“There’s no need to get snippy, sweetie. Jamie will come around; she always does. And Carley is jealous because of a boy. Christopher something. They went out for a while and broke up, then you asked him to a dance.”
“I asked a boy to a dance?”
“It was a turnabout dance where the girls ask the boys. Jamie talked you into it. Anyway, you weren’t interested in him after that one date, but Carley’s always held a grudge.”
“I told you all that?”
“We used to talk more,” Mom says, with a hurt look in her eyes. I’m guilty of putting it there. I don’t say anything back.
The waitress returns and asks what we’d like to eat. Mom orders a plate of onion rings for us to share; I love onion rings. The waitress moves to the next table over, and I watch the father order for his family. I’m aware of my envy as he chats with his daughter and son.
“When did Dad leave?” I ask my mom out of the blue. Her eyes grow wide as she swallows the soda she’s just sipped.
“Where did that come from?” she asks. I shrug.
“Is that what’s been bothering you lately? You want to know about your dad?”
“Maybe,” I say.
Mom fidgets in her seat a little and then clears her throat.
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ve told you this before and I’ll tell you again. Your father and I weren’t meant to be together. We didn’t get along, and he left when you were six. That’s really the end of the story.”
I think back to my notes.
“My memory went crazy when I was six. Do you think Dad leaving us traumatized me?”
“I’ve considered that,” Mom admits, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“So, what, you just fell out of love with each other?” I ask.
My mom doesn’t meet my gaze when she replies, “Yes.”
“And we never heard from him again?”
“No,” she says. The letters at home tell me that she’s lying, but I hide my anger. I press the issue.
“He never tried to talk to me or anything?”
I swear I see a flash of guilt in my mother’s eyes when she answers. “No, honey, I’m sorry, he never did.”
I don’t believe you, I think.
And then our onion rings arrive.
When I get home, I try calling Jamie. She picks up on the third ring.
“You need to stop stalking me,” she says sharply.
“Hi to you, too,” I say.
“Seriously, I got your message earlier. I’ve gotten all of your messages. When I’m ready to talk to you, I’ll call.”
“But, Jamie, don’t you think we should just talk about it?”
“Do you even remember what it is, London?”