Page 47 of Like a Love Story
She turns to face me. “You know Reagan didn’t literally kill them, right?”
“He could have stopped it.”
“Maybe,” she says.
“Definitely,” I say.
“That’s the thing about the past, sweetie,” she says. “You can never go back and say a different outcome is definite.” She lets out a sigh and shakes her body, like she’s ridding herself of my bad energy. “So, how do I look?”
“Fine,” I say. And then, because I know I need to be kinder but don’t want to be fake, I say, “You look just like Audrey Hepburn.”
She smiles. She loves hearing that. “We’ll tell Art’s parents you say hi.”
My dad emerges now. He’s wearing the same blue blazer, white shirt, and khakis he wears every time hegoes out. Not exactly style icons, my parents. Yet I can’t help but feel a twinge of affection for their consistency. “Nice of them to invite us,” my dad says. “Such nice people.”
“Kind of,” I say. “Except they basically don’t want Art to be gay.”
“Sweetie,” my mother says, “no parentwantstheir child to be gay. They should accept it, but don’t ask them towantit.”
“When I have kids, Iwantthem to be gay,” I say. “But I’ll accept them if they’re straight.”
“You’ll change your mind,” she says. “You’ll want grandkids.”
“Major assumption there, Mom,” I say. “Anyway, I’m sure Art’s parents would never mention any of this to you at the theater. I’m sure they don’t even tell people their son is gay, or that he just beat up a homophobe at school.”
“Did he... Is he... You know, it’s none of our business, and we’re going to be late.” My mother goes to the living room to grab her purse, then returns and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Are you seeing Reza tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, he’s on his way,” I say.
“Have fun, and lights out by ten,” my dad says, with a smile that indicates he knows how absurd he sounds.
My mom lingers after my dad leaves. There is something unfinished about our conversation. There’s always something unfinished about us, like we’re a sentence that ends in a comma.
“I don’t want grandchildren too soon,” she finally says.
“Gross and goodbye,” I say.
“I’m assuming no girl who has helped her uncle distribute condoms would...”
“Mom!” I squeal. “Goodbye.”
Seriously, how does she know tonight is the night? It’s like she has some maternal sixth sense about me.
“Bye, sweetie.” She gives me a hug this time, and I hug her back.
The twenty minutes it takes until Reza arrives feel like multiple lifetimes. Time has slowed down in our tiny apartment. And when he knocks on the door, time speeds up, going too fast.
“Hi,” he says before giving me a quick kiss on the lips.
“Hi,” I say, smiling nervously. “Come in.”
I lead him into the kitchen, where we stand awkwardly. “Do you want something to drink?” I say.
“I’m okay,” he says.
“Food?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I have to tell you all about my sister,” he says. “Her new boyfriend has named himself after a candy.”
