Leah on the Offbeat
Page 40
“I’m sure you did.” I smile faintly.
“It’s just not working. Why do I suck at this?”
“You don’t suck.” There’s this little loop of hair hanging awkwardly over my ear, so I give it a tug. And now there’s one straight chunk of hair stringing down like a massive sideburn. Welp.
Mom groans.
I’ve spent the last hour in her bedroom, letting her knock herself out with every hair appliance ever invented. I’m still in pajamas, and Garrett’s not coming for another five hours. But Mom’s obsessively checking the time on her phone, like he might bust in at any moment.
“Okay. Starting over.” She combs her fingers through my hair, retrieving approximately ten thousand bobby pins. Then she spritzes it with water and brushes it straight again. “I swear to God . . .”
For my part, I’m numb. I just can’t muster any fucks to give. I get that prom’s supposed to be a huge deal—but for what? Why the effort? I honestly don’t care about impressing my date. And maybe some stupid tiny part of me wants to impress someone—but if that someone is off-limits, then what’s the point?
Mom licks her lips. “Let me blow-dry you again.”
“Go for it.”
She goes for it.
It’s funny—I never even thought I’d go to prom, and here I am doing the whole routine that goes with it. We’re taking pictures at Simon’s house and then riding an actual limo to some fancy-pants restaurant in Alpharetta. It’s just a real suburban high school wet dream.
Mom turns off the dryer. “I hate that you’re fighting with Morgan and Anna,” she says, out of nowhere.
“Why?”
“I just don’t like that there’s tension. I want you to have that perfect night.”
“That’s a myth.”
“What’s a myth?”
“The perfect prom night.”
Mom laughs. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like a teen movie cliché. You have the choreographed group dance number and the weird pining eye contact, and then the big smoochy kiss.”
“That sounds like a great prom,” Mom says.
“It’s a joke.”
“God, Leah.” She trails her hands through my hair and loops a strand of it around her finger. “How did you get so cynical?”
“I can’t help it. I’m a Slytherin.”
And I’m the worst kind of Slytherin. I’m the kind who’s so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can’t even function. I’m the Draco from some shitty Drarry fic that the author abandoned after four chapters.
“Well, my prom was beautiful,” Mom says. “It was one of the most romantic nights of my life.”
“Weren’t you pregnant?”
“So? It was still wonderful.” She smiles. “Did you know I had an ultrasound the day before my prom?”
“That’s . . . cool?”
“It was cool! It was the big one, too. That’s when I found out your gender.”
“Gender is a social construction.”
“I know, I know.” She pokes my cheek. “I don’t know. I was just so excited about it. I didn’t even care what sex you were. I just wanted to know everything about you.”
I snort. “That sounds about right.”
“I just perfectly remember lying there on the table, seeing you on the little monitor. You were so . . .”
“Fetal?”
“Yes.” She grins. “But also—I don’t know. You were just such a little trouper in there. I remember being so moved by that. Here I was, with all this stuff going on—school and prom and your dad, but you just kept doing your thing. Growing and growing. You were unstoppable.”
“I think that’s, like, bare minimum fetus achievement.”
“I don’t know. I just found it so amazing. I still do. Look at you.” I glance up in the mirror, meeting her eyes, and for a moment, we’re both silent. When Mom finally speaks, it’s almost a whisper. “Everyone was always telling me how fast it goes. It used to piss me off.”
“Ha.”
“Like, it was always some random lady in the grocery store. You’d be flailing around, pitching a fit, and every single time, some jerk would just have to come up and tell me I’d miss it one day. Oh, she’ll be off to college before you know it. Enjoy these moments now. I was like, cool story, fuck you.” She twists a lock of my hair around the curling iron. “But they were so right.”
“It happens.”
“I just can’t believe you’re leaving.” Mom blinks, a little too quickly.
“You realize I’ll be an hour and a half away, right?”
“I know, I know.” She smiles sadly. “But you know what I mean.”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Don’t you dare cry.”
“Why, because you’ll cry?”
“No way. Never.”
Mom laughs softly. “It’s going to be so weird here without you, Leah.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, I’ll stop. I don’t want you sobbing over me and ruining your prom aesthetic.”
“My prom aesthetic.” I roll my eyes, smiling.
Mom smiles back. “You’re going to have so much fun tonight, Lee.”
“It’s going to be weird.”
“Even if it’s weird. I loved my weird, messy prom night.” She shrugs. “Just embrace it. That’s what I did. I remember looking in the mirror and deciding my prom was going to be suck-free, even if it wasn’t going to be how I imagined it.”
“Well, mine’s going to suck.” I make a face at her in the mirror.
“But why? It doesn’t have to.” She leans forward, resting her chin on my head. “Just promise me you won’t overthink this.”
Then it hits me, like a kick in the crotch. “Fuck.”
Mom meets my eyes in the mirror, brows raised. “You okay?”
“I am such an idiot.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I don’t have a bra.”
“Mmm.” Mom tucks a final strand of hair in place and smiles. “Not bad, right?”
I mean, yeah, Mom knocked it out of the park. I don’t know how she did it, but my hair is smooth and wavy, swept back on the sides, with little soft pieces hanging down around my cheeks. Of course, the fact that I’m still in pajamas makes it seem like my head and body belong to two different people, but I guess it will look good with the dress.
Except for the fact that I don’t have a fucking bra.
“I need something strapless.”
“You don’t have a strapless bra?”
“Why would I have a strapless bra?”
Mom’s mouth quirks. “Because you have a strapless dress?”
“Okay, it’s not funny. I’m kind of freaking out.”
“Lee.” She rests her hands on my shoulders. “We have a few hours until Garrett gets here. We can buy you a bra.”
“From where?”
“From anywhere. How about Target? Go throw on some jeans.” She grabs her purse. “Let’s hit it.”
Except the car won’t start.
“Nope,” Mom says as the key clicks uselessly. “Not today, Satan.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Hold on.” She nudges the steering wheel and opens and closes her door. “I’m trying again.”
Still nothing.
She looks vaguely panicked. “Should I blow on the key?”
“That’s not a thing, Mom.”
“Oh, come on,” she mutters, smacking her hands down on the steering wheel. “Of all fuckin’ days.”
“Okay, please don’t say fuckin’.”
She shoots me a self-conscious glance. “I thought we liked cussing.”
“We love cussing. But we say the fucking g. I don’t want to hear that apostrophe, Mom.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says.
I nod. “It’s a sign.”
“It’s just not working. Why do I suck at this?”
“You don’t suck.” There’s this little loop of hair hanging awkwardly over my ear, so I give it a tug. And now there’s one straight chunk of hair stringing down like a massive sideburn. Welp.
Mom groans.
I’ve spent the last hour in her bedroom, letting her knock herself out with every hair appliance ever invented. I’m still in pajamas, and Garrett’s not coming for another five hours. But Mom’s obsessively checking the time on her phone, like he might bust in at any moment.
“Okay. Starting over.” She combs her fingers through my hair, retrieving approximately ten thousand bobby pins. Then she spritzes it with water and brushes it straight again. “I swear to God . . .”
For my part, I’m numb. I just can’t muster any fucks to give. I get that prom’s supposed to be a huge deal—but for what? Why the effort? I honestly don’t care about impressing my date. And maybe some stupid tiny part of me wants to impress someone—but if that someone is off-limits, then what’s the point?
Mom licks her lips. “Let me blow-dry you again.”
“Go for it.”
She goes for it.
It’s funny—I never even thought I’d go to prom, and here I am doing the whole routine that goes with it. We’re taking pictures at Simon’s house and then riding an actual limo to some fancy-pants restaurant in Alpharetta. It’s just a real suburban high school wet dream.
Mom turns off the dryer. “I hate that you’re fighting with Morgan and Anna,” she says, out of nowhere.
“Why?”
“I just don’t like that there’s tension. I want you to have that perfect night.”
“That’s a myth.”
“What’s a myth?”
“The perfect prom night.”
Mom laughs. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like a teen movie cliché. You have the choreographed group dance number and the weird pining eye contact, and then the big smoochy kiss.”
“That sounds like a great prom,” Mom says.
“It’s a joke.”
“God, Leah.” She trails her hands through my hair and loops a strand of it around her finger. “How did you get so cynical?”
“I can’t help it. I’m a Slytherin.”
And I’m the worst kind of Slytherin. I’m the kind who’s so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can’t even function. I’m the Draco from some shitty Drarry fic that the author abandoned after four chapters.
“Well, my prom was beautiful,” Mom says. “It was one of the most romantic nights of my life.”
“Weren’t you pregnant?”
“So? It was still wonderful.” She smiles. “Did you know I had an ultrasound the day before my prom?”
“That’s . . . cool?”
“It was cool! It was the big one, too. That’s when I found out your gender.”
“Gender is a social construction.”
“I know, I know.” She pokes my cheek. “I don’t know. I was just so excited about it. I didn’t even care what sex you were. I just wanted to know everything about you.”
I snort. “That sounds about right.”
“I just perfectly remember lying there on the table, seeing you on the little monitor. You were so . . .”
“Fetal?”
“Yes.” She grins. “But also—I don’t know. You were just such a little trouper in there. I remember being so moved by that. Here I was, with all this stuff going on—school and prom and your dad, but you just kept doing your thing. Growing and growing. You were unstoppable.”
“I think that’s, like, bare minimum fetus achievement.”
“I don’t know. I just found it so amazing. I still do. Look at you.” I glance up in the mirror, meeting her eyes, and for a moment, we’re both silent. When Mom finally speaks, it’s almost a whisper. “Everyone was always telling me how fast it goes. It used to piss me off.”
“Ha.”
“Like, it was always some random lady in the grocery store. You’d be flailing around, pitching a fit, and every single time, some jerk would just have to come up and tell me I’d miss it one day. Oh, she’ll be off to college before you know it. Enjoy these moments now. I was like, cool story, fuck you.” She twists a lock of my hair around the curling iron. “But they were so right.”
“It happens.”
“I just can’t believe you’re leaving.” Mom blinks, a little too quickly.
“You realize I’ll be an hour and a half away, right?”
“I know, I know.” She smiles sadly. “But you know what I mean.”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Don’t you dare cry.”
“Why, because you’ll cry?”
“No way. Never.”
Mom laughs softly. “It’s going to be so weird here without you, Leah.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, I’ll stop. I don’t want you sobbing over me and ruining your prom aesthetic.”
“My prom aesthetic.” I roll my eyes, smiling.
Mom smiles back. “You’re going to have so much fun tonight, Lee.”
“It’s going to be weird.”
“Even if it’s weird. I loved my weird, messy prom night.” She shrugs. “Just embrace it. That’s what I did. I remember looking in the mirror and deciding my prom was going to be suck-free, even if it wasn’t going to be how I imagined it.”
“Well, mine’s going to suck.” I make a face at her in the mirror.
“But why? It doesn’t have to.” She leans forward, resting her chin on my head. “Just promise me you won’t overthink this.”
Then it hits me, like a kick in the crotch. “Fuck.”
Mom meets my eyes in the mirror, brows raised. “You okay?”
“I am such an idiot.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I don’t have a bra.”
“Mmm.” Mom tucks a final strand of hair in place and smiles. “Not bad, right?”
I mean, yeah, Mom knocked it out of the park. I don’t know how she did it, but my hair is smooth and wavy, swept back on the sides, with little soft pieces hanging down around my cheeks. Of course, the fact that I’m still in pajamas makes it seem like my head and body belong to two different people, but I guess it will look good with the dress.
Except for the fact that I don’t have a fucking bra.
“I need something strapless.”
“You don’t have a strapless bra?”
“Why would I have a strapless bra?”
Mom’s mouth quirks. “Because you have a strapless dress?”
“Okay, it’s not funny. I’m kind of freaking out.”
“Lee.” She rests her hands on my shoulders. “We have a few hours until Garrett gets here. We can buy you a bra.”
“From where?”
“From anywhere. How about Target? Go throw on some jeans.” She grabs her purse. “Let’s hit it.”
Except the car won’t start.
“Nope,” Mom says as the key clicks uselessly. “Not today, Satan.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Hold on.” She nudges the steering wheel and opens and closes her door. “I’m trying again.”
Still nothing.
She looks vaguely panicked. “Should I blow on the key?”
“That’s not a thing, Mom.”
“Oh, come on,” she mutters, smacking her hands down on the steering wheel. “Of all fuckin’ days.”
“Okay, please don’t say fuckin’.”
She shoots me a self-conscious glance. “I thought we liked cussing.”
“We love cussing. But we say the fucking g. I don’t want to hear that apostrophe, Mom.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says.
I nod. “It’s a sign.”
