Not Today, But Someday(19)

He shakes his head. “Make yourself at home.”





CHAPTER 8 - NATE





I follow Mom to my bedroom on the second floor of our house. She doesn’t speak to me along the way, even though I ask her why she can’t stop and talk to me somewhere on the first floor. If I feel this uncomfortable already, I can’t imagine what Emi’s feeling like.

“Close the door, Nathan,” she says once we get into my room. I do as she asks. “Have a seat.” I wonder if she’s found out about my incident with the cop yesterday. Our town isn’t very big. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told her. “I was planning on having this conversation with you tomorrow, but apparently it can’t wait.”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised by my mother’s demeanor.

“I cannot believe you think you can just bring a girl over to my house this late at night. What are you thinking?”

“She doesn’t have anywhere to go, that’s all. You’re a charitable person. We have plenty of room. I thought it would be okay.”

“And where did you find her?”

I let out a small laugh, but my mom isn’t smiling. “I go to school with her, Mom. She’s in my art class.”

“And why haven’t I seen her before?”

“She just transferred. Her parents are splitting up. She’s having a rough time. I wanted to help her. Honestly, I didn’t know how, but she asked if she could come here, and I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t just leave her in the middle of Morristown on her own.”

“This is all quite a convenient story, Nathan, but I thought we had a better relationship than this.”

“What are you talking about? I’m telling the truth!”

“Were you planning on using these?” she asks as she reaches into my nightstand and pulls out a box of condoms. She empties the contents in her hand: two remaining rubbers. I stand up and grab them from her quickly, putting everything in my pocket.

“No, Mom.”

“No?!” she asks, suddenly upset that I’m not planning on having sex with Emi. I realize a few seconds later what she’s thinking.

“God, Mom, give me a little credit. Emi and I are just friends. I just met her yesterday.”

“So you realize this relationship is moving too fast.”

“In your mind it is,” I tell her. “We don’t have a relationship, Mom. We barely have a friendship. She just needs a place to stay tonight.”

“Then why do you have the condoms?”

“Why were you going through my things?”

“Because you smell like cigarette smoke, and I wanted to get rid of whatever you had. I found the pack in your car. I was sure there were more in here.”

“There aren’t,” I start, “and I don’t appreciate you invading my privacy. You could have asked me, Mom. That’s the kind of relationship we have. Not this bullshit.”

“Watch your language.”

“Well, it is.”

“If it’s... that,” she says, careful not to repeat my profanity, “then you should have talked to me about what’s in your pocket.”

“Shit, Mom–”

“Nathan!”

“Sorry, but... I just want to be prepared, that’s all.”

“So you’re not having sex,” she says.

“Not actively, no.”

“But you were.” I shift my eyes ever-so-slightly, and she knows the truth. “Nathan,” she says as her eyes tear up. “Baby, you’re too young. This is why I was against sending you to public school.”

“Mother,” I sigh, sitting back down on my bed. “I’m sixteen.”

“You’re not equipped to make such decisions, though,” she half-whines. “And we haven’t even had the talk. I never could do it, Nathan, I just wasn’t prepared and every time I tried, I’d just imagine your father being here, talking to you. It should have been him–”

“Mom, stop–” I don’t want to see any more tears falling down her cheeks. When she gets like this, it makes me emotional, to the point that I have to confine myself to the art room for hours to get it all out in private.

“And then, I was hoping you and Victor would eventually become close enough–”

“I don’t need to have the talk with him, Mom, or anyone for that matter. It’s kind of self-explanatory. And I took a health class, anyway. I know where babies come from,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“This isn’t funny, Nathan,” she says.

“I take it seriously, Mom. That’s why I have these,” I tell her, holding up the condoms.

“Put those away,” she says, blushing.

“You got them out.”

“I don’t want to see them anymore.”

“Fine.” I shake my head and step over to the nightstand, shoving the box and condoms in the back of the drawer.

“Was she good enough for you?”

“We’re not going to talk about her right now, Mom. There’s another girl downstairs who’s waiting for you to decide whether or not she will be sleeping in a warm bed or in a patch of ice outside. And she’s a nice girl. I want to help her.”