Don't Let Go(37)

I licked my lips as the dig hit home.
“Aunt Ruthie is a friend, Becca, but she’s also an adult who knows that sometimes you have to make tough choices to take care of people you love.”
“Well, she won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Becca said, pushing the blanket off her lap and swinging her pajama-clad legs down. “I’ll keep my crap to myself.”
“Becca—”
“Seriously, Mom,” she said, facing me with the most mature expression I’d ever seen on her. “Of all the people I thought I could trust to keep their mouth shut, it was her. Now I have nobody.”
I flinched. “Excuse the hell out of me? You have plenty of somebodies, Becca. You have Ruthie, you have Nana Mae, your dad, your friends—me.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “You always, always and forever have me.”
“Only if I’m saying what you want to hear,” she said quietly.
“That’s not true,” I said, my mind frantically pulling at itself, wondering if it was. Something was eerily reminiscent.
“Whatever, Mom,” she said, getting up.
“Becca, please, sit down,” I said. At her look, I gestured to her seat.
Instead of sinking back down, she walked around the coffee table to the opposite sofa and sat, pulling her feet up to her chest and gazing absently at nothing.
It was going well.
“Like it or not, sweetheart, you aren’t an adult yet,” I said, adjusting my position to face her. “There are things I need to know.” At her silence, I took a swallow of coffee, relishing the burn on the way down. “Like who this boy is?”
“I’m sure you already know that,” she said flatly.
“How long have you been seeing him?” I asked.
She closed her eyes and gave a tiny head shake, as if she couldn’t believe the conversation. Seeing as I’d felt that way the night before, I didn’t care.
“A couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks,” I repeated. “And you’re asking about birth control?”
She rubbed her face and kept her hand partially covering her eyes. “We aren’t talking about this,” she said, as if to herself.
“Oh, but we are,” I said, her attitude spiking mine. “Do you know that safe sex isn’t just about avoiding pregnancy?”
“Fully aware, actually,” she said, still resting her face in her hand. “There are these balloon thingies. I think they’re called condoms.”
I swung my feet down and set my mug on the table with a thud, causing a tiny splash to spill over the edge.
“You have some nerve talking to me like that, little girl,” I said, her mouth setting off my ire the way it always did.
“I’m not a little girl, Mom—”
“Oh, when you get snarky with me like you think I’m your equal, Becca, that shows me just how little you still are,” I said. My tone brought her hand from her face, and I saw the tiniest worry over what she might lose in her eyes. “You want to be treated like an almost-adult, act like one.”
Both her hands went to her face on a deep sigh, then she dropped them. “Fine, what do you want to know?”
“Why keep this boy a big secret?” I asked.
“He’s not.”
“Really? Then why not bring him over here? Introduce him.”
She scoffed. “So you can put him through the Spanish Inquisition? No, thanks.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You totally do that,” she countered. “You do that with my friends that I’m not going to make out with, so God help the ones I do.”
“Becca,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and rational. “You are considering something far beyond making out. Something that should be special with someone you love.”
“Oh, my God, Mom,” she groaned. “Are you seriously trying to sound like an old woman?”
I gaped at her. “Are you seriously trying to be a brainless twit? You want to throw yourself away just to say you’ve done it?”
“Jesus,” she muttered, pressing her forehead against her knees. “I don’t want to do anything. I was just asking some questions in case it came up.”
Right.
“Well, if he’s someone you’ll consider falling into bed with if the subject comes up, why don’t you bring him around?” I asked, knowing full well that wouldn’t happen. Especially not now.
“So you can ask him a million questions?” she said, raising her head. “Hover over us in case we accidentally kiss? Have a meltdown if we go upstairs to watch TV?”
“Oh, you won’t go upstairs,” I said, sitting back and pulling my feet under me.
“Well, of course not,” Becca said, melodrama now in full gear. “Because that’s rule number 553 of the Julianna White book of etiquette. Never, under any circumstances, have a boy in your room. His sperm might jump out and infest you!”
I dropped my head into my hand. “Becca—”
“You must have been a dream child for your parents,” she said. “Did you keep a log of your gold stars, too?”
I looked up and stared at her, feeling my skin create a million goose bumps. “No,” I said quietly. “I was no dream child. And I’m not expecting you to be. But when I find out that you are talking to someone else about sex when I didn’t even know there was a guy in the picture, and then you tell me it’s only been two weeks—baby girl, I worry. Somewhere along the way, you got the idea that sex is all physical.”