Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

9. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

"Wait, where are you going?" Mom asks me as she clears the dinner plates from the table.

"Mom, it's okay, I am just going over to Thatcher's house to rehearse our scene," I say, helping her clear the table of the bowls of tofu fried rice and ginger dressed salad.

"And he is just around the corner?"

I set the bowls down on the kitchen counter and pull my phone out of my pocket to read the address. "163 Chestnut."

"What time are you supposed to meet him?"

I shrug and grab a tupperware container from the cabinet. "I told him I would message him after dinner," I say, shoveling the bowl of fried rice into the container. I pick out a kernel of corn to munch on, forgetting momentarily that I'm already full.

"Thank you for letting us have our time together first," Mom says without turning away from the dishes.

This makes me pause. It's the first time she's thanked me for something in a long while.

"You're welcome," I say as I snap the lid on the tupperware.

"But I do want to walk you there."

And there's the catch. "Mom, c'mon."

"I just want to make sure you're safe."

I cover the salad bowl in plastic wrap and consider my mom's request. It wouldn't be so bad for Mom to walk me. It is dark outside, after all, and this neighborhood isn't bad, but it also isn't the greatest. If Thatcher doesn't judge me for fumbling over my words, he won't judge me for having a protective mom, especially since I'm all the family she has.

"Okay," I say, and I put the bowls of leftovers in the fridge. "I'm just going to go upstairs and throw on a sweater, then I'll be ready."

"I'll be waiting," Mom replies, still working over the sink. She doesn't say it now, but I know she appreciates me not putting up a fight about this. I know she is thanking me in my head.

I run upstairs and change into a sweater, my comfy blue and green striped one that I got for Christmas this past year. My hair is dark, but I feel like when I wear blues and greens, the red undertones sort of stand out. Who knows. Either way, I feel pretty in this sweater. Not that it matters with Thatcher, but... I feel confident when I feel pretty. With the sweater, my jeans, and my converse, I'm ready to go.

Downstairs, my mom is already in her cream-colored, puffy winter coat and black knit scarf. She's holding my black winter coat and maroon scarf and gloves, and when I start down the staircase, she extends them out for me to take.

"Bundle up," she says. There's a bit of sadness in her words.

I do as she asks, and we head out, down the street, around the corner, and onto 163 Chestnut St.

When we reach his house, nearly identical to ours in architecture but without painted bricks, Mom joins me on the stoop. Before I ring the doorbell, she pulls me in closer to her. "I'm proud of you. You know that, right?" she asks.

"Yes, Mom. Thank you."

I ring the doorbell, my body pulsing with nerves. Everyone has been speaking to me about Thatcher all day like they expect something to happen between him and I.

Thatcher is a perfectly nice guy and lots of fun to work with, but like I told Gina and Patti, I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now. I have too many other things on my plate.

Thatcher's dad answers the door. I can tell he is Thatcher's dad, because he and Thatcher look nearly identical except for his dad's patches of grey hair on either side of his head. "How can I help you?" he asks. I'm a little taken aback that he doesn't exactly seem to be expecting us, but then Thatcher comes to the door.