Hayden is standing close enough that his nose looks way too big for his head through the fisheye lens on the peep hole. It makes me laugh, and I continue being amused while I open the door.
“Were you trying to look through it the wrong way?” I ask, playfully pushing at his chest. He’s dressed for practice, and I’m not sure why he isn’t there now.
“I was, but it doesn’t work that way.” He tips forward on his toes and kisses my forehead. He hands me a single rose from behind his back and my face heats from the sweet gesture, knowing that my mom will make a big deal about it. I may as well bring her into the loop on my dating life.
“What’s this for?” I ask, pushing the door open wider to invite him in.
“Early birthday gift. I have something better planned, but I wanted to stop by and give you this on my way to practice,” he says, clearing up my question on where he’s headed.
“Still at the junior high?” I assume.
“Yeah.” He sighs as he steps into the house, and my reactions are too slow to undo the trouble I see coming.
“Back so soon? You must really like tea,” my mom says, slinging one arm over her chair.
A squiggle forms on Hayden’s forehead.
“This is Hayden, Mom.” I make eyes at her, silently signaling all of the complicated shit I have to say about him, his brother, and that she got to see one of them all grown up before the other, when it probably should have been the other way around.
And . . . shit. This is bad.
My mom’s brow lowers and her mouth bunches as she pulls her glasses from her face.
“Ah, yes. Reading glasses made you all blurry but I can see the difference now.” She’s joking, but Hayden isn’t in on it. It takes a while to get a grasp on my mom’s humor.
“Very funny, Mom. Yes, they’re still twins,” I say, placing my palm on Hayden’s chest as if he’s an exhibit. I glance to him and whisper, “I’ll explain this later.”
He laughs out “okay” and continues toward my mom with his hand outstretched.
“It’s nice to see you, Ms. Cortez. It’s been a few,” he says.
My mom’s head tilts to the side as they shake, her mouth hung open with questions just waiting to spill out. She looks from him to me, to the rose in my hand, then back to him again, and her mouth curves up in an amused smile.
“Nice to see you again, too,” she says, that smile growing into a full grin. “So grown up.”
I turn my back on the situation because she’s about to get nosy and pushy, and embarrassing. I find a tall glass in the cabinet and fill it with water for my rose.
“So, tell me, Hayden. How long have you two been sneaking around behind my back?” Again, my mom is kidding. This is her way of both making Hayden shit himself and getting dirt on the stuff I haven’t told her. I exhale and turn to face them with my back against the sink.
Hayden falls right into her plan, stuttering his way through some semblance of an answer. “Oh . . . I didn’t mean to disrespect . . . Not that I’m disrespecting your daughter, but I meant your house . . . or rules. Yes, rules!”
My mom finally gets up and places her palm on what I am certain is Hayden’s wildly beating chest.
“Relax, child. I’m messing with you. I figured you’d tell me more about my daughter’s life than she does,” she says, shooting me a glare that only I can see. She’s joking in front of Hayden, but deep down she’s upset that she had no idea that a we existed between us.
I haven’t had a real boyfriend, well, maybe ever. It’s a topic my mom and I talk about when we watch romantic comedies or teen movies where all girls seem to want are boyfriends.
“Where is your boyfriend?” she always asks.
My consistent response: “I don’t have one.”
She pushes me about it because deep down she’s afraid that her and my dad’s ugly relationship is ruining my perspective on love and matters of the heart. And honestly? It is. When I think about love, I can’t help but associate it with animosity, jealousy, regret, hatred, destruction. My list is endless and so very negative. But I can’t tell her that. Besides,