Watching his unease vanish before my eyes, I agree. “Yeah, sounds great. Thank you!” I’m excited and a bit flustered about being tutored by the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to focus. I’m struggling now, simply being across from him. How the hell am I expected to learn about the egregious crimes committed in the south when he looks at me like I’m the only girl in the world?
Maybe this isn’t a good idea.
“I’ll see you after school tomorrow.”
I don’t care about good ideas.
I walk out of his class with a sinking feeling in my stomach, but not the kind to make me sick. Instead, I feel like flying.
“Talk to you later,” Chris says as we depart. I don’t remember what I say in return, if I even respond at all. How could I when my mind is stuck on Tuesday?
“Baby? Is that you?!” my mom shouts as soon as I walk through the door. I’m too busy struggling to carry in all my art supplies to respond, but hopefully, my grappling growls are enough of an answer for her.
She comes out of the kitchen covered in flour and cocoa powder, a bright, cheerful grin spreading across her face when she sees me.
“My girl! I missed you! Tell me, how was your first day? How are the kids? Teachers? Did you get lost? Do you have a lot of work, or do you want to help me bake? Are you hungry? Do-”
“Oh my God! Mom! Breathe!” I laugh, dropping all my shit on the floor so I can drag her into my arms. My mom, Colletta Dane, is the sweetest woman, but she isn’t good at being alone, constantly bombarding Dad and me whenever we walk through the door. I love her, though, and all these questions are proof of her love for me.
“Sorry. Sorry. I just missed you. Tell me about your day.”
I follow her into the other room, smiling when I see the disarray of the space. Nothing makes my mom happier than being in the kitchen. I know she calls my dad and me her first loves, but it’s really cooking, more specifically, baking. She finds herself there.
“It was good. Made a friend named Chris.”
“Oh, really? Is he cute? Do you like him?” She whispers that final question, staring at me giddily while rolling out pie crust.
“Oh yes, Mom. After just one day, I want to ravage his body while consuming his mind,” I mock, swiping a freshly baked blueberry muffin off the cupcake stand.
“That’s how I got your dad.”
Oh my God.
“Thanks, Mom.”
After we stop chuckling, I dive into the day, starting from the moment I stepped inside the building until I left my art class with paint under my fingernails and pastel green mica powder in my hair.
“Sounds fun,” she says, throwing the raw dough in the oven. “Anything else you want to talk about?”
My mind goes straight to fifth-period history and Mr. Ellis’s blue eyes.
“Ohhh, what is that!? You’re blushing.”
“No, no, I’m not. It’s just….” I pause, wondering how my mother will react when I tell her I think I’m in love with my teacher. “I have a really, really,reallyhot teacher.”
I bite my tongue as I wait for her response. Her tanned face isn’t turning beet red, as it does when she’s upset, and the telling twitch of her eye doesn’t appear, which makes me feel a little better about my confession.
“Oh, boy. I know what that’s like.” Her eyes glaze over as she looks off somewhere in the distance. My mother is about as saintly as they come, so witnessing stars light up her gaze for someone who isn’t my father catches me completely off guard.
“Oh my God, Mom. Who was he?” I grill, throwing myself over the island with my hands clasped over my mouth. She looks at me funny, face bursting with vivid pinks and reds while wiping her dirty hands on a plaid dish rag.
“I was a sophomore, and he was my swimming instructor,” she says, voice growing soft as she thinks back to her time in high school. “You should have seen him. He was a man, and I was convinced I was the only woman for him.”
Her snort brings us back to reality, and she shakes away the teenage fantasy with a jerk of her head. “That was, until I met your father the following year. After him, there was never anyone who could compare.”
The love in her eyes has me swooning for something similar. My parents have been together since they were sixteen. They’ll be celebrating their twentieth anniversary this June. A love like that is what I want,what I crave. I’ll settle for nothing less than absolute worship.
I leave Mom in the kitchen, her mind on the love of her life, while mine is spinning with eagerness for tomorrow and a man I shouldn’t be thinking about.
