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I lock it behind me and go up the narrow stairs, letting myself through the top door. My mother is in the kitchen, already pouring coffee into the French press.
“Morning sweetie,” she says to me, smiling. “Run out of coffee or just wanted to see your mom?”
“Both,” I tell her, coming into the kitchen and kissing her on the cheek before sitting down at the kitchen island, elbows on the live wood counter. “Where’s Dad?”
“He already went to the farmer’s market to see what vegetables they had,” she says, pouring hot water into the press. “I’m hoping they still have Romanesco.”
So, my parents are kind of hippies. I grew up surrounded by organic produce, plants in every corner of the house, crystals, tarot cards, my mother using moon cycles for everything, a super clean diet. Really, like a lot of families in the Bay Area.
“If they do,” she continues, “will you come over tonight for dinner? I’ll make your favorite pasta.”
“Can’t say no to that.” It’s not the best dish when I need to study, as it makes me rather comatose, but hopefully I’ll need the break by then.
She steps away from the press and peers at me, hand on her hip. My mother looks exceptionally young for her age. Granted, she’s only forty-five, but we often get mistaken for sisters when we’re out and about. Okay, so no one has ever said sisters per se, but they definitely think we’re friends, especially with our tattoos.
Our faces don’t look much alike, but her skin is even better than mine is. She’s got all the glow while I still get acne from time to time and I hate my pores. Her hair is long and blonde, though she always wears it back in a braid. She’s also super slim, and while I’m athletic (years of playing field hockey, basketball, and volleyball helped with that), I have boobs and hips and a butt that can’t be contained. I spent a lot of time trying to get the flat stomach that never came, but I’ve decided there’s better things to do with my time. Her arms are covered in tattoos, hiding scars that she got when she fell into a fire when I was very young.
All I know is that I hope I look like that when I’m her age. My dad looks awesome too, though he’s in the middle of competing with his co-workers at the historical society at trying to grow the longest beard, and my mother and I are so tired of it. He looks more and more like Hagrid every day. My mom says she tries to convince him to give it up, but the man has a lot of pride. He’s in it to win it.
“You look a little tired,” my mom says after a long moment. “How was last night?”
I shrug lightly. “It was fine. The usual.”
“Have a lot to drink?”
Another shrug. “Not really. I kept a good head. Went home early. Do I look hungover?”
“You’re a bit squinty.”
“Oh. Yeah. Light’s bothering me today.” I eye the sun coming in through the east window.
“Is that all that’s bothering you?”
I’m pretty close with my parents. There are no secrets between us, even though I wish there were sometimes. Both my mom and dad are incredibly intuitive, so there’s no point trying to hide everything about last night. I decide to parcel it out.
“I saw Matt last night,” I tell her.
“Oh? And how is he? He still with that girl who doesn’t like you?”
I manage a smile. “I think so. She wasn’t there, though.”
“Well, good. You don’t need to waste your time with people who don’t like you, sweetie.”
“Uh huh,” I say, sliding the skull pendant back and forth on the chain. “Unfortunately, I think I have to add Matt to that pile of people.”
“What happened?” she asks, pushing the plunger down into the French press, the coffee swirling in the glass like a mahogany nebula.
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “He got drunk and kissed me.”
“Uh oh,” she says, pouring the coffee into a mug and placing it in front of me before pouring herself a cup. She sits down across from me. “I take it that didn’t go over well.”
“He still has a girlfriend, first of all,” I say, giving her a steady look. “So, no. And even if he didn’t, I’m just not … interested. We’re much better off as friends.”
“So I guess he didn’t take the rejection very well,” she says as she lifts the mug to her mouth.
I shake my head. “No. He got angry.”
“Angry? Matt?”
Matt’s been over to my place a bunch of times, and she’s met him and liked him. He’s always been his usual chill self.
“I was surprised too.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a sympathetic smile. “You don’t deserve that. But try not to take it personally. He might be having a stressful week. You know those start-ups aren’t known for being an easy job. I’m sure there’s a lot of money at stake.”
