“I don’t?” Michael stops mid-stride. “Did Matt already eat all the crepes?”
“No. Emotional minefield. Me and my big mouth.” I sink down on the steps and put my face in my hands. Michael sits down beside me.
“What exactly did you do?” he asks.
“I let it slip that Matt is going to Iraq. Apparently, Mom didn’t know about it yet.”
“Oh,” Michael says.
“Stupid, stupid.” I shake my head. “I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning.”
“It’s not entirely your fault.” Michael puts his arm over my shoulder. “When was Matt planning on telling her? When he was on the plane headed to Iraq?”
“It might have been safer for him,” I answer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mom this mad.”
“That would be a new one, a mother killing her son so he couldn’t go to war.”
I turn and give him a look that shows I don’t appreciate his humor.
“It had to come out sooner or later,” Michael tries again.
“Yeah, but I didn’t have to be the one to tell her. Sometimes I just talk without thinking.”
“We all do.” Michael hasn’t moved his arm. “It’s probably better that it came out now. It will give her some time to process the idea. I can’t blame Matt for taking this long, though. I would hate to tell my mom I was going to war. She would completely flip out.”
“You mean like that?” The voices from downstairs get louder.
“Probably exactly like that,” he sighs.
I stand up. “I’m sorry if this is keeping you from leaving. You want me to sneak you out the back door?”
“I can wait a little longer.”
I’m out of things to say. I want to get back to my email, but I can’t exactly leave Michael sitting here, waiting for the voices downstairs to calm down. Not talking is worse; now we can hear exactly what’s going on downstairs.
Michael breaks the silence. “Um, maybe we should go somewhere else.”
“Yeah.” I follow him back into the rec room. It doesn’t look like Michael slept here. He folded the bed back into the couch and stacked the bedding at the end. None of Matthew’s other friends are this neat.
Michael sits down at one end of the couch, and I sit at the other. “I was thinking we should exchange cell numbers, so it will be easier to meet up on New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh yeah. Let me get my phone.” I go into my room to get my phone, glance at my computer with the unopened email, and then head back to the rec room.
It feels weird to program Michael’s number into my phone. Way too permanent for one party as just friends. Another question comes to mind. “Uh, Michael. What exactly is the dress code for this party?”
“The dress code?”
“You know, casual, formal, semi-formal, what?”
“Oh,” he answers seriously. “A dress like what you wore to the prom would be just fine.”
I try to keep my voice even. “Really? That formal?”
His face breaks into a grin. “No, not quite, but you did look incredible in that dress.” I guess Matt really showed him my prom picture.
“Thanks. What then?”
“Hmmm.” Michael looks thoughtful. “I guess you’d say a little more than semi-formal; a skirt or nice pants, maybe a dress, but not too dressy. My mom isn't into bling and nothing too short or too bare. Kind of like what you might wear for Christmas dinner.”
