Tea For Two

8

Disclaimer: This is an original work of FICTION. These characters belong to me, as do their lives. Do not steal them from me. Thanks, enjoy.

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By the time Mr. and Mrs. Tate get home- thirty minutes apart, just shy of eleven p.m. - we've demolished an entire supreme pizza, a pitcher of sweet tea, and half a bag of Oreos. We're curled up on the couch, arms around each other and heads on the other's shoulder, watching Forrest Gump. People can say anything they want to about the Notebook or Love Actually, but Forrest Gump is the greatest romance movie ever. At least, this is what I am trying to show Emily. But she seems to be spending more time watching me than she does actually watching the movie.

When her stepdad walks through the half-lit living room and pulls off the tie he's undoubtedly been wearing all day, we don't even attempt to move away from each other on the small love seat. As usual, he doesn't say a word to us, but he does look at me and lift one of his eyebrows as he passes into the kitchen.

It seems that, for every time Mr. Tate refrains from speaking, his wife simply can't.

"Oh, my goodness," she says within seconds of seeing us sitting together. "Are you- is this- who did it? Who asked who?"

She's practically jittery with excitement, and I have to restrain myself a lot to not laugh as Emily replied to her ridiculous mother.

"Hey mom," she starts, pretending as if her mother can't already tell what's up. "Guess what? Aug and I-"

"Emily Amanda Turner, do not beat around the bush with me," her mother interrupts, using a comically stern look I can't really describe.

"Mom. I wasn't beating around the bush, I was just about to-"

"Emily and I are dating now," I slip in, before this turns into a squabble both of them were too mature to be a part of.

"Oh! Tell me everything," Emily's mother says, sitting down on the slightly larger couch that was positioned at an angle of our love seat. "Who asked who? Spill."

I know that after the pinky promise with her only a week or so ago, I really shouldn't be fazed by Laura Tate, a fully-grown woman, sitting cross legged and finishing our Oreos as she makes us dish about our relationship.  I know I shouldn't, but I'm just not used to mothers being so... un-motherly. I don't think my mother has ever eaten an Oreo a day in her life. I briefly try to imagine my mother sitting cross legged, but give up, knowing that she only ever crosses her ankles.

"Uh, I asked her," I say, smiling

Mrs. Tate sits with an expectant smile on her face, waiting for more. "And? Please, I need details!"

Emily sighs uncomfortably. "Mom, can we please have some privacy in our relationship?"

Her mother huffs. "Oh, fine. Don't tell me anything."

She begins to get up, but quickly sits back down as she starts again.

"At least tell me this- are you going to tell anyone else? Like your friends?"

I don't bother to tell her that, besides Emily, I don't have many friends. I know too much about the weekend exploits of my classmates to feel that I could befriend any of them. What could we do together? I don't throw parties or dance dirty- I just like to drink tea and watch movies.

Emily looks sideways at me. "Are we telling anyone?"

I swallow dryly once or twice, and I get that sick, panicked feeling in my chest that usually accompanies thoughts of coming out to my parents.