“No,” I say. “I haven’t traveled much outside of Boston. The little I’ve done is for work.” I mean, technically the first cubing competition was outside of Boston, so it’s not an outright lie. And it sounds a little less sad than the truth, which is that until now Boston is the only place I’ve been besides my hometown, which is less than an hour away.
“Oh, a job that lets you travel is amazing.” She’s all smiles, pointing to the café up ahead. How about that. She did in fact get us here without GPS. I know it was a straight shot, but I’m still impressed at her confidence in doing it. “What do you do for work?”
I tell her that I’m working at a newspaper, and she launches into a bunch of questions about journalism and my career goals, and I try to gloss over the more unsavory parts of my job and make it sound like I’m actually doing real work there and not just restocking the break room. Before I know it, we’ve gotten our coffees and are walking back into the hotel lobby.
“Well,” she says, bringing the conversation back to where it began, “since you haven’t had the opportunity to travel much, and you’re not here for work, consider stepping out of the hotel a little. Take in the sights.” She had looped her arm through mine again on the walk back, but now she lets go of it. I should be glad to no longer be physically attached to her, but it feels like a dismissal.
Does she not want me to be here and support our guys? Or maybe she’s trying to protect me from the other parents by getting me out of the hotel before they can grill me about my relationship with their sons. Maybe the other parents aren’t nearly as nice and chill as she is, and she’s trying to give me an out so I don’t get stuck sitting with them.
“You don’t—do you mean now? Go see the city now?” I ask.
“Oh, not right this minute, the competition is about to start. But at some point during the weekend. Don’t let the boys hold you captive, you’ll be bored out of your mind if you have to spend the entire weekend locked away in that convention hall watching them solve their cubes. You’re allowed to go see some of what New York has to offer.”
I open my mouth to protest, to tell her that that’s the whole reason I’m here, is to watch them, but she’s not done.
“Others might be content with just one thing, but you can have all the things. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.” She wags a finger at me, sounding stern. Like she’s admonishing me for being boring.
Or maybe she’s trying to give me a message. Maybe she’s talking about more than just speedcubing or visiting the city. Maybe she’s trying to tell me in her own way that it’s okay to see more than one guy at a time, like both her son and all three of his friends. Or that it’s okay to be in a relationship and have a career at the same time.
Or maybe I’m reading entirely too much into a simple conversation and all she’s saying is that I’m in New York for the first time and I should see the Empire State Building before I leave. That makes a lot more sense than Felix’s mom not only giving me permission, but practicallydemandingthat I fuck her son and his best friends at the same time.
I think I’ve been quiet for too long, so I frantically look around the crowded lobby.
“I’m not sure where to go.” There are people moving in all directions through the hotel and I don’t know where the competition is happening, but I’m sure it’s got to be about to start.
“You’ll find your way. Don’t worry,” she says, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. “Just follow the signs.”
Is this woman really laying some woo-woo stuff on me right now? I’m not judging, I know woo-woo works for a lot of people. I’m just not one of them. I prefer logic and reason. Not to mention I was talking about not knowing where to go for the competition, not in life.
When I turn to say as much, already gearing up to pretend to laugh at the miscommunication, she’s pointing at a sign a little to our left tucked against the wall. The sign reads:ICF Nationals This Waywith an arrow. There is a literal arrow guiding us. She wasn’t being woo-woo.
“Oh, perfect.” I take back all of myFelix’s mom is being weirdthoughts. Logic and reason really are guiding us at the moment.
We’re almost at the competition hall when I remember my plan to run up to the room so I could get out of having to sit with the parents. Shit. It’s too late now. If I try to disappear at this point, I’ll miss the beginning of the competition, and I don’t want to risk missing any of the guys’ first events.
Also blocking my plan is the fact that Summer still hasn’t released my arm. Still clinging to me like we’re bosom buddies in a Victorian schoolyard, she halts us so we can get a good look around the room. It’s quite large, with actual bleachers in the back, although they are mostly empty at the moment. The rest of the room looks a lot comfier, with real chairs at various event stations. Even these aren’t full though. With all the people at the hotel, I’d thought the place would be packed, and I’m surprised it’s not.
I remind myself that it’s only the first event of the first day. And like they said, this is Nationals, there are bound to be more people in attendance here than for a local competition. Probably a lot of them are still at breakfast, or sightseeing before their events start, and I bet the families of younger competitors are backstage with them like at the regional qualifier.
A little booth off to the side catches my attention, because I can see a few people standing around it and one of them is the girl with the bubblegum pink hair and edgy outfit I saw when we were having breakfast this morning.Patti, I remember,her name is Patti.
“Ah, the others already saved us seats,” says Summer, gently tugging me away from the booth and up the center aisle between the chairs to a group of people waving at us.
All I can do as Felix’s mom practically drags me forward is take a fortifying sip of iced coffee through my straw and hope the caffeine and sugar will carry me through this meeting. I wish the guys were here to act as a buffer.
“Don’t worry,” Summer whispers, “I’ll introduce you.”
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m worried about. I’m still not convinced that little speech about having it all wasn’t a veiled declaration that she approves of the situation between me and the guys, or at least what she’s decided is the situation. What if she introduces me as their girlfriend? Or, worse, their fuck buddy? A mom wouldn’t do that, right? There’s no way a mom would say to her friends,This is the girl who’s fucking our sons.
“Hi everyone,” says Felix’s mom, finally letting go of my arm so she can hug the other moms and wave at the dads. When they all look to me, she adds, “This is Rebecca. She’s a journalism major at Boston University and came down to watch the competition.”
She begins to point to all of the other parents, telling me their names, but I’m barely listening, distracted by the fact that while I told her I’m working at a newspaper, I never said that I’m a journalism student, or what school I attend. How does she know all of this?
I want to be glad that she isn’t defining me by my friendship with the guys, but all I can do is panic about the fact that they might all be talking about me to their parents. Why would theybe telling their parents about me? I’m not their girlfriend, and the friendship we’re developing isn’t exactly the sort of thing you share with your families.Yeah, I met this girl and watched my roommate go down on her on the dining room table while our other two roommates sucked on her nipples. She’s a journalism student at BU and likes pretzels.
“Hi.” My greeting is barely audible, partly because I feel like I’m choking and partly because it’s surprisingly loud in this room.
At that moment, a woman walks out onto the stage with a clipboard and it starts to quiet down around us. The guys’ families all scoot down one seat so there are two chairs instead of just the one they’d originally saved for Felix’s mom, and I sink into the aisle seat, grateful that I only have to sit next to the parent I’ve already spent some time with. Not as grateful as I am to have had the introductions cut short, but still quite grateful.
