Mom sat in the kitchen with a coffee and pastry, planning a museum exhibit. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, adjusting her glasses, not looking up. “How was school?”
“Good,” I said, pouring myself some orange juice.
“Wonderful! I mailed out the deposit for college, and made you an appointment with a gynecologist.” She looked up and saw my glare.
“You did what?” I spat.
“Well, you’re eighteen and moving out soon; I figured you’d want to get on birth control. The doctor’s also doing an ultrasound to make sure everything’s okay, with the cramps you’ve been having and such. I told him you’d rather do that than get blood tests, since you’re scared of needles.”
From the topic I could tell Dad wasn’t home. “Blood tests for what?” I demanded.
“To make sure you’re not pregnant,” she said bluntly.
“Mom,” I growled. “I’m not pregnant. They’re menstrual cramps.” I never admitted Luke and I even did stuff—she was assuming a bit much!
She sipped her coffee and glanced at me. “It doesn’t hurt to double check!”
I rolled my eyes. To think a few months ago I actually missed this woman as she wandered the desert with the Aborigines.
My hands rested on my hips. “Can we please cancel it?”
She waved a hand at me. “No time, Adonia, the appointment’s been made. And I don’t think you need a baby ruining college for you, so getting on the pill is a good idea.” She looked at me. “How’s Luke?”
I sat in the seat beside her. “He wants me to meet his dad.”
Her eyes widened. “That sounds big!”
“Yeah, that’s kind of a weird thing for a guy to do,” I said. “What do you think it means?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “It can mean a lot of things. Maybe his father requires to meet you, with the two of you moving out ... or ... well, you know.”
My face hit my hands. “Mom, we haven’t done that,” I lied, red as a lobster. “And now I’m even more nervous.” With the way I was feeling, I knew I’d end up thinking with my mouth sooner or later—with his dad there!
She tapped my hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I doubt his dad will care. About that.”
Clearly I need to work on my lying skills.
On television guys get pats on the back, and congratulated for scoring. I hoped that wouldn’t happen with me right there. Realistically, though, Luke would probably just get a weird look, and his dad would say,
“You can’t get better than this Amish girl?”
Yes, I do feel that plain.