Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,118

would be better than any daydream.

When Mom got home from her night class at eight, I asked if I could borrow the car.

“You look like a new person,” she said, holding out the keys. She gestured to my chest. “The necklace is pretty on you.”

“Thanks for telling Polly I wanted it,” I said, admiring my mom. How cool was it that she could let my dad’s new wife do something nice for me without feeling threatened by it? I hugged her suddenly.

“What’s this for?” she asked, hugging me back.

I shrugged. “No reason. But I have to tell you something.” I’d debated whether I really wanted to say what I was about to say. But Polly knew, and Dad knew, and it seemed unfair for Mom not to know.

I told her the whole story, starting with the game, all the way up to what had happened with Joe. I even told her about how hot and heavy things had been, and how I’d called him the wrong name. My mom always tried to be open with me, and she deserved to be trusted.

She listened with the kind of diligent precision you saw from doctors on TV. It was the kind of listening you’d expect from a mom who’d once carefully explained the workings of the vagina to you.

When I was done, she inhaled one slow breath through her nose and exhaled.

“Well, it sounds like you like this boy,” my mom said. “But I don’t know that I have good advice for how to smooth things over with him. Except maybe being honest.”

“Polly isn’t mad, but I think Dad thinks I’m a deviant or something,” I told her. “. . . Are you mad?”

Mom rubbed her temple, as if the answer was waiting there. “I’m not going to be upset with you for doing something utterly natural. As for your choice of venue, being caught by your father in a private moment was punishment enough. If it helps, I’m sure someday you’ll be able to laugh at this.”

Having my mom and Polly both react so serenely to something I’d thought was a major fuck-up felt like the kind of gift you couldn’t accept, because it was so extravagant. But maybe it wasn’t a gift, when someone understood you. Maybe letting someone understand you was an exchange you both got something out of.

“Can I still have the keys?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said, extending them to me again. “But fill it up. I have that interview tomorrow.”

“I know,” I said. “And you’re going to be great.” I kissed her on the cheek and charged down the steps. I was going to be great, too, but I needed a game.

Joe’s car was parked out front of his house, and it felt like a good sign. I realized how badly I wanted to see him, even if I knew I couldn’t expect it to go well.

I parked carefully, not wanting to screw up Mom’s car before her big morning. Crossing the street, I adjusted my posture and smoothed my hair a little. I was glad I still had on my Going Places outfit. It was evening, so Joe’s parents were probably home; if his mom answered, and on the chance that Joe had ever mentioned me, she’d be pleased to associate my name with this straight-backed girl with nice hair. I was past worrying about a lot of things at the moment, but I still wanted my friends’ moms to like me.

I rang the bell and waited with my hands folded. It was Joe who opened the door, as a woman’s voice—clearly his mom’s—called from the other room, “Joe, you’re staying in tonight, remember?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Ma, don’t worry. It’s no one.” He turned back to me.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

Joe didn’t laugh. “I think you have the wrong house,” he said pointedly.

“I’m really sor—”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.” His voice lacked its usual charged tone, and his flat stare was the opposite of welcoming. But he hadn’t slammed the door in my face. That was something.

“Sometimes I don’t,” I said. “But to you, I do. So whether you want to hear it or not, I’m really sorry.” Then, even though I didn’t want to admit it, I offered a real explanation. “I did have a crush on Bobby. I think you suspected that. I . . . sort of . . . had this story in my head about him—a fantasy—and when you were making me feel so good, it