returning. Every time she attempted to throw that thought away, it seemed to come back twice as strong, until it felt impossible to shake loose.
Why was I so defensive around Kedisha?
It’s her fault. The tone in her voice was so judging.
She’s a friend. She’s just asking.
Yeah, asking how I could possibly find a great guy.
She punched in her code in the garage door—the basketball hoop may as well have been invisible—and entered the kitchen. The moment she did, her phone buzzed. A message. A jolt of excitement ran through her. She checked. Jake.
“Canada’s Wonderland tonight?”
“Hi, sweetheart,” her mom said from the kitchen. The words were normal. The tone was not. To any outsider it would have seemed like any other greeting on any other day. But when people know each other well, and for a long time, even the slightest nuance in how they say things conveys much, much more than the simple words themselves.
Something was wrong.
“Hey, Mom,” Abby replied, wondering if her own tone conveyed that she had discovered something odd in her mother’s tone.
“How was school?”
Sucked. It was awful. My friend doubts that I can have a boyfriend—Come to think of it, Mom, do you doubt the same thing? Do you think I deserve a good guy? Would you believe me if I told you this great guy took me out to a super nice restaurant, called me beautiful and gave me a—
“It was good.”
“Your nose a hundred percent?”
“It’s fine,” Abby said, heading up to her room to respond to Jake.
Her mother poked her head around the corner. “Why don’t you come sit down. Let’s catch up. I haven’t seen you a while.”
Haven’t seen Dad either. He always comes home late and is so bagged. Business. I know. Pay for the mortgage. I get it. He has lots on the go.
“I was just going to go out tonight,” Abby said, stopping on the stairs.
“Great. With Kedisha?”
“Maybe. Some other friends.”
I just lied. Why did I lie? Big deal. She wouldn’t understand … Or maybe she would?
“Supper is in a bit. You want to get washed up?”
No. Not really. I just want to get out of here and hang out with Jake.
“Sure.”
Abby’s mother smiled and returned to the kitchen. Abby looked at her phone as she went to the back hall sink.
“Hey, Jake! Canada’s Wonderland sounds great!”
“Super. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Me too! It’ll take me a while to get there by bus.”
“Bus? Not my girl. Let’s go by car.”
“That’s a long way to go.”
“Your worth it.”
“Awwww. Thanks. And by the way it’s spelled you’re as in you are.”
“You see. Pretty and smart.”
“Want to pick me up at my house?”
“Would love to.”
“Super.”
She put the phone in her pocket and was about to head to the kitchen when it buzzed again.
“Actually, want to meet at the Richmond Hill Centre platform? That might make it faster for both of us.”
She admired his ingenuity. If she took the train towards him and he drove towards her, that would speed up the time for them to meet. It reminded her of math. If a bus heading towards Jake leaves in half an hour and travels at an average speed of 50 km/hr, and Jake drives a car towards Abby travelling at an average speed of 70 km/hr, what time would they—It didn’t matter. Even if it didn’t make chivalry sense, it did make romantic sense. People doing what they could to see each other as soon as possible.
“For sure. See you there.”
She entered the kitchen and saw her mother blowing on dough in the oven.
“Sorry,” she said. “I tried to rush the process. Wanted us to have fresh garlic bread for supper. Ruined it.”
“No worries.”
She sat down with her mom. Spaghetti and meatballs. Her favourite. How to eat and not get sauce all over herself? It didn’t usually bother her. Not until recently.
She ate faster than usual. They talked. Exchanged words, really. Talking takes sharing of each other’s opinions. Opening up. Allowing people to see in, or at least as far as you’re willing to let them.
Her mother felt it. Felt the distance. Felt the words that sounded like she was listening to a recording and not to her daughter. That happens. She looked at Abby. Wondering what was going on inside that mind of hers as she wolfed down her food.
Abby tried hard not to look obvious while glancing at her phone sporadically. No phones at the dinner table. That was the rule. But parents have to pick their battles. Better to keep her and her phone at the table than lose them both, right?
Abby was almost finished eating, and her mother felt she was about to slip away. There never is a good time to broach some subjects.
“That’s a nice necklace you have in your room.”
But there’s a good way to do it. And try as she might, Abby’s mother hit the wrong tone.
“What were you doing in my room?”
Torpedo. Torpedo. Torpedo.
Where are the countermeasures?
“I was just walking by,” she lied. It was a half-truth, and both of them knew it. She was concerned. Abby was never one to buy herself a necklace. Not like that. That kind of necklace is a gift. Not from a shopping spree. That would defeat the whole purpose. You have it because someone wanted to give it to you. Because someone considered you valuable enough to have it. That necklace was a whack of dough.
And it concerned her.
“You went through my stuff?”
“It was lying beside your bed. The door was open. It’s a nice necklace.”
The words were fine. Her tone implied otherwise.
“A friend gave it to me.” Abby got up from the table, said a half-hearted thank you, which came out more like Stop interfering in my life, and left, trying the best
