Playing Hard to Get(21)

Even though I need to.

Clicking out of the student portal, I decide to send my mom a quick text, knowing she’ll approve of my latest move.

Me: I’m meeting with a tutor for my English class tomorrow.

It takes her a few minutes to respond—and I attempt to read a few more pages while I wait—but finally she sends me a text.

Mom: Oh, that’s great! I’m glad you’re being proactive with the class you know you’ll have the hardest time with.

She said exactly what I figured she’d say.

Me: I knew you’d say that.

Mom sends me a string of laughing emojis.

Mom: Here’s what’s funny. That’s how I met your dad.

I’ve heard this story before. Countless times.

Mom: History is repeating itself! Oh, unless your tutor is male. Or maybe you go that way. I don’t know.

I decide to call her because this text exchange is getting awkward, quick.

“Mom,” I groan at her when she answers laughing, “I’m not gay.”

“I never said you were, and there’s nothing wrong with it if you are.” Her laughter slowly dies. “Do you know who your tutor is?”

“It’s a she.”

“What’s her name?”

“Joanna. Don’t read too much into this,” I warn her. “I can’t let some pretty tutor distract me this semester. I need to focus on this stupid class.”

“Oh, I know. Your father told me all about your little plan.” She pauses. “How you’re now celibate. Not sure if that’s going to work, though.”

I groan some more because, damn it, nothing is sacred. The last thing I want to talk about with my mother is my sex life. “I can’t believe he told you.”

“Your father keeps no secrets from me, and I do the same for him. We are completely open with each other. Someday, hopefully, you’ll find a woman you’ll want to tell everything to as well.”

“I doubt it. You and Dad have a—special relationship.” The teasing tone is showing in my voice, and she can hear it loud and clear.

“If you’re trying to make fun of us, it’s not working. I love your father, and he loves me. We’ve had a great life together and I’m lucky to have him.”

“You guys are both lucky,” I say, my voice softening. I grew up in a relatively normal household—as normal as it can be, considering your father was an NFL superstar. My parents never fought much, at least not in front of us kids, and were always respectful toward each other. They were also overly affectionate sometimes, which grossed us all out because who wants to watch their parents make out in the kitchen?

No thanks.

I realize now it was good to see them treat each other with respect. To witness their love and affection for each other. I want that for myself…someday.

But not now. I’m too young. Too busy.

“You’ll find someone for yourself,” Mom says. “And you never know, she might be a cute, smart tutor.”

“Mom, stop. Geez.” When she gets something stuck in her head, she won’t let it go. “There will be no falling in love with the tutor. Or even messing around with her. I’m celibate, remember?”

Mom starts to laugh. “How could I forget? My strong, handsome son, celibate! Watch out. Your dating status might make ESPN.”

“If it does, that’s some bullshit.”

Her laughter dies. “Is she aware of your dyslexia?”

“I chose her because she specializes in reading disabilities.” I wince the moment the words are out of my mouth.

I hate that I have reading issues. It makes me feel dumb, even though deep down, I know I’m not. It’s just hard to admit that I have a problem.

Maybe this tutor can actually help me. I hope she can.

We start talking about other stuff. Mom asks about my classes and football. If I’ve spent any time with my sister.

“I took her shopping for her laptop earlier today.”

“I heard you ditched her and went to flirt with some girl who works at the bookstore.”

Again, nothing is sacred—or secret—in the Maguire household. “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

“Blair mentioned you sang the entire chorus of ‘Jolene’ to her.” Mom sounds infinitely amused, bringing this up.

“I was just teasing her,” I mutter.

“Teasing is your way of flirting. And you’re still allowed to flirt, right?”

“I guess.” I clear my throat, hating how grumpy I sound. “Blair had everything handled. She didn’t need me there.”

“Maybe she just misses you and wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, right.” I don’t know what Blair’s ulterior motive was for asking me to accompany her to the Apple section at the bookstore, but I’m glad I went. Otherwise, she would’ve ratted me out to Mom and Dad and I would’ve had to hear the, ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ speech.

I like to avoid that particular lecture as much as possible.

“She said she’s going to your game this Saturday.”

“It’s an away game.”

“Oh. Well, I guess she’s still going to go.”

“With who?”