Page 43 of Tongue-Tied

“Oh God, what did I do to deserve a best friend like you?” I’m so hungry that I snatch the bag from his hands.

I’m already taking out the burger and unwrapping it as Austin watches me. “You are pretty lucky.”

“I am,” I reply around a bite of food.

“You guys are too cute,” Kael says with a smirk. “You don’t even have to practice for tonight.”

I nearly choke on my fry because that sounds way too on the nose. Austin must think so too because he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I’ve got a paper to write,” Austin says as if that’s his cue to make his exit.

“See you tonight,” I say with a wave. “Thanks again.”

I devour my food before organizing more donations, and before I know it, the afternoon has passed, and Jason and I are helping the other volunteers pack it all up. We load the stuff into Jason’s truck so he can drive it to the teen center.

I smile to myself as I head back to Poli House. It’s always a high to help those in need. It’s times like these that I’m grateful to have landed on my major, even if some of the classwork is boring. I considered social work as an option too, but I’m more interested in helping communities from a policy standpoint.

My cell buzzes with a call from Mom. I push the button to answer. “Hi there.”

“Hi yourself. What are you up to?”

“I just finished helping out with a fundraiser.”

“Have I told you how proud you make me?”

“Thanks.” Even though I’ve heard it before, my cheeks burn. “You realize you had a lot to do with teaching me how hard it can be for some people.”

“By making all the wrong decisions?” I can hear the anguish in her voice. “I’m sorry for?—”

“Mom, stop. You’ve apologized a hundred times. I don’t regret any of those experiences. They made me who I am.”

I want to avoid any conversation where she spirals into self-doubt and disappointment over my dad. Sometimes, it’s like she lives in the past. If only she’d remained in therapy instead of walking out on a counselor who seemed to be getting somewhere with her…

“But now you’re gun-shy about relationships, and I’m sure it has to do with?—”

“You can’t help that Dad left us.” The last time I laid eyes on my father was when I was twelve years old. “And don’t even say that you could’ve done something differently to make him stay. He chose to cheat and become a deadbeat dad.”

He could’ve helped with child support so we didn’t struggle so hard, but he disappeared from our lives. If I ever get the opportunity to be face-to-face with him again, I might not be able to resist letting my words fly. Maybe even my fists.

“You’re right,” Mom replies. “But I’m to blame too.”

Mom was eighteen when she had me, so in a way, we grew up together. She’d been so heartbroken when Dad abandoned us that she’d sworn off all men. But that hadn’t lasted long. It’s as if she feels that being in a relationship will fill a part of her that’s remained empty from Dad walking out. No amount of heart-to-hearts ever seems to change that thinking. But it’s certainly shaped my worldview.

Mom finally found a steady job as a customer-service rep and was promoted to shift manager last year. That gives her some much-needed confidence, except when it comes to awful men who treat her like crap. Some have been married, others should never walk down the aisle with anyone, and every time another relationship ends, Mom blames herself most of all. That’s half the problem. She can’t see how she chooses the same kind of men who don’t treat her with the respect she deserves. Suppose what the therapist told her was true—that she has to find some respect for herself first. Instead of dropping out of counseling, she should be fleeing these fucked-up relationships.

“But this time,” she says, “I think I finally found the one.” I recognize that upward swing in pitch, and I inwardly groan.

“Let me guess.” I try to temper my tone. “Someone you met on a dating site?”

She giggles like a young girl. “His name is Tim.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “After the last guy, you agreed to find more friends to spend time with.” Most of her friends are from her job, but she recently joined an exercise class, so I’d hoped she’d meet new people.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear me when she blurts excitedly, “He says he wants to marry me.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Lots of men have said that to you.”

“But I think he means it. He even brought me flowers and chocolate.”

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