It’s an odd feeling, consciously evaluating whether I’m enough myself. The idea of this formal date with someone who a year ago I never would’ve expected dating has me feeling like I’m playing an older, more mature version of myself. I want it to fit instead of hanging loosely on me like I’m wearing an oversized life.
I settle on my outfit from the day with a few minor modifications. Swapping out my oxfords for yellow heels, I wonder if Ethan will notice I’ve eliminated our height difference. In a moment of inspiration, I put on the peach lipstick I wore to the junior awards ceremony last year. Finally, I pull my phone and purse out from under my Princeton Review economics guide, making a mental note to pick up the notebooks, papers, and studying detritus scattered throughout my room.
When I come downstairs, I find my parents in the living room. Mom’s reading on her iPad, probably work documents, while dad watches The Proposal. Mom looks over, eyeing my outfit impassively over the rims of her glasses. “Hot date?”
I freeze. It’s the worst move I could’ve possibly made.
Mom’s eyes widen. My dad pauses the movie, which really speaks to how interesting I am since he’s in the middle of the scene where Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds are about to collide outside the shower. “Who is it?” Mom presses me. She must be great in depositions. Isn’t it true you’re going out for dinner with your onetime-nemesis-then-rival-with-benefits?
“Um,” I get out.
Dad’s eyes light up. “Oh my god. It’s happening,” he deadpans.
“Alison Sanger, are you going out with Ethan Molloy tonight?” Mom asks. She removes her glasses, like she plans to spend the entire night dissecting this with Dad instead of reading for work.
“Pay up,” my dad says, holding a hand out to my mom.
I inhale deeply, hoping it calms me. “Can you guys just pretend you’re normal parents?”
“Oh, would you rather us give you a safe-sex speech?” My mom’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Is that what normal parents would do when their daughter’s going out with a good-looking young man?”
“Never mind—”
“You really ought to have Ethan send you a note from his care provider on his sexually transmitted disease record,” my dad counsels. I honestly have no idea if he’s being facetious. Either way, I feel like screaming.
My mom opens her mouth, and I shove my hands over my ears. “We’re just teasing,” she says, and I reluctantly release them. “We’re happy for you.”
“How did you know?” I ask, hearing the vulnerability in my voice. “I mean about me and Ethan. How did you know we’d get together?”
My parents exchange a wry look. “You’re obsessed with each other,” Mom says. It’s what she’d tell me if she were joking, except she’s not. There’s no humor in her tone. “Besides, we’re your parents. We know stuff about you.”
The words soften me. “But I had no idea, and I really thought I knew myself.” I’m not used to voicing real fears to my parents. This one worked itself into my heart when I first recognized what I felt for Ethan. How could I be so blind to myself? If my hatred for Ethan could change without warning into what I’m feeling now, I wonder what other pieces of myself I’m wrong about. It’s the way I felt when I talked to Jamie and heard her side of her story, like the entire vision I have of my future might end up a mirage.
“No one knows everything about themselves,” Dad says.
“Sometimes the unexpected stuff is the best,” Mom continues, her hand finding Dad’s on the couch cushions. “Like getting pregnant with you.”
I roll my eyes, not ignoring the comfort in Mom’s reassurance. “Instead of giving me the sex talk, now you’re encouraging me to get knocked up.”
Dad cuts Mom a warning glance. “No, we’re not. We’re just saying you shouldn’t shut the door on new experiences or shaking up your own self-image. You might surprise yourself.”
I nod. It’s strangely meaningful, hearing good advice from my parents, and not what I expected from this conversation. I assumed they were pretty much over parenting—but maybe that’s one more thing I got wrong. “Thanks,” I reply, not knowing exactly what to say.
I walk to the front door. With my hand on the handle, I hear my dad call out from the living room. “Remember the STD check, Alison.”
“Okay, bye,” I say pointedly.
“Have fun, baby girl,” my mom replies.
I’m smiling as I shut the door. I guess the nickname isn’t the worst.
Fifty-Three
ETHAN’S OUTSIDE MY HOUSE, standing by his car. He’s looking down the block, seemingly lost in thought, and he doesn’t see me at first. I allow myself a moment to admire him. He’s wearing the black-and-green-checkered button-down he had on today at school, but he’s added a dark gray blazer and shiny black shoes. His blond hair is the perfect amount of unruly I’m convinced Ethan’s worked to achieve.
He’s cute. More than cute.
He’s also . . . nervous? While I watch, he rubs the back of his neck. The gesture sends a rush of endearment straight to my heart. I could stand here staring for an embarrassing amount of the night, but I clear my throat, wanting whatever’s going to come next. He looks up sharply, his eyes landing on me.
He smiles. It’s one of his genuine smiles, the exceedingly uncommon kind. The kind where I’m reminded, despite our years of conflict, I’m only just meeting this side of him.
“Hi,” he says. The way he says it holds other things he’s not saying. It’s a hi you look nice, a hi I’m happy to see you. Or I hope it is.
“Hey,” I say. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere fancy.” He shrugs modestly.
While intrigued, I’m suddenly nervous. “Should I change? Maybe I’m not dressed up enough.”
In reply, Ethan opens his passenger door, his smile looking more like a grin now. “Sanger. You’re literally always dressed up enough.”
I flush, enjoying the familiar irritation of Ethan’s chiding. Getting into his car, I wait for him to drop into the drivers’ seat. “I like looking professional,” I reply defensively when he does.
“Oh, I know.”
“You do?” I glance over, not expecting to find him eyeing me approvingly.
He starts the car, the engine humming and the dashboard blinking to life. “You don’t want anyone underestimating you,” he says. “It’s particularly annoying to someone trying to convince himself he’s capable of beating you.”