“He’ll be here by four for dinner, don’t you worry.” My mom loves to feed people and she’s ecstatic about my new boyfriend. I don’t think I’ve brought anyone home since the summer before college, come to think of it. No wonder she’s excited.
I pry open the Tupperware with all the Christmas cookies and start arranging them on the platters Mom’s got laid out.
“He said he can’t wait to try my lasagna!” Mom boasts and I drop a cookie on the floor.
“What’s that?” I ask, bending to pick up the cookie and toss it in the trash.
“He said you’re always raving about my lasagna recipe.” She beams. “I had no idea you liked it so much, Everly, I’d have made it for you every school break.” She gives the pot on the stove another stir, knocking the wooden spoon against the edge twice before resting it on the spoon rest next to the stove.
“Um, when was this, Mom?” I tilt my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, my ponytail swaying with the movement. “That you were chatting with Sawyer?”
“Oh, we weren’t chatting. We were Facebooking. On the FB.”
“Mom, it’s Facebook, not the FB. And you shouldn’t be Facebooking my boyfriend, it’s weird.”
“I know it’s just Facebook, Everly. But it’s funnier to call it the FB, don’t you think?”
“No.” I’m shaking my head. “Not so much.”
“Anyway, he messaged me.”
I stifle a groan. I’m going to kill him. I wonder if Facebook has a feature to report this. I could care less about risqué pictures on my timeline. This? This I care about. “What else did you two message about?” I ask, my voice high as I close one container of cookies and pry open another.
“Nothing, Everly. He sent me a message to ask what he could bring today. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” I repeat.
“And I sent him some pictures. You were such a cute kid. It’s been forever since I had anyone new to show those pictures to.” She pulls a cutting board from the cabinet.
“Mom!” I shriek in horror.
“Joking, Everly. I’m joking.” She shakes her head and pulls vegetables from the fridge, placing them on the cutting board. “I’ve never seen you so wound up before.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling. “He must be different.”
I move my head in a slight nod. “He’s something,” I agree, as the door rings. It’s too early to be Sawyer, but the relatives have started to arrive. My brother Eric will be here with his wife, Erin. My grandparents, an aunt and uncle and two cousins will be here too. I hear my dad opening the door to let whoever’s arrived first in. At least Eric won’t make a scene about me dating Sawyer in front of the relatives. I hope.
My teenage cousin Vivian bounds into the kitchen a moment later squealing and hugging me. She’s graduating from my old high school Ridgefield High this spring. She takes over the cookies and updates me on all the schools she’s applied to and where she’s hoping to go to college next fall. I listen and take over the salad prep from my mom, feeling like it was a lifetime ago when I was in her shoes. Except of course, I only sent in the one application, so dead set that I would be accepted to Penn and everything would work out like I’d planned. I was right about getting into Penn, but wrong about everything else.
“What are your plans after graduation?” Vivians’s finished her updates and looks to me expectantly, swiping a cookie and stuffing it in her mouth.
“Um, I don’t exactly know yet,” I admit. “But I’ve got time to figure it out.” I smile and wave it off like it’s no big deal. As if it doesn’t cause me a moment of worry.
I pry open the Tupperware with all the Christmas cookies and start arranging them on the platters Mom’s got laid out.
“He said he can’t wait to try my lasagna!” Mom boasts and I drop a cookie on the floor.
“What’s that?” I ask, bending to pick up the cookie and toss it in the trash.
“He said you’re always raving about my lasagna recipe.” She beams. “I had no idea you liked it so much, Everly, I’d have made it for you every school break.” She gives the pot on the stove another stir, knocking the wooden spoon against the edge twice before resting it on the spoon rest next to the stove.
“Um, when was this, Mom?” I tilt my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, my ponytail swaying with the movement. “That you were chatting with Sawyer?”
“Oh, we weren’t chatting. We were Facebooking. On the FB.”
“Mom, it’s Facebook, not the FB. And you shouldn’t be Facebooking my boyfriend, it’s weird.”
“I know it’s just Facebook, Everly. But it’s funnier to call it the FB, don’t you think?”
“No.” I’m shaking my head. “Not so much.”
“Anyway, he messaged me.”
I stifle a groan. I’m going to kill him. I wonder if Facebook has a feature to report this. I could care less about risqué pictures on my timeline. This? This I care about. “What else did you two message about?” I ask, my voice high as I close one container of cookies and pry open another.
“Nothing, Everly. He sent me a message to ask what he could bring today. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” I repeat.
“And I sent him some pictures. You were such a cute kid. It’s been forever since I had anyone new to show those pictures to.” She pulls a cutting board from the cabinet.
“Mom!” I shriek in horror.
“Joking, Everly. I’m joking.” She shakes her head and pulls vegetables from the fridge, placing them on the cutting board. “I’ve never seen you so wound up before.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling. “He must be different.”
I move my head in a slight nod. “He’s something,” I agree, as the door rings. It’s too early to be Sawyer, but the relatives have started to arrive. My brother Eric will be here with his wife, Erin. My grandparents, an aunt and uncle and two cousins will be here too. I hear my dad opening the door to let whoever’s arrived first in. At least Eric won’t make a scene about me dating Sawyer in front of the relatives. I hope.
My teenage cousin Vivian bounds into the kitchen a moment later squealing and hugging me. She’s graduating from my old high school Ridgefield High this spring. She takes over the cookies and updates me on all the schools she’s applied to and where she’s hoping to go to college next fall. I listen and take over the salad prep from my mom, feeling like it was a lifetime ago when I was in her shoes. Except of course, I only sent in the one application, so dead set that I would be accepted to Penn and everything would work out like I’d planned. I was right about getting into Penn, but wrong about everything else.
“What are your plans after graduation?” Vivians’s finished her updates and looks to me expectantly, swiping a cookie and stuffing it in her mouth.
“Um, I don’t exactly know yet,” I admit. “But I’ve got time to figure it out.” I smile and wave it off like it’s no big deal. As if it doesn’t cause me a moment of worry.
