Mine: A Love Story (9 page)

Marissa is already in bed when Chris and I get back to my room. It’s not quite midnight, so I guess it was an early Friday night for her. In a way, this is good. Chris and I share one more wonderful kiss outside my door, then we say goodnight. I don’t have to worry about having him come in and being alone together in my room, and I also don’t have to worry about what he might say to Marissa about having her watch us kiss. The boy can be such a wise guy sometimes.

I creep into the room as quietly as I can, after easing the door shut behind me. There’s enough light filtering in through the windows and from the power indicators on all our electronic devices for me to see my way without turning on a light. I’m only halfway across the room when Marissa speaks.

“You can turn on the light,” she says, her voice clear and alert. “I’m not asleep. I just got into bed five minutes ago.”

I flick on my desk lamp, which still leaves her half of the room in dimness. I guess she really isn’t all that sleepy, because she’s already pushed her blanket down and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“So, how was your date?” she asks.

“Really fun,” I say. “I had a great time.”

I sit down on my bed and tell her all about open mic night, finishing with Chris’ wild piano playing.

“Jerry Lee Lewis, huh?” Marissa says. “That must have been something. I bet the place went wild when he started playing with his foot.”

“They did. They loved it.”

“So, did you two do anything else? Or was open mic night it?”

I smile at her. “Well, there might have been some making out involved afterward,” I say.

Marissa leaps across the room and bounces onto the bed beside me. “All right! Let’s hear it.”

“I’m so glad you said that,” I say. “Because I really need to talk to you about it.”

“Uh, oh,” Marissa says warily, sensing she might be getting into more than she bargained for. “I just wanted some good girl talk—you know, gossipy stuff. But that’s not quite what you’ve got in mind, is it?”

“No,” I say. “I really need some advice. I’m pretty clueless about this stuff.”

Marissa grins. “Okay, I’ll make you deal. Give me some juicy details first, and then we’ll do the advice thing.”

“I guess that’s fair,” I say. “But the details aren’t all that juicy.”

“Maybe not if they were coming from
me
,” Marissa says, her grin growing wider. “But coming from my shy, innocent little roomie, they’ll be plenty good.”

I take a moment to decide where to start. I guess there’s no place like the beginning.

“The first kiss was on the sidewalk, just outside The Joint,” I say.

“The
first
kiss!” Marissa repeats. “That means there was more than one, then. I knew this was going to be good.”

I tell Marissa about that first kiss, trying not to sound too sappy about it, but still getting across the idea of how amazing it felt. I leave out my lame “wow” comment when it ended. I finish by telling her how we just stood there afterwards, his arms draped over my shoulders, until some guy shouted the “get a room” thing. And how I panicked at the idea of that. And how it got even worse when he suggested we could go back to his room.

“I’m guessing that’s what you want some advice about, huh?” Marissa asks.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Let’s hear about those other kisses, before we come back to this. Okay?”

I tell her about the surprise kiss by the fountain, and how I splashed him, and how he picked me up and threatened to throw me into the water, but instead ended up kissing me again.

“If my math is correct, that’s three major make-outs,” Marissa says, grinning. “My little girl is growing up so fast!”

I feel myself blushing. I’m not sure if it’s from the three make-out thing, or the teasing about how clueless and innocent I am. Probably both.

“After the third kiss, he mentioned going back to his place again,” I say. “That’s when we had a little talk about how I’m nowhere near ready for that.”

“Good girl,” Marissa says. “Communication is totally important. At least that’s what the grownups are always saying. What did he say to that?”

“He said he understood. But I think he was a little disappointed.”

“Of course he was disappointed,” Marissa says. “He’s a guy. He’s supposed to be disappointed. It’s genetic.”

“He said
he
was ready,” I add.

“Whoa! Stop the presses!” Marissa is laughing now. “A guy who’s ready for some nookie…who’d a thought it?”

I try not to laugh, but can’t help myself. It is pretty funny, I guess. Especially from Marissa’s point of view, I’m sure. And every other human being with an emotional age higher than twelve.

“I’m sorry,” Marissa says when she stops laughing. “I know you’re being serious. So what part of all this is bothering you so much? Did Chris try to push you into it?”

“No, not at all. He was a perfect gentleman. He even suggested we get a chaperone to watch us kiss, so we wouldn’t get into any trouble?”

“A make-out chaperone? Now that
is
funny.”

“I said I thought you’d volunteer for the job,” I say.

“Totally!” Marissa says. “I’ll make sure he keeps his hands where I can see ‘em.”

Now we’re both laughing again.

“Chris sounds like he’s cool with the way things are right now,” Marissa says. “So, what’s the problem?”

“He is cool with it,” I say. “But I’m worried about how long he’ll stay that way. What if I’m not ready for anything more for a long time? How long will he wait?”

“If he really likes you, he’ll wait as long as you need him to,” Marissa says.

“I hope so,” I say. “Because I really like him.”

“Don’t do anything until you’re sure you’re ready. One thing I know for certain—you can never go backwards. So make sure it’s what
you
want to do.”

I shake my head in resignation. “I’m so stupid about this stuff. Thanks for listening.”

“Hey, no problem. And don’t forget, until you’re ready, I’m happy to chaperone.”

Late Wednesday afternoon, Marissa, Katie, Beth and I are waiting in front of the dorm for my dad to pick us up and take us home for dinner. Mom and Dad have been complaining I don’t come home enough—duh, don’t they understand there’s a reason for that?

I have mixed feelings about bringing my friends to my house. There’s safety in numbers, sure, but do I really want to expose them to my parents? Mom and Dad usually behave at least a little better with company around, but there are no guarantees. It will be a chance to show them I’ve made some good friends, and that’s one of the reasons I spend most weekends on campus.

I’ve warned my friends my parents can be difficult, but they say it’s no big deal—parents are supposed to be difficult. Marissa said that it’s part of their job description. Maybe so, but they don’t know my mom and dad. The girls don’t really care, though—they’re just looking forward to some home cooking. And Mom is a very good cook, I’ve got to give her that.

Oh, well.
Que sera, sera
. We’ll see how it goes.

Dad pulls over to the curb at precisely five o’clock, as promised. One thing I’ve got give the guy, he’s punctual as all get out. We climb into the car, me in the front seat, my three friends in the back, with Stacie getting stuck in the middle.

The car smells deliciously of fresh-baked apple pie. Dad has obviously stopped at the bakery on the way here. He knows I love pie, so I appreciate the effort—even though he loves it, too.

The Zombies “Tell Her No” is blasting from the stereo. My dad loves old rock music, so I’ve heard his songs forever, but I wonder if my friends even know who The Zombies are.

“I love this song,” Marissa says. “The Zombies are cool.”

I guess that answers my question.

Dad turns around and smiles. “You have good taste, young lady.”

He pulls away from the curb and we’re on our way. I mentally cross my fingers that this whole thing doesn’t turn out to be a disaster.

Traffic isn’t too bad, and we’re home in less than twenty-five minutes. I lead my friends into the house while Dad gets the pie out of the back. As soon as I step through the doorway, Sam is all over me, his tail wagging furiously. As I scratch the sides of his neck with both hands, I can smell pepperoni pizza drifting in from the kitchen.

Once Sam has calmed down a bit, I introduce him to the girls. Marissa and Katie fawn over him, but Beth keeps her distance. I guess in addition to not doing woods, she doesn’t do animals, either. Sam doesn’t care. He’s getting more than enough attention from Marissa and Katie to keep him happy.

Finally, they straighten up, and I introduce them to my mom, who’s been standing there watching and waiting.

“It’s so nice to meet all of you,” she says. “I hope we’ll see you often.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Marissa jokes. “Dorm food is no prize.”

“There should be plenty of food left over,” Mom says, laughing. “You girls can take whatever’s left back with you. Go ahead and sit. Dinner will be ready in a couple minutes.”

Marissa and I grab seats on one side of the table, Beth and Katie on the other. I’m surprised to see that Mom has put out her good dinnerware and fancy silverware—for pizza, yet. Maybe she’s hoping it will make Dad realize this is a special occasion and help him be on his best behavior. There’s a crystal goblet next to each setting, too. Sam retreats to his favorite spot in front of the fireplace—he’s a good dog and knows he isn’t allowed near the table while people are eating. After depositing the pie in the kitchen, Dad joins us and sits at the head of the table.

A moment later, Mom emerges from the kitchen with a big wooden salad bowl. She’s gone all out with the salad, too. I can see tomatoes, green and red peppers, mushrooms, radishes and cucumbers all spread on a bed of crisp lettuce.

Mom sets the salad and a flask of homemade Italian dressing down in the center of the table. While we help ourselves to some salad, Mom returns to the kitchen for the pizza. I’d offer to help with all this, but I know she wouldn’t let me. She’d probably welcome some assistance from Dad, but we both know that’s not going to happen.

“Pizza’s on,” Mom says cheerily as she carries a steaming pizza into the dining room. The aroma of spicy tomato sauce and pepperoni is much stronger now. “I hope you all like pepperoni. There’s a mushroom pizza in the kitchen, if you prefer.”

“Pepperoni’s great,” Beth says.

Mom sets the pizza down next to the salad. “Diet Coke okay for you girls?”

We all nod yes, so Mom brings four cans from the kitchen, and we fill our goblets. Dad pours red wine for him and Mom. I bet Marissa would like some wine, but she knows she’s out of luck. Fake ID’s don’t usually work with your friends’ parents.

Conversation is pretty sparse as we concentrate on the pizza, which is just fine with me. Even Dad has been unusually quiet—and with him, quiet is a very good thing. The first pizza disappears pretty quickly, so Mom goes and gets the second.

“She may not be much to look at, but she sure can cook,” Dad says jokingly.

I feel myself stiffen. This is how it always starts. I see a fleeting look of pain cross Mom’s face. She’s actually pretty cute—for a mom, anyhow—with shoulder length strawberry blond hair that’s a lot straighter than mine and a really nice smile.

“I guess you do like my cooking,” Mom retorts, “since there’s twice as much of you now as there was when we got married.”

And here we go. Dad’s not anywhere near fat, but he does carry an extra ten pounds or so. In twenty years of marriage, my parents have learned exactly what buttons to push to achieve maximum effect.

Marissa seems to sense where this is heading, because she jumps in and quickly changes the subject. I wonder if her parents are anything like mine.

“Did Heather tell you she has a boyfriend,” she says.

I’m grateful for the interruption, but I really wish she’d picked another subject—any other subject. I can feel myself blushing, and I’m tempted to kick her under the table. But she’s managed to derail the impending train wreck between my parents, so I give her leg a break.

“No, she didn’t,” Mom says. She looks at me and smiles. “Tell us about him, Heather. What’s he like?”

“It’s no big deal,” I say, trying hard to downplay the whole thing. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times.”

“He’s a sophomore,” Marissa says.

“And he’s really cute, too,” Beth adds.

“Then what’s he doing with Heather?” Dad asks, grinning.

Oh Dad, you’re just
so
funny. No wonder you’ve raised such a self-confident daughter. But I’m determined not to lash back. That’s the mistake Mom always makes, striking back. At least I’ve learned
something
from all their bickering and fighting.

“How did you meet him,” Mom asks, ignoring my dad’s comment about me. I wish she was as good at ignoring him when it’s about her.

“Marissa shoved me into him,” I say.

“Not quite into him, but close,” Marissa says, grinning. “I could tell she wanted to talk to him. She just needed a little push. Tell them the rest of the story, Heather. It’s pretty funny.”

So I tell them about the red, blue, green, black thing, and how he came back at me with a string of colors of his own. They both laugh.

“That
is
pretty funny,” Mom says. “I bet your were so embarrassed when those colors came out of your mouth.”

“Totally,” I say. “I was looking around for a hole to climb into. And it gets worse. I told him Marissa pushed me, but when I turned around to point her out, she was gone. I was afraid he was going to think I was a crazy woman.”

Marissa is grinning big time now. “I’m always glad to be of service in the course of true love,” she says.

“Well, I’m glad it’s working out so far,” Mom says. She looks at me. “It’s been awhile since you’ve had a boyfriend, hasn’t it?”

Awhile?
Earth to Mom. How about four years, Mom? I’d say that qualifies as awhile. And please don’t ask
why
it’s been so long. You wouldn’t like the answer.

“All this talk about romance is making me hungry again,” Katie says. “That pie’s calling my name, I think.”

I smile at her. She’s doing her best to rescue me, I know. I’m so glad I warned them what my parents can be like. They’re all doing a really good job handling the situation and protecting me. Good friends are definitely a good thing—a very good thing.

“Dessert’s a great idea,” Dad says. “I’ll get the pie.”

The rest of the evening passes about the same way. There are a couple of close calls, but no major explosions. Now my parents know I’ve got some great friends—and even a boyfriend, thanks to Marissa—and my friends got a small taste of what Mom and Dad are like. All in all, I’d call that a very successful evening.

Since it’s a school night, we’re able to leave early without seeming anxious to get out of here. What parent could argue against their kid wanting to get back for some studying? And did I mention how delicious the pie was?