us was too mortifying to stomach. Yeah. That felt great. Almost as great as when she said it’s not going to happen. Ever. In the most matter-of-fact tone. Like I was supposed to have already understood that. Like it’s obvious.
Cool. I guess I’m just delusional.
Mom scoots closer, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Honey, talk to me.”
I don’t know what she wants me to say. That I’m broken? Shattered? That I should have known it was too good to be true? Maybe Maya felt something for me, but it obviously wasn’t enough. If the situation were reversed, I’d have done anything to make it work. Anything. I would have toughed it out through any awkward conversation.
The way Mom’s looking at me makes my throat clench. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around me tightly. “Hey.”
She strokes my hair like she did when I was eight, which makes my eyes pool with tears all over again. When I finally speak, my voice comes out choked. “I’m in love with her.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“And I told her. Like you said. I told her how I felt.” I catch my breath. “I’ve never said that before to anyone.”
“And she didn’t take it well?”
“I thought she did.” I straighten up, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands. “She said she liked me. And she seemed like she was nervous to tell her parents, but—I don’t know. She didn’t make it sound like that was going to be a dealbreaker.” My throat clenches. “But then Gabe posted that picture, and everything just . . . collapsed.”
“Okay, well, first of all, if it’s any consolation, Gabe is in some deep shit with your grandmother. She’s at the campaign office right now.”
I wipe my eyes again. “Good.”
“But listen. Jamie. The stuff with her parents . . . I have no idea what it would mean in Maya’s family if she dated a guy who isn’t Muslim. Or if she dated at all.”
I shake my head. “If she knew she couldn’t date a guy who isn’t Muslim, why did she almost kiss me? You can’t do that. It’s fine if you can’t date, or you don’t want to date, or you don’t want to date outside your religion. But if your best friend tells you he’s in love with you, don’t act like his girlfriend all night and come this close to kissing him, and then turn around and call it a mistake.”
Mom just looks at me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I really am.”
“It’s whatever.” I rub the last bit of chocolate off my wrist, flicking little specks of it onto my bedsheet. I’m too tired to care.
“It’s not whatever,” Mom says. “Listen. I’ve got to run out and grab those centerpieces back from the event planner, but I’ll be around all afternoon. Let’s do something special. You, me, and Sophie.” She leans forward, pressing her hands to my cheeks. “We’re going to get through this. I promise. And Jamie?”
I look up half-heartedly.
“You should be really proud of yourself,” she says. “For everything. For your speech. For your advocacy work. And for having the guts to tell Maya how you feel. That was incredibly brave.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“I mean it. Jamie, I know you have this idea of yourself as this awkward kid who never knows what to say, who screws everything up—”
“Negative self-talk. I know.”
Mom smiles wryly. “I won’t get on your case about it. But can I ask you one question?”
“Okay.”
“Why do you think you’re so awkward?”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“What’s your evidence? What makes you such a screwup?”
“Um.” I look up at her. “I mean . . . I vomited on your boss.”
“Okay, but look at all the people you didn’t vomit on.”
I nod slowly. “That’s a low bar for success.”
“I’m just saying. This is your narrative. You get to pick the framing. Why does that one interview have to define you? Maybe it was just a shitty morning. Maybe you ate something weird for breakfast. Whatever! Look at everything you’ve accomplished since then. The canvassing, the videos, the toast. You know that toast was amazing, right?”
“Amazing? Yeah, right—”
“Hey, you’re smiling.” She pokes my cheek. “Because you know you killed it up there.”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “I killed it. I’m amazing. I’m an amazing speaker who inspires the masses and hardly pukes on anyone. You happy?”
“You did,” Mom says firmly. “And you are. And I am.”
I don’t want to cry again. I don’t even think my eye muscles have enough