Maybe This Time (Maybe #1)(67)

Dad blows a big breath out and shakes his head. “Honey, your mother and I have something we need to tell you.”

I look at my mom, she looks away. She’s nervous.

Shit.

Dad continues, “We figure since you’re graduating in two weeks, and you’ve been eighteen for a few months now … well, I guess we both decided it was about time we tell you something very important.”

I’m mentally scanning my brain for what the f*ck this could be.

I’m adopted.

I knew it. I was always different, less Asian looking than I should be, and I don’t know where my nose comes from. No one in my family has this nose. Oh, God. Who are my birth parents? And Emily, what about her … is she adopted too?

“Mikayla?” Dad interrupts my raging thoughts.

Shit.

I close my eyes, hoping that by doing so, it might take away the sting of what he’s about to tell me. “Are you listening to me?”

I nod once, eyes still closed.

“Mikayla.” There’s a long pause. “Boys have a penis…”

My eyes dart open. My dad's stifling a laugh, my mom’s face is beet red with held in laughter. I’m glaring at them with narrowed eyes, waiting for my pulse rate to decrease.

I would have bet a million frickin dollars they were about to tell me something life altering.

I want to junk punch my own dad.

I know he’s behind this shit. This is totally something he would do. My mom, she doesn’t have it in her to think of something like this.

As I’m about to stand, so I can turn and face them both, Emily comes running into the room with her life size Justin Bieber cardboard cut out. She’s hiding behind it, cackling to herself. Then she breaks out in song, waving the cut out in front of her.

“And I was like penis, penis, penis, ohhhhh! Like penis, penis, penis, nooooo! Like penis, penis, penis, ohhhh! I thought you’d always be mine, mine!”

I’m trying so hard to hold in my laughter, in case this is one of those situations where it’s funny for us, but inappropriate for a nine-year-old girl.

I look to my parents and wait for their reaction.

Mom giggles, and Dad breaks out in a weird dance, which I’m pretty sure is supposed to be something resembling ‘The Dougie’, and starts to belt out, “You know you love me, I know you caaaare!”

I can’t help but laugh. I start down the stairs to wait for Megan and James, shaking my head at their craziness. Of course, they all follow, Justin Bieber cut out and all, and keep singing, at the top of their lungs, mom included.

“And I was like penis, penis, penis, ohhhhh! Like penis, penis, penis, nooooo! Like penis, penis!”

The front door swings open.

“What the fuhhhhhh—” Megan’s words die in the air when she sees Emily—and the Biebs—behind me.

James scratches his head. “Are you guys singing about penises? To Justin Bieber?”

They all start laughing and snorting. I love my insane family.





***





After a good ten minutes of photos, and my dad retelling the humiliation of the shit they just pulled on me, we’re out of the house, and on our way to Bistro’s. It’s an Italian restaurant downtown that’s famous for loud atmosphere and big tables for large groups. Perfect for pre-prom dinner.

When we get to the restaurant, we notice a few other tables with kids our age, all dressed up. We don’t recognize them; they must go to different schools. The place reeks of new garments, cheap cologne, overpowering perfume, hair product and sexual tension. It’s everything prom should be.

We find our table and sit with Andrew and Sean, two of James’ friends from his Basketball team, and their girlfriends.

Megan decided to go stag. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been asked, because about a trillion different guys asked her. She said she wanted to keep her options open. She didn’t want to go with some guy because he was hot, only to find out he was a dick throughout the night and then have to put out at the end—her words.

We make small talk until the waiter comes and takes our order. The place is loud with conversation, like you would expect with a bunch of teenagers in the room. Once we’ve all placed our order, James stands up, “Where’s the toilet in this place? I need to take a leak, that champagne from the limo’s gone straight through me.”

He’s charming, as always.

“I’ll show you, since I need to use the ladies to re-adjust my underwear. It’s riding up my ass,” Megan states loudly.

They walk away towards the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms are.

I’m in the middle of talking to Andrew about the new gym they’re building at the school, when I feel something wet trickle down my back. I’m frozen for a second, then turn to find some dude in a tux looking at me wide eyed, half a glass of beer in his hand. The other half, I’m sure, is down my back.

“Shit, babe. I’m sorry,” wide-eyed douchebag says.

Babe? Really? This guy has to be a joke.

“Jesus Christ, Logan. Turn down the * a little, would ya?” his friend behind him says. He has an accent, like English, or South African, or Australian or something.

Logan, I assume, turns around to face his friend so quickly, his hand holding the remains of his beer slams against accent-boy’s broad chest. Beer spills on the crispy white shirt under his open tux jacket. Logan stifles a laugh. Accent boy groans, and pushes Logan to the side, heading to the back of the restaurant, towards the restrooms I presume.