I dumped the ice in the sink and pulled out the leftover taco meat for Mom.
“Hey, sweetie.” I wrapped my mom in a hug, but her whole body was like a polarized hull plate, rigid and brittle. After a moment she finally relaxed against me. But then the microwave beeped.
“You don’t need to do that for me.”
“I want to.”
“All right. How was your day?”
“It was okay,” I said. Mom didn’t seem like she was in the mood to hear about my testicular trauma.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk about it anyway.
“How was yours?”
“Long.”
I pulled down a plate for her and grabbed the rest of the taco fixings out of the fridge while she checked something on her phone. She looked up and frowned at me. “I can make my own dinner, you know.”
“I don’t mind. Want some tea?”
Mom sighed and sat down. “I better not. Thanks.”
I grabbed my cup—a second steeping of Ti Kwan Yin, which had more mellow floral notes than the first steeping—and sat next to her.
“How did your test go?”
“I got a C.”
“Do you need some help? We can go over your problems together.”
“It’s okay. I went to Chip’s after practice and we worked on it together.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” Mom took a bite of taco and studied me as she chewed. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”
I don’t know why it felt like such an accusation when she said that.
I don’t know why I felt like I had to defend myself.
“He’s been really helpful,” I said. “Oh. I left my bike at his house. Think you can drop me off in the morning?”
Mom frowned. “I can’t tomorrow. Early meeting. Oma or Grandma will have to.”
“Oh.”
“I wish I could, though.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
I let Mom eat in silence after that.
There was something she wasn’t saying out loud, something I was supposed to know but didn’t.
When she finished, she wiped her hands and mouth, careful to avoid her lipstick.
“I better go put Laleh to bed.”
“Oma already did. She even got her to take a bath.”
