I pretend I don’t know it.
Undaunted, she lists off every boy within my general age range who is known to attend the gala. “Really, Claire, one of them ought to be good enough for you. Todd is even a musician. I’m sure you’d get along well. I can talk to his mother and—”
“Todd has a girlfriend.” And, you know, I have a boyfriend. But duh—she knows. That’s why we’re having this conversation. She wants me to exchange my boyfriend for a new one.
My mom puts the second wig on the bureau and smoothes down her pixie-ish hair. “So what? Relationships shouldn’t be so serious at this point in your life. At your age, you should be going out on lots of dates with lots of different people. You should be exploring and living it up, not locking yourself down with one person. Shop around, sweetie. Keep trading up until you find the best match. Isn’t that right, Candy?”
Candy bites her lip, clearly not want to be dragged in to this conversation. “If you’re going to date around, high school is the time.”
Beautifully noncommittal. I silently applaud her.
In retaliation, she takes the curling iron to my hair, and I wince because I’m not a fan of having hot metal so close to my face. “I hate shopping, remember? I prefer the old and comfortable to the new and shiny. Anyway, it’s bad karma to replace what works great. Wasteful. Bad for the environment.”
“Oh, Claire.” My mother clucks her tongue at me. “I just don’t want you missing out on new opportunities or settling. Live a little. For me. Shop.”
Boys are not interchangeable objects, I want to say. And unlike a sweater that doesn’t care if I add a new one to my collection, Jared would not be pleased.
But my mom runs her hand over her super short hair again, and her guilt trip is achieved. Live a little for me. With the unspoken ending: because I don’t know how much longer I’ll live myself.
So I curl my hands into fists and say nothing. I love my mother, I tell myself. I just wish she could love that I also love Jared.
But she can’t, and it only gets worse that summer. That’s when April overhears me talking to Kristen, and the word condom or sex or something equally blab worthy is mentioned. She squeals about it to Mom and Dad, who panic.
Mom spends too much time crying because she’s worried about me making bad choices. She fears I’m going to ruin my life, and she won’t be around to help me pick up the pieces. Dad’s angry all the time because I’m upsetting my mom.
I know none of this is an act; they’re genuinely freaking. I’m worried sick over my mom, and all the lectures I’ve gotten about how bad an influence Jared is are starting to nibble away at my confidence in our relationship.
I love Jared, but I don’t want to cause my mom any more stress. I don’t want to make her sicker. I don’t want to lose her. She’s my mother. I grasp at any hope and start to wonder: since stress makes people sicker, will breaking up with Jared help her get better? Is this a choice between my mom’s life and my boyfriend’s heart?
All my agonizing comes down to a single, almost unconscious decision. Jared and I are at the mall on a Saturday morning. Neither of us wants to be there, but it’s ninety degrees outside and his mom’s AC died. Among the food court, the piped-in soft rock and the generic clothing stores, we can breathe. Yet it’s a stupid way to spend the day, and we both know it.
“Can we go back to my house, please? I hate the mall, and we can go swimming.” I cross my arms, but Jared ignores me. Again. He shuffles toward the arcade, and I kick the railing in frustration. “If you don’t want to come over, just say it already.”
“Fine.” He spins around, his arms raised in defeat. “I don’t want to go to your house, okay? I can’t stand the way your parents talk down to me.”
“They don’t—”
“Yes, they do. They hate me, and I don’t want to deal with them.”
People scurry by, sucking on soft drinks with amused expressions. My cheeks flame, and I suspect it’s because deep down, I know Jared isn’t entirely wrong. “That’s not true.”
Jared pushes his hair out of his face. “Are you kidding? Christ, Claire, I can’t believe you’re defending them. I thought you were better than that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” His shoulders slump and he turns his back on me.
I feel funny, like my brain’s been injected with Novocain. Maybe it’s stress or self-doubt, or maybe it’s simply the irrational urge to protect my mom, but whatever it is, I can’t stop the words from dribbling out. “You know, if that’s the way you’re going to be, if that’s what you think of me, then maybe we need to back off for a bit.”
That stops him walking away. “What?”
“Maybe my parents were right, and we shouldn’t hang around together so much. We should take some time apart.”
“I can’t believe you think that.” Those blue eyes of his go dead gray. “You’re going to pick them over me?”
I close the distance between us, dropping my voice so the gawkers in the food court won’t hear us. I feel as though I’m having some kind of out-of-body experience, like I’m watching myself have this conversation because I sure can’t be doing it for real. My heart pounds against my chest, trying to beat the seriousness of what I’m doing into my head. And yet my mouth plunges forward. I’m sick of walking this tightrope between family and Jared, and my mom needs me. She must need me more than Jared does. Besides, after all she’s ever done for me, how can I not do this one thing for her? Sitting through ten years of piano recitals is reason enough that I owe her.
“I’m not picking anyone. I just can’t deal with you bad-mouthing them right now. My mom’s sick, and—”
“And I’m supposed to be okay with the way they treat me because of that?”
“That’s not it....” I swallow, but a lump in my throat gets in my way. “She’s my mom.”
“And I’m nothing?”
“Stress is bad for her.”
“Right, and I stress her out because I’m not good enough for you. I get it.”
The greasy food court stench makes my stomach roll. “No, you don’t. I....” Jared gives me a second, but I can’t collect my thoughts. I have too many, and I’m still in shock over what I’ve done.
“Yeah, I do. Your parents are a couple of stuck-up assholes, I’m a loser and you care more about appeasing their snobbishness than you do about hurting me. That’s fine. Believe me, I get it.”
He storms off, and I have to call Kristen to get a ride home. When I explain to her what happened, she swears I made the right move. But then why doesn’t it feel right? Why do I feel slimy and evil, like I just condemned a million puppies to death? Why is there this hole inside my chest?
Within hours, I’m wishing I could take it all back because I feel worse than ever. Jared has a temper, but he usually cools off quickly. It never crosses my mind that this time I might have wounded him too badly for it to blow over.
But when I call him, he doesn’t answer. So I leave messages. I text him. He never responds. I cry until I puke. A week later, I hear through the gossip mill that Jared’s taken off to spend the rest of his summer with his sister in New York City. I remember what he told me about his father—how when he’d get angry, he’d run away. But I can’t believe Jared would act like his father, the man he loathes for running out on him and his mother. And yet...
I try to forget, but everything seems to remind me of him. Even the new Miata my parents buy me