“No,” I say. “Shana just had to go do something.”
“Oh. All right. How’s it been going?”
“Great. Really good.”
“You’re going to be all set for the wedding, right?” Mom seems nervous, like she’s regretting asking us to do this. Like she wishes she’d asked Vivian to sing some jazz standards instead.
“Mom! Of course. Yes. We’re going to honor your and Ron’s love in an epic fashion. We will be the musical equivalent of fireworks spelling your names.”
Mom smiles. “Well, you don’t have to bethat. I just want to make sure you’re not in over your heads.”
This is how my mom sees me, as perpetually in over my head.
Maybe she’s right to see me that way.
“We got this, Mrs. Spear,” Ember says, this time heroically stepping in to get my back, even though they don’t realize Mom goes by her maiden name now. “You were at our gig—it’s gonna be like that, but way more amazing. Because we keep getting better.”
“Oh, good,” Mom says, sighing and wiping imaginary sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “That’s nice to hear.”
Of course she believes it now that she’s heard it from someone who’s not me.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mom says. “Let you keep getting better.”
“Thanks,” Ember says.
Mom is staring at me as she walks out, as if waiting for my response, but all I can do is nod because I’m too angry to talk.
Carter
“Are you sure you’re okay to miss prom?” I ask for the twenty-second time.
“Carter,” Maggie says, reaching across the table for my hand. “The only place I want to be right now is here. With you. At our non-prom.”
“Okay.” I give her a goofy smile.
Going to prom wasn’t really an option, as Maggie still isn’t ready for the world (meaning Chord and her family) to know about us. I keep telling her she could go on her own. You only get one senior prom. And, if you’re me, you might never even get that.
But she insisted on skipping, so we drove several towns over to this seafood restaurant where we won’t know anyone. We’re sitting outside on a beautiful spring night, twinkle lights strung above, as a cheesy cover band called Beachy Bill and the Bobcat Boys provides background music. I’m wearing one of the two ties I own—this one has Spider-Man on it—and Maggie is in a yellow sundress, her hair up so I can see every freckle on her shoulders.
It’s hard to imagine that any prom could be better than this.
“Hey,” I say once we’ve ordered, “can I ask you something kind of funny?”
“What kind of funny are we talking about?” Maggie asks, her eyes narrowing. “Hilarious? Uncomfortable? Embarrassing? Strange?”
“Maybe all of those?”
“Okay, yeah. Go for it.”
“So, I guess I’m wondering...” I unfold my cloth napkin. “What was it like the first time we dated?”
“Aha,” Maggie says, and I can tell she’s the slightest bit uncomfortable. We’ve been secretly hooking up for almost two months now, and it’s been pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me. (At least, as far as I can remember.) But this is the part of being with her I’ve enjoyed the least, having a history that only she knows, needing SparkNotes for my own relationship. “What was itlike?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Like, the first time we dated. And when we first met. Your first impression of me. What we did on dates. Stuff like that.”
“Oh.” Maggie takes a sip of her water and crunches an ice cube. “Well, I mean, we met at Scoops ’n’ Sprinkles. Which I think you already know.”
“And was I an attractive scooper?”
