Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

36. Partners

When I step through the door, I lean into the living room area and spot Mom sitting at the dining room table, her back to me. I swallow hard. "I'm home," I call as I take off my coat and hang it on the hook.

"Come in here, please," Mom says.

Maybe it's a good sign that she used the word please, or maybe she's just luring me over with fake sweetness. I guess I'll find out right now.

I take a seat in the chair at her side, but I don't dare look up at her in case she's about to chew me out. My hands cross in front of me, and I focus on touching each finger tip together in anticipation.

She sighs deeply, lifts my phone from her pocket, and slides it across the table to rest beside my hands. Is this her white flag? I let my eyes meet hers, and to my surprise, when I do, she seems to have a hard time holding my gaze.

"Thank you," I say, "for my phone back."

"No problem," she replies.

She seems sorry, so I decide to test the waters a bit. "Did the principal call you?"

"He did," she says with a nod.

"Are you mad?"

She sort of stares at the table top for a bit, wipes some invisible thing away, and sighs again. "I was... until he called back and told me about the show."

I try to hold back a smile. "What are you thinking now?" I ask.

"I'm thinking that this is the sort of opportunity that doesn't come around very often. Hardly ever, really. Having a celebrity come to your high school and handpick you for a television show appearance is something that only ever happens in fantasies, and here it's happened to you and your friends."

"I know, I still can't believe it."

She finally lifts her gaze from the table top to my face, and says, "You obviously have a gift for this, or Grant O'Reilly wouldn't have asked you to do have a speaking role on his show. And I did everything in my power to suffocate it." Tears begin to fill her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Janie. I only wanted what was best for you, and I thought I knew. I should have trusted you. You know what you need."

I can't believe these are the words coming out of my mom's mouth, but I'm not dreaming, this isn't a show, it's real. She's really apologizing.

"So, does this mean I can be in theater next quarter?"

She scoffs. "Next quarter? How about next year? Next two years? However long you need. I'm not going to try to control you when it comes to your classes anymore."

"And when it comes to my friends?"

She peers at me, as if to tell me she knows what I'm really asking: What about when it comes to Thatcher?

"You are going to pay me back for that loitering ticket, and you still have a curfew... but when it comes to Thatcher, I won't forbid you to see each other anymore. Dr. Howard said you were playing Juliet and he was playing Romeo today in your one act, and I know how that ends up. I'm not going to drive you to desperation, just... please, don't make the same mistakes I did with men. Maybe you would benefit from the talk, huh?"

She smiles, and I finally let myself relax. She's sending out a life raft with her smile and her joke—god, I hope it's a joke—so I take it.

I laugh uncomfortably. "Please no. I know about all of that, but don't worry. I don't plan on doing anything like that for a long while. Besides, that's not even close to what I want with Thatcher right now."