Love Me Love Me (English)

7

June

I woke up later than usual the next day. I wasn't a morning person. In fact, I loved to lie under the covers for hours. I scrolled through TikTok until I realized that it was already eleven thirty. My stomach had been growling for a while, so I went downstairs to get some breakfast in peace, but my plans went right out the window.

I heated up a glass of milk in the microwave, grabbed a bag of Corn Flakes, and settled in on the kitchen island stool. Then my mom interrupted me with her typical yapping.

"Don't get me wrong, it makes me happy to see you going out with your new friends, but are you sure you're not letting it get in the way of your schoolwork?"

"Good morning to you, too, Mom," I replied reluctantly. My mom spent her days painting in her studio, and as soon as she left there, she resumed her favorite pastime: bothering me.

To her, "letting it get in the way of your schoolwork" was not spending the night studying.

"I'm just pointing it out because I know you. Every time you change schools you spend the first few days getting caught up. Besides, you never went out before."

"Thank you for always being ready to remind me of my unsociable past. But, yeah, I met a few people I like," I admitted between heaping spoonfuls of cereal. "My clothes don't really work for the California weather. Will you go with me to get something new?"

She ignored my question because she was only interested in the first part of my answer.

"Are we talking about boys?"

"No. We're talking about mythological creatures with tentacles for arms. Mom, please, let's not," I snapped, irritated.

"What'd I say? I just want to know if you met someone who . . . you know, caught your eye," she said as she made air quotes and pretended to be my friend, but that was all a sham. She only wanted to pry.

"I met both male and female classmates, and they all blurred together. I'm not interested in any of them." I mimicked her air quotes and tone of voice.

She looked up at the ceiling then walked around the kitchen island and stood in front of me.

"If you want, I'm free this afternoon. I'll take you to the mall," she chirped, taking the cereal right out from under my nose. Noticing my aghast facial expression, she added, "You want new clothes? Fine. We'll get clothes with the same size. Otherwise, we'll have to buy you more new clothes in a month."

If I could burn her with my eyes, I would have.

"But I'm picking them, Mom. You don't have a say."

The afternoon at the mall went by faster than we thought it would for one reason: I didn't like spending hours going from store to store like my mom did. I knew what I liked, I knew my style, what was the point of wandering around stores blindly perusing countless racks of clothes if you knew you'd never wear them? I only ever picked out cargo pants and long T-shirts. Nothing with prints, plunging necklines, or off the shoulder. I liked tight dresses, miniskirts, and tight tops, but I'd never be able to pull them off.

I got a new pair of jeans and a slightly clingy T-shirt, nothing too flashy.

We were walking down the row of stores when my mom saw a handsome forty-something man.

"Hi, Jordan!"

They greeted each other like old friends, and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

Now where did this come from?

"This is my daughter."

"Hi, June! It's nice to meet you. I'm Jordan." The man shook my hand firmly.

I gazed at him for a few seconds, just enough time to notice his height and well-built physique.

He was athletic with blond hair streaked with some gray and broad shoulders accentuated by his freshly-pressed shirt. I said hi back and then went back to check out the window displays while they discussed paintings.

I often wondered why I found art to be such a boring form of self-expression. The paintings my mom loved so much in the galleries she dragged me to never did anything for me. Maybe I didn't have the right eye for it, or maybe people could say the same about my passion for TV. I loved to write, too, but nothing compared to binge watching Euphoria and Gossip Girl reruns. I felt like I was born to do that. Suddenly my mom's shrill voice snapped me out of it.

"See you at dinner next week. Talk to you soon, Jordan."

They didn't touch each other, but they gave each other a smile that was more than telling.

"Is he the guy who asked you out on a date?"

My mom wrinkled her nose before fixing her long blond hair. She'd gone out after an intense day in her studio, and it showed. She wasn't wearing makeup, and she was less put together than usual, but she still looked beautiful. She shot an inquisitive look at the window displays, as if she was trying to see her reflection. She was dying to know what she looked like in front of that guy.

"I told you, it's not a date. He wants to see my work." Her work. Sure. So that's what forty-somethings are calling it now.

She started speed walking toward the exit, and I dawdled behind her.

"Can't he come to our house? Can't he visit you in your studio? Do you guys have to go to dinner?"

"June, I understand that you're not an expert in this area, but the exhibit definitely won't be in a house. It'll take place at a major art gallery."

"They always take place there," I argued.

"That's why we want to meet in person to discuss the details. I want to show him a few digital examples of my work, and—"

"Sure, of course. And tell me, is this dinner you scheduled candlelit? In that case, am I gonna be the only third wheel?"

"Try not to be a smart aleck, we're not gonna be alone. He has a son. Actually, he's got two. That's why I want you to come. It won't be romantic at all."

"No chance."

My mom shook her head in disappointment. She was used to "my teenage moodiness."

"The more you grow up, the more you whine."

We were walking through the mall's sliding door to the dark parking lot when two familiar figures caught my eye. I recognized one of them by his tall, athletic frame. He was wearing a red letterman's jacket with a large logo on the back. It was the same jacket that I'd seen Jackson wear. I tried to avert my gaze, but my curiosity got the best of me. Jackson was hugging another guy. Up to this point, that was nothing out of the ordinary. But what caught my eye was the way they were clinging to one another. My mom was already in the car and looking at me impatiently. I lingered with the car door open. The second guy was smaller, and his face seemed to be buried in the blond's chest. I didn't recognize him. I could only make out one detail: a gray wool cap.

No. It couldn't be Blaze.