"Jayce! I need your help."
I turn around and see my best friend since 4th grade and my longest friend, Jason running up to me in the hallway. I was just in the middle of returning a couple of books to my locker before I made my exit. "What's up?" I stop and give him time to catch his breath before continuing to open my locker combo. He gives me a warm smile.
"I was wondering if you could help me with something tonight."
I put up a hand now clear of books. "Can't. Mom's make it a big deal with a dinner with my future stepfather and his son? I don't know why she made it seem important to her, but she doesn't want me to miss it." I give my friend a sympathetic smile. "Lo siento; I'm sorry. Maybe I could help you later?"
He nods in understanding. "Of course. I'll try to figure it out by myself. Don't forget to tell me how the dinner went afterward."
"Affirmative." A quick exchange of salutes sends Jason and me off on our paths.
Exciting Washington High School I cannot help but reflect on my mother's past love life. After graduating from college as a fancy lit major, she found my father and fell deeply in love. Sucks that my father turned out to be a cheating bastard, breaking my mama's heart into a million pieces. For the past three years, it has just been Mama and me, although recently she's been smiling and shining with that look of love in her eyes. Two weeks ago she finally cracked and told me she found someone who she wants to marry.
At first, I was not sure about Mama getting remarried. What if she married around cheating husband? She barely got through her first marriage, so how would she deal with another one, if things came out that way? But in the last couple of weeks, she's given me her boyfriend's number, and we have rudimentarily introduced ourselves to each other. It was through the texts and emails that I found out Mama's boyfriend had a son from another previous marriage. He also said his son-whose name was Ryan-was around my age.
So now we are having this family introduction once and for all. I don't know how to think about it. I guess I'll be friendly for Mama's sake, but I won't hold back on her on the drive home if I think these boys aren't worth her time. I've kept her happy for three years now, I think she'll be fine for a couple more.
Mama picks me up from school five minutes late. It's not unnatural for her to be running late, but when I see the ruby-red lips and too formal for a college instructor, I realize she's been besting her face and body for this man. I don't know how to take that.
"Hi Mama," I say, sliding into the passenger seat and dropping my bag at my feet. "When is the dinner again?" I can tell that this dinner thing is eating at her-her nails are chattering on the steering wheels; nervousness must be chewing at her mind. I mainly focus on her as she watches the road.
"5:30 PM," she looks at me in my plain white tee and skinny jeans. "You are going to change. Wear something fancy... I will check your dress before we leave." She says finally, her nails still tapping away.
"Okay." I don't want to put more stress on her further, so I'll go with this for the time being. Even though my mother can be a little nitpicky about what I wear, I know it's out of love. "But I have to have enough time to do my homework. And memorize my lines." I add, almost forgetting about the last part.
Mama takes a second to notice me. "Memorize lines? What are you talking about, Mija?"
"The theater department is having their musical auditions next week. I have to memorize an excerpt from a song as well as have a monologue prepared. They're doing Beauty & the Beast."
Mama sighs, her tapping fingers quickly becoming a constant in this car ride. I won't comment about how it's also becoming a tad annoying. "Can you do it tomorrow? I want to curl your hair." Curl my hair? This dinner must be getting to Mama if she wants to do my hair up all pretty like that. She does not do this outside of special occasions (concerts or performances). She says it's because she has no time and that my dark brown hair is pretty enough on its own. But I guess this first impression count as a special occasion today.
"Yes Mama," I say, and the rest of the car ride is drowned with the familiar gospel music Mama likes to sing along with, and loves to hear me sing with.
***
At home, Mama leads me to my closet almost immediately. We live a modest-looking life, despite Mama being a wealthy woman (something I hope future stepdad will not take advantage of). Her college pays well, so well in fact that I can afford to go to WHS and live in a nice sense of comfort.
In a matter of minutes, Mama has a couple of short dresses out for my choosing. I have to hold back embarrassment as I had gone shopping for these more revealing dresses in secret, not meaning to wear them out in the public eye, but instead just to make myself feel pretty in the safety of my own house, and now Mama wanted me to wear these short dresses to a fancy dinner?
"What about this?" Mama asks, holding up an emerald green skimpy dress that I love, but would be way too embarrassed to be seen wearing outside. I shake my head. "Then, this one?" A pale yellow dress with some angelic-looking lace patterning on the edges. Again, cute, but I don't think so.
Mama digs further into my closet and finally pulls out something I think could work well. It's a colorful dress with a black sheen layering muting out the brightness of the underlying colors. Non-forming, and free-flowing; it falls just above my knees. "That could work..." I say, taking the hanger from my mother. "Flats or heels?" I ask her, knowing it would be black either way.
"Heels," she says almost immediately. She quickly amends her sin of heels with a, "but only one inch," save.
I nod in acknowledgment, politely pushing my mother out of the closet to get changed. I find some conservative black one-inches heels to go along with the dress, as well as some simple jewelry. Looking in my closet mirror I think I look pretty. My black wire choker shines in the closet's built-in light.
When I come out, Mama gives me an approving nod and quickly rushes me in front of the bathroom mirror so that she can curl my hair. It comes out bouncy and not frizzy at all; perfect. Before we leave Mama gives my lips a brief kiss of red lipstick. I decide to send Jason a quick pic before I leave. He would look to see me all dolled up in real life.
Hey Jason. Look at the newer Barbie doll on the production line: *Image*
I don't have the time to wait for his reply when Mama pulls into the restaurant. It's Olive Garden-a favorite of mine with their pasta and breadsticks. I wonder if Mama suggested this for me, or if Step-dad has some Italiano in his blood.
Mama turns off the car but waits a moment before even opening the door. She looked over at me in the passenger seat. "Be polite," she says like I ever have been an unpolite daughter. But I know it's because of her nerves. I take her hand, give it a soft squeeze, and open my door, letting the balmy evening wind brush my hair.
It's time to meet the potential future members of my family. I'm not sure what to feel.
