“Try me,” she says, folding her hands together as if she’s in a boardroom, questioning one of her employees.
“Fine, we’re just friends.”
My mom laughs out loud and shakes her head. “Oh, Indie.”
“See, I told you, you weren’t going to believe me.”
“That was not a just friends hug. Just friends hug from the side. They don’t leap into each other’s arms and press pelvises together.”
There was no pelvis pressing, at least no intentional pelvis pressing. Believe me, I’ve thought about it.
Chiming in, Scarlett says, “For what it’s worth, Mrs. Mayhem, whenever I ask her what’s going on with Lincoln, the response from both of them is always that they’re friends. I just think they’re close friends.”
Okay, maybe bringing Scarlett wasn’t that bad of an idea.
“I think they’re bordering the line of intimacy though. They totally want to bone, the air screams it whenever they’re around each other,” Scarlett adds.
Scratch that, it was a bad idea.
“We are not intimate. We just . . . lean on each other.”
“Have you had sex?” my mom asks point-blank, shocking the hell out of me.
“God, Mom, that’s none of your business.” She gives me a pointed look and I want to chuck a piece of bread at her head. She’s not letting up, so I say, “If you must know, no, we have not. We haven’t seen each other naked, we haven’t touched private parts and guess what, we haven’t even kissed.” I pick up a piece of bread as well and take a bite out of it. “Out of comfort—as friends—he holds my hand occasionally, but that’s it. We hang out, and I’ve been helping him build up his leg endurance.”
I don’t mention the showers we’ve taken together—technically together since we’re showering at the same time and in the same room.
“So, there’s really nothing going on between you two?”
I shake my head. “Just a really good friendship, one that I cherish, and one I’d appreciate if you didn’t go blabbing to Laura about. I don’t want to freak him out.”
My mom chews on that for a second and then says, “Let me ask you this. Have you two been dating other people?”
“Indie started seeing a football player named Deacon, Lincoln’s housemate actually, but that was a tiny blip and once again, nothing happened,” Scarlett says, mouth full of bread.
“Hey Scarlett, why don’t you just focus on eating bread, huh?”
She shrugs and smiles. Remind me to put a personal ad out tomorrow for a new roommate.
“Why didn’t things work out with Deacon?” my mom asks, probably categorizing all this information so she can tell it to all the girls at the salon when she returns to work.
“Because, just like I told you at the beginning of summer, I don’t want to date anyone. It’s too much stress. I like being able to come and go as I please and not have to worry about anyone else while I’m focusing on my schoolwork and soccer.”
“But soccer is over now, so you can start dating.”
“It’s not over, Mom. We still have the national championship to fight for. Which means practices are going to become much more intense. Why can’t you respect the fact that I don’t want to be with anyone right now?”
“You’re so caught up in soccer. There’s more to life than kicking a ball around. And I’m worried,” she says, moving her finger around on the table.
“Worried about what?” I ask, feeling exhausted and annoyed.
“That you’re leading Lincoln on.”
“Mom, please, the guy—”
“Laura’s concerned too. She mentioned it when I was doing her hair.”
“What?” I ask, my cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment. “What did she say? What did Lincoln say to her?”
“He didn’t say much, but she said he wouldn’t stop talking about you, and when she asked him why not ask you out, she said he commented about you not wanting to date anyone. She came to me as a concerned mother, wanting to make sure that you weren’t leading him on only to break his heart.”
“I would never,” I say, but my mind starts to wander. I’m not leading him on, am I? He’s the one who takes my hand, the one who invites me to spend the night. If anyone is leading anyone on, it’s him . . . right?
I bite my bottom lip, trying to give this serious thought.
Or is it me?
Wait . . . no, no one is leading anyone on. We’re friends.
“We’re not leading each other on, Mom. We’ve talked many times about our friendship and how much we cherish it.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses one leg over the other as she shifts in her booth. “So, if he started seeing someone, you’d be okay with that?”
Because I’m bound and determined to prove my mom wrong, I say, “Yes, of course. Hell, I’ll even hook him up with someone. Maybe I’ll do just that tonight at the party.”
“Bad idea,” Scarlett mumbles next to me, but I ignore her.
“Yup, that’s how much I know we’re just friends. I’ll find him a girl tonight, prove you both wrong.”
“You don’t need to prove me wrong, sweetie. I think you’re trying to prove yourself wrong.”
“No, Mom. Unlike you, I refuse to live a lie.” At that, she narrows her eyes at me, shocked, and probably worrying I’ll share her secret with Scarlett. But why bother?
It’s rare that I think about my mom and dad’s marriage. I can mostly ignore it given I live hours away from them. Though with Mom in front of me, reality stares me in the face.
Scarlett and Mom know nothing of the pain I carry. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Yes, I have strong feelings for Lincoln, but they’re because I truly cherish him as a person. My person. And I want the best for him. So why wouldn’t I hook him up with someone? It sounds like the perfect way to let everyone know again that we’re just friends.
“Why are you doing this?” Scarlett asks, as I search the party, looking through the throngs of people, seeing if I spot any single girls I can introduce Lincoln to.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are. When you get your stubborn mind set on something, you don’t stop until you complete the task. You’re only going to end up hurting Lincoln and yourself.”
“How is finding someone he can hook up with hurting him?” I spot a gaggle of freshmen soccer players and assess them. Hmm, maybe Jasmine? Not quite sold on her yet.
“Hey.” Scarlett pulls on my shoulder so I’m facing her. “You know I’m all about denial. Hell, I’m practically the conductor of the denial train, but if you suggest to Lincoln that he wants to hook up with a different girl, you’re going to hurt him.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“He likes you, Indie,” she says louder, pulling my attention away from searching.
“He doesn’t like me like that. If he did . . .” My voice fades and I look away.
“If he did . . . what, Indie?”