You walk in the front door and before you can close it, she’s standing in front of you.
“Traffic on the way home from school,” she says.
“Yeah, mom,” you say, rolling your eyes and walking past her into the kitchen. You weren’t in the mood for her games, you just wanted to show up long enough for her to get off your case and let you go see Alex again.
“I know you weren’t at Summer’s last night,” she calls from the foyer as she comes to meet you in the kitchen.
“Oh really now,” you say, pulling out the orange juice and taking a drink, not even bothering with a glass.
“Marissa, don’t play these games with me,” she tells you.
“Games, mom,” you say, looking at her incredulously. “You don’t want to play games with me? Did you ever think I didn’t want to play your games?”
She looks at you with her infamous scowl before continuing. “What is this all about? The truancy, not coming home, sleeping at that random punk chick’s house.”
“What,” you question, nearly spitting out your drink. You put your hand over your mouth as a precaution.
“I know where you’ve been, Marissa. I saw your car at her house this morning.”
“Oh, so you didn’t come barging in when you saw my car? How very thoughtful of you,” you say facetiously.
“Caleb said this girl was a troublemaker, and now I can see he’s right. I’m not going to have any daughter of mine dating a purple haired punk. Let alone one that’s a girl,” she tells you, and you’re shocked at how calm she remains. On the inside, you’re freaking out, because if Julie Cooper knows, so will everyone else. You maintain your resolve, not letting her think that she’s scared you.
Crossing your arms, you shoot her a look and say, “Oh, what are you going to do this time, pay her off? Threaten her? How low could you possibly get, mother?”
She takes a step closer to you and lowers her voice. “Now you listen to me. You know how this affected Luke’s father. There’s enough drama in our lives right now, what with this illegitimate child and your father leaving, I am not going to have all of Newport thinking that Julie Cooper-Nichol’s daughter is a lesbian,” she tells you, spitting out the last word as if it would leave a dirty taste in her mouth if she left it in there any longer. “You will stop seeing her, even if I have to see to it myself.”
You realize that your mother mind is set and you know there’s no changing it, so there’s no use in trying. Giving her a flippant ‘whatever,’ you turn around and head out the door to your car. You refuse to let her see you cry.