Puddin'(83)

I slump back in my chair. Why can’t we just have a conversation without her slinging guilt on me from every direction?

She’s in a shit mood, but this is the only chance I’ve got. “A friend of mine wanted to hang out.”

“Is it that sweet little thing Millie? She’s welcome here anytime.”

I clear my throat. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh Lord.”

I put the orange juice away and try to sound as casual as I can. “It’s not even a real date, Mama. We just wanted to hang out.”

“What’s his name?” she asks.

“Mitch Lewis.”

She pauses for a moment with her arms elbow-deep in the suds-filled sink. I can see her flipping through the mental files of every student she’s had an interaction with. “That big ol’ boy with the cheeks?” She looks at me. “He is very sweet . . . and not someone I ever thought I’d see you spending time with.”

I decide not to take that as an insult. “I’m full of surprises these days.”

“That you are.” Mama takes her time as she weighs her options. “Okay,” she finally says. “Y’all can hang out here tonight. At the house.”

“But—” I stop myself. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mitch arrives at seven thirty on the dot. The doorbell rings, and Kyla races from the kitchen, where she’s dyeing eggs with my mom and Keith. She peeks through the window beside the door and shouts, “He’s here! He’s here! He’s here!”

“I heard you the first time!” I yell down from my room. “I’m sure he did too!” I give myself one last glance in the mirror hanging on the back of my door. I haven’t honestly tried to look this decent in weeks, but with Mitch coming over to my house I didn’t want to look like I tried too hard, so I kept it simple with a pair of denim shorts and a fitted gray T-shirt with the outline of Texas across the front. I curled my hair and painted my fingers and toes the shade of red my mother swears was made to match her lipstick perfectly.

I run down the stairs, but Keith beats me to the door. He turns to me. “You girls and your mother only let me answer the door when it’s a steak salesperson or a Jehovah’s Witness. My turn.” He swings the door open. “Well, aren’t you a big fella,” says Keith.

“Keith!” I smack his arm and push him out of the way.

Mitch takes off his sweat-stained baseball cap and shoves it in the back pocket of his khaki shorts. “Mitch Lewis, sir.”

“You’re a Lewis boy,” says Keith. “Theresa,” he calls over his shoulder, “didn’t we go to high school with a Lewis?”

Mom steps out from the kitchen in a food-coloring-stained apron. “You know, I think your father was a few years ahead of us,” she says.

“Class of eighty-nine, ma’am.”

“Hey,” I say, interrupting their trip down memory lane.

Mitch grins. “Thank y’all for having me over tonight. My mama sent over some of her cranberry-orange muffins for Easter morning or just whenever a craving hits ya, I guess.”

Mama clicks her tongue. “Well, that is the sweetest dang thing ever. You come on in. We just ordered some pizza and are dyeing eggs, but I’m sure y’all would rather—”

Kyla takes Mitch’s hand. “You should dye eggs with us. Will you, please?”

Mitch’s broad shoulders cave in a little and he says, “Sure.”

I groan. Wrong answer.

“Actually,” Mama says, “why don’t y’all go for a walk or something? Pizza won’t be here for a little while.”

I squint at her, trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick question.

“Go on,” she says. “Y’all get outta here before I change my mind.”

Keith raises his brows, and his whole expression tells me he’s just as surprised as I am.

I shove my feet into my boots and throw on the sweatshirt I left hanging on the railing.

Outside the dusky sky is nearly dark enough to be nighttime, but daylight still burns at the edge of the horizon, which is only visible because everything around here is so damn flat.

“It was cool of your mom to let me come over,” says Mitch, once we’re a safe distance away from my house.

“It would have been even cooler if she would have let me go out.”

“Haven’t you already been everywhere in this town?” he asks.

“Well, sure,” I say, “but isn’t the whole point of a date so you can show me some magical hidden gem of Clover City that I’ve never seen?”

“Would it be horrible of me to say that maybe you’re the hidden gem of Clover City?”

“Very cheesy,” I tell him, but I look away and do that thing where you stretch your jaw out to stop from smiling.

“Well, then I won’t say that.” He bites down on his lips until they disappear.

“Okay, good,” I say. “I mean, at the very least, we could have made out in the back of your car.”

He clears his throat, and his cheeks turn so red they’re practically purple. “I . . . uh . . . that’s not why I asked you out. Of course it’s not like I don’t want to do that. It’s just that . . . it’s not . . . I don’t think you’re some kind of—”