like it's about to give out on me. I've never experienced anything like what just happened. Ever.
We exit the booth and our hands remain locked as she navigates me through the ever growing crowd and into the parking lot. I didn't realize how warm I was until the cold Michigan air touches my skin. It feels exhilarating. Or I feel exhilarated. I can't tell which. All I know is that I wish the last two hours of my life could repeat for eternity.
"You don't want to stay?" I ask her.
"Nini, you've been moving and unpacking for days. You need sleep."
"Sleep does sound good," I say as I yawn.
She opens my door but before I get in, she wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me to her in a tight embrace. She runs her hand through my hair as I take in her scent. I try to pull her closer, but we can't seem to get close enough. Several minutes pass as we just stand there, holding on to the moment. I've always been so guarded. This new side of me that Lisa brings out is a side of me I didn't know I had.
We eventually break apart and get in the car. As we drive away from the parking lot I lean my head against the window and watch the club as it minimizes in the rearview mirror.
"Lisa?" I whisper without breaking my gaze as the building disappears behind us. "Thank you for this."
She takes my hand into her and I fall asleep, smiling.
I wake up as she's opening my door and we're in my driveway. She reaches in and grabs my hand as I step out of the car. I can't remember the last time I fell asleep in a moving vehicle. Lisa was right, I am tired. I rub my eyes and yawn again as she walks me to the front door. She wraps her arms around my waist as I raise mine around her shoulders and we embrace again. She squeezes my waist tighter and moves me closer into her. Our bodies are a perfect fit.
"Nini, I already miss you," she whispers in my ear. A chill runs down my body as her breath warms my neck. I can't believe we only met three days ago; it seems like we've been doing this for years.
"Just think," I say. "You'll be gone three whole days. That's the same length of time that I've known you."
I didn't think it was possible, but she pulls me even closer. "This will be the longest three days of my life," she says.
If I know my mother at all, then we've got an audience, so I'm relieved her final kiss is nothing more than a quick peck on the cheek. She slowly walks backwards toward her car, her fingers sliding out of mine, eventually letting go. My arm falls limp to my side as I watch her get into her car. She cranks the engine and rolls down her window. "Nini, I've got a pretty long drive home," she teases. "How about one for the road?"
I walk to the car and lean through her window, expecting another peck. Instead, she slips her hand behind my neck and gently presses me toward her, our lips separating as they meet. Neither of us holds back this time. I reach through the window and run my fingers through the back of her hair as we continue kissing. It takes all I have not to swing open the car door and crawl into her lap. The door between us feels more like a barricade.
We finally come to a stop; our lips are still touching as we both hesitate to part. Our breath rises in small waves of fog as it meets the cold air.
"Damn," she whispers. "It gets better every time."
I plant a small peck on her mouth. She does the same. We continue back and forth until I start to laugh. "I'll see you in three days," I smile. "You be careful driving home tonight." I give her one final kiss as I pull away from the window.
She backs out of the driveway and again straight into her own. I'm tempted to run after her and kiss her again to prove her theory. Instead, I avoid temptation and turn to head inside.
"Nini!"
I turn around just as she shuts her car door and jogs across the street toward me. Did I leave something in her car? I wait for her to say something else to explain what she's doing, but instead she just smiles as she gets closer.
"I forgot to tell you something," she says as she wraps her arms around me again. "You look beautiful tonight." She kisses me on top of my head, releases her hold and turns back toward her house.
Maybe I was wrong earlier-about me liking the fact that she didn't compliment me tonight. I was definitely wrong. When she gets to her front door, she turns around and smiles before she goes inside.
Just like I had imagined, my mother is sitting on the sofa with a book, attempting to appear uninterested as I walk through the front door. "Well, how'd it go? Is she a serial killer?" she asks.
My smile is uncontrollable now. I walk to the sofa opposite her and throw myself on it like a ragdoll and sigh. "You were right Mom, I love Michigan."