HOW I LOST YOU

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chapter Fourteen

I took a deep breath and started down the stairs.

“Look at you!” Mom called from the kitchen sink and wolf-whistled while she washed dishes. She grinned and sang, “You’re sexy and seventeen.” Then she stopped and sighed as she placed a pan in the drainer. “I remember the days when my arms didn’t flop in the air like bloated dead fish.”

My toned, muscular arms and shoulders were a secret source of pride for me, but not for the first time, I wished my mom could be a little more traditional, a little less stand-up comedian.

“She looks beautiful,” Dad said from his chair in the living room that faced the stairs. The chair was well worn and older than I was and had crackling leather, but Dad came from a long line of men who ruled over a man-chair. No one else sat in it and he wouldn’t let my mom replace or refinish it. Even though it was out of place with the new furniture, she’d obviously made peace with the necessity of accommodating it long ago.

“Even though the shorts you girls wear these days are kind of obscene,” Dad mumbled, looking at me over the top of his reading glasses.

I reached for the hem of my shorts and pulled down.

“Oh, George, they’re no worse than the miniskirts in the seventies,” Mom said.

“You were a baby in the seventies,” Dad said, rustling around the newspaper he was reading and peering at her over it. “In your teen years, it was grunge.”

“I miss my Doc Martens and belly shirts,” she said. “No, wait, I miss my flat belly. You should have seen my belly before babies, Grace. You could have bounced a penny off it.” She plunged her hands back into bubbles to wash another pot. “Anyhow, George, you should be immune to short-shorts, considering you worked with prostitutes for a living.”

“Seriously?” I said to both of them as I stepped onto the hardwood. They looked at me as if they’d forgotten I was there.

“I wasn’t the one to imply in any way that you look like a prostitute,” Dad said, but he laughed.

“Sorry,” Mom said. “You look grown-up. Lovely. Nothing like
a hooker.” She wiped her hands on the tea towel draped over her shoulder.

“Judith.” Dad lifted his paper up in front of his face to hide.

Mom giggled and clapped her hands together. “This is your first date with this boy! Do we like him?”

I refused to play along and ignored her.

“If I was a good mom, I’d turn this occasion into a scrapbook page.”

“You burn yourself anytime you get near a glue gun,” Dad called from behind the newspaper.

She laughed, probably at the thought of herself armed with a glue gun. Some of her friends had a scrapbooking club and she tried to keep up, but she was hopeless at it.

“Mom! Do not embarrass me in front of Levi.” I walked into the living room and plopped down on the loveseat opposite my dad, sitting up stiffly so as not to wrinkle my clothes or mess my hair.

“Oh! We do like him!” Mom threw her hand over her heart and sang out, “Oh Levi, Levi. Where art thou, Levi?”

“Mom.” I gave her my dirtiest look.

She slowly stopped laughing and stared at me with a mock-serious expression. “Have I ever in my life embarrassed you?” She dunked her hand back in the soapy water and pulled out the drain stopper.

“Can you try to control her?” I asked, turning to my dad.

He glanced up from his paper.

“Me?” Mom interrupted. “Your dad’s the one who’s going to give him a pat-down before he lets you get into a car with him.”