Give and Take

Part 1 - Yam and Russ, The First Six Months

"Yeah, Mama, I'm on the way now." Yam swerved her blue Funny Face car across two lanes of traffic, receiving a cacophony of honks. Looking in the rear view mirror, she waved at the car behind her to apologize.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, she adjusted her hair. She bought it just that morning—the new do wasn't cheap—and she was already displeased with it.

The damn wig won't sit right today.

At the last possible moment, she realized she was quickly approaching a red light and screeched to a halt.

            "Mama, look, I gotta go. I can't drive and talk to you at the same time." Yam gave herself another look in the mirror. "I promise I'll call and let you know how it goes after. Okay. Love you, too. Bye."

            Yam threw her phone on the passenger side and tried to steel her nerves as she approached the restaurant. She pulled into the lot and made sure to park where a bunch of other cars were, something she'd always done on first dates.

            Park where other cars are parked, Yammy, Yam could hear her father saying to her when she was in high school going on her first unchaperoned date. That way there are witnesses, just in case. Don't let him see what car you drive, and always drive separately. Walk with your keys in your hands so you can quickly get in your car. Or stab him. Meet up at a crowded place. It's less intimate but it's safer.

            "Okay, Papa," Yam said aloud, "I'm doing as you told. Even at twenty-seven."

            Yam checked her phone. It was five minutes till seven. Reaching in her purse, Yam pulled out two sets of lips, one with red lipstick and one with pink lipstick. Unlike many other Misses Potato Heads, Yam had a variety of lip colors, her favorite and most complimented feature. But red and pink were for dates; she chose red. Yam smiled at herself. She had brown, smooth skin and a full figure; curves that she was proud of and learned to accept. Her dark eyes, she'd been told, were shiny and hypnotic. She was even wearing her good shoes, blue heels that matched the earrings on her smaller, more attractive ears that she only put on for special occasions.

You're not vain, you're confident, she told herself.

Yam worked hard to get to this point of self-love and acceptance, and though she and her therapist still had a long way to go, for the first time in the near thirty years of her life, she felt confident and ready to date. Yam was ready to go from Misses Potato Head to Mrs. Potato Head and have a bunch of baby potatoes.

Yam adjusted her hair again when her phone vibrated, and she hurriedly picked it up, hoping it would be Russ saying he's arrived. Instead it was a text from her mother.

            Mama <3: Good luck sweetie! Dont scare this one off. Papa and I would rather be grandparents to natural baby potatoes than tuber baby potatoes. Just saying. Oh and Papa wants to know if you ever got that peppery spray he mailed you? J

            Yam rolled her eyes and stuffed her phone in her purse. She took off her red lips and began reconsidering the pink when a rapid tap on her window frightened her. Yam would have cursed out loud had she not dropped both sets of lips on the car.

            "What?! I have pepper spray!" Yam screamed as she jammed the lips onto her face, upside down, and menacingly flashed her phone to the Mister standing calmly outside of her window. He was wearing eyes with expensing looking sunglasses attached, and a handsome brown jacket—He can afford clothes from the Indiana Jones series?! Nice!—that paired well with his red shoes, nicely polished. One hand was behind his back.