No More No More

Boys

I woke up rather early so that I could talk to my mother.  She was sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee with her curlers in and reading a magazine.  Gotta get ready for a big day.  Steven was snoring lightly on the couch, his mouth hanging open and a little bit of drool dried on his face.  I just wanted to go and kiss his shirtless sleeping form.

     "G'morning," I yawn, taking a seat across the table from her.  We haven't gotten a real chance to catch up on things yet.

     "How're you?" she asks me.

     "I'm good," I say tiredly through another yawn.

     My mother voices my opinion.  "We haven't really gotten a chance to talk yet."  I nod in agreement. "Anything new?  What's going on?"

     "No, not really anything," I say slowly.  She gives me a stern look.  "Well, you know I quit school. I'm living up in Boston with him and the others," I gesture to Steven, who's hair is sticking up wildly. My mother is still staring at me.

     "Anne Michelle, did you drop out of college because of a boy?" she asks.  Wow, she used my first and middle name.

     "No, mom," I say seriously.  "I told you why.  It wasn't my thing."

     My mother seems relieved.  "Oh, yes, right.  Do you have a job?  Are you eating well?"  She scans my face, clearly noticing my loss of weight.  I nod to reassure her.  "What are you guys doing up there?  Are the boys being nice?"  I nod along to all her questions when suddenly she gasps.  "Annie, have you met anyone?"  I try to make my stupid grin go away, but my mother catches it. "Annie, why didn't you tell me?  What's his name?  Is he nice?  What's his job?  How old is he?  Have you...?"

    "Mom, Mom, please," I hold up my hands, trying not to laugh or be disgusted at her last question–whichever comes first.  I do my best to answer her questions.  "He's very nice.  He is a singer."  I'm actually not entirely sure how old he is, but I don't want my mom to know this.  "His name is...his name is Steven."

    Realization dawns on her face.  She points to the couch with a quizzical expression.  I nod, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  My mom smiles, but it doesn't meet her eyes.  She makes me a cup of tea, knowing I'm not a fan of coffee.

    "Mr. Tallarico, eh?" she asks, sitting back down.  I nod again.  "Are you sure about this?"  More nodding.  "How old is he?"

     I had done the math.  He was two and a half years older than Joe and Joe was a year and a half older than me. All together, Steven is, "Twenty-two."  I don't add the 'and-a-half' part because she doesn't really need to know that.  He's very close to exactly four years older than me.

     "Old enough to drink," she mutters.  "But he's good to you?"

     "Always," I say truthfully.

     "Then I suppose that's all that matters."  She gets up and gives me a big hug.  "Your father won't be as easy about it, though," she warns me, sitting back down.  "I'd like for you to tell him tonight."  I groan.  "Annie," my mother says threateningly.  I shut up immediately.

   Joe joins us shortly afterwards, complaining something about how his mom is going crazy and how he just loves the holidays.  Family should be arriving soon downstairs.

     Steven shuffles into the kitchen like a zombie.  One side of his hair was still wildly sticking up, the other was flatter than ever.  His eyes were drooping and there was dried drool in the corner of his mouth.   He slumped down in a chair. He quietly mumbles, "What's for breakfast?" but it sounds more like "Utsfirbrekfoot?"