When I get to my door, I put my books aside, but I shove my notebook for my English course into the tote I’m using as my purse. Silly, but those notes make me feel like I’m bringing Ethan with me. I want to bring the memory of his voice and his words with me wherever I go. I want him to touch me more so that his skin can contain those words and those memories, too.
I turn to my mom, who is giving my room the is-this-a-safe-place-for-my-daughter-to-live look to everything and smile. I give her a big hug before we walk out the door. I mean, I’m being an asshole for not wanting to see her because I’m thinking about wanting to bang my teacher, shit! But, like, this is lunch. My stomach is already excited, and I’m glad to talk to my mom. My whole world has gotten very small, existing only in the moments I’m with Ethan. That’s not healthy and I missed my momma, okay? Let’s pretend I didn’t just act like a huge dick. Because even if that was only in my head, I do feel bad about it.
“Let’s go to that pad thai place you like, the fancy one, not the cheap one!” My mom is excited to take me to the weird place I like that has surprisingly fancy noodles. You can get all kinds of noodles there, but I always get the pad thai.
I want the alfredo, but I don’t want to eat all that cream. Tofu and eggs seems like better food for the hardworking college student, and the cilantro is to die for.
“Sounds good, let’s hit it and get it!” I respond. I follow my mom to her car.
“Now, cut the shit,” my mom says while she turns to back out. “I know something’s been bugging you. Tell me your classes again. Let’s see what’s up your butt,” my mom laughs.
I never keep anything from her. I never get nervous like this. So I start reeling off my schedule now and she stops me at Ethan.
“Oh, you have his class now? I figure you’ll have a lot with him, since you’re majoring in his wheelhouse. That man always had a book in his face. You kind of remind me of him, the way you’re so passionate about those things!” My mom has that slightly exasperated tone.
She knows what I care about, but she doesn’t get it.
It's sort of difficult to explain to your mother that you don’t want to read the Gossip Girl books because you want to read Frankenstein for the thousandth time…but I mean she’s got a point, too. The Gossip Girl books are pretty damn good, too. We used to watch the show together. I know that we enjoyed how rich they were. My parents don’t have that kind of money now. We always lived in a nice house, but now they're looking more the part. I sigh thinking about how she said I remind her of him. I think I’m going to have to try to casually probe her for information about him later. Right now, I just can’t stop smiling thinking about him. “Yeah, he’s done a lot of work in literary criticism. I’ve read all of his papers,” I offer. My mom probably doesn’t realize just how much Ethan has published. I’ve been a busy gal catching up on all his papers.
“That’s neat, sweetie. So what about that Calculus II? I know they didn’t want to let you in. Don’t they know that my baby’s so smart? You kicking that class’s ass?” My mom is practically beaming.
“Yes, yes I am. Oooh, we’re here. I’ll get the drinks, you get us a table,” I tell her as I step out of the car. It's a nice restaurant, but you still get your own drinks because they have those machines where you can get all the flavors. I always get a diet caffeine free coke with lemon added. I love the lemon flavor and I’m not sure but I’m pretty certain it's probably pure sugar. I have enough coffee in my life; I so don’t need to add more of it.
Mom nods and orders our usual, taking our number to the table.
We talk about all my classes. Mom asks about Delia. We talk about everything and I almost forget that I want to press her for information about Ethan when I see my notebook in my bag, the rose gold foil glinting at me from the corner of my eye. “So, hey, you were friends with Ethan, are y’all still close?” I ask her. I call him Ethan and not Dr. Ethan, Professor, any of that.
My mom raises an eyebrow but answers the question. “Oh, yeah we didn’t really stop being friends, we just kind of grew apart. I mean, we’re Facebook friends. Not that he really uses Facebook. But neither do I. So, it is what it is.” Mom picks at her food.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, trying to remain casual.
But my mom always picks up on stuff. “Something wrong in Ethan’s class?” Her tone is suspicious.
“No, I was just curious,” I offer, and I try to sound not too urgent. I mean if my heckles are raised, then hers will be. Internally, I’m panicking like she can read everything on my mind. But I cannot let that panic read through in my voice or on my face.