I Never

by Laura Hopper

  “What do you mean?” I press.

  “You’re having sex. It’s great, right? Don’t you think she should be able to have a little fun, too?”

  I sit down next to him at the kitchen table and try to speak as calmly as possible.

  “She’s supposed to be the parent, the sensible one. She was having sex in broad daylight, and her bedroom door wasn’t even closed, let alone locked. That’s not acting like the responsible parent.”

  “I guess she didn’t think you were coming home,” he rationalizes.

  I get more and more aggravated that he seems only to be looking at things from my mom’s perspective. He has yet to express any empathy for me. “Even so,” I say. “She was careless and selfish.”

  “Okay. What else?” he asks.

  “What do you mean, what else?” I ask, not making any effort to mask how annoyed I am.

  “What exactly are you freaking out about?” he asks.

  “Well, who is this guy? She hasn’t told me that she’s seeing anyone or is interested in anyone or has gone on a single date.”

  “Have you told her?” he asks.

  “Have I told her what?” I ask him.

  “That you’ve had sex,” he says.

  “No,” I say.

  He gives me a look that says See, two can play at that game.

  “You’re taking her side,” I say. I realize how immature I sound. But I can’t help myself.

  “I’m only pointing out that you’re not talking to her about stuff, but you expect her to come clean to you,” he says.

  I am the one on the debate team, but Luke seems to be winning this argument, and it’s making me insane. He’s calm and direct and thoughtful, just as I try to be when I am debating. I, on the other hand, am passionate and upset and thoroughly frazzled. Not effective in persuasive speaking. I try a new approach.

  “Here’s the difference. I am in a committed relationship. Whereas this guy with bad shoes and a hairy ass could mean absolutely nothing to her.”

  “Big deal,” he says.

  “It is a big deal!” I practically shout.

  Luke gets up and puts the food away. He rinses his dish in the sink and places it in the dishwasher. He takes his empty glass, fills it with water, comes back to the table, and puts the glass of water in front of me. “Here,” he says. “Drink some water and calm down.”

  Being told to calm down has never actually compelled anyone to calm down. It tends to have the opposite effect.

  “Why is it so bad?” he wants to know.

  “You want to know why it’s so bad that my mother is having meaningless sex?” I ask him.

  “I do,” he says matter-of-factly. “She’s a big girl. She should be able to do what she wants. I would think that now that you know how good sex is, you would be less uptight about it.”

  Oh snap! Did he just call me uptight? I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. I try to put him on the defensive.

  “I guess I just think that sex should mean something. I thought you felt the same way. Guess I was wrong.”

  He is remarkably unruffled. “I think sometimes casual sex is okay.”

  I worry that our conversation has taken a turn and we are no longer talking about my mom. Maybe now we’re talking about us. “When would be one of those times where you are a big fan of casual sex?” I ask, my emotions taking hold of me.

  “It depends,” he says, cleverly staying as vague as possible. My mind starts to race to next September. Luke will be three thousand miles away, going to parties and making the most of his newfound freedom. That will probably be one of the times when casual sex makes sense to him. I beg myself not to say something I’m going to regret. I do not want to sound whiny and jealous and needy and possessive. Don’t say it, Janey, don’t say it . . .

  “Freshman year of college, perhaps?” Damn! I have no self-control.

  “What about it?” he asks, but I think he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Would freshman year of college be the right occasion for hookups?” I ask, fully committed to the dangerous destination to which I’ve taken our disagreement.

  “Again,” he says, “it depends.” His words and demeanor do not convey any emotion. He’s remaining very lighthearted and refusing to take the bait and make this personal. It’s driving me a little nuts.

  “Right,” I say, gaining strength to press him for an answer that is only going to rip my heart open. “But, generally speaking, would you agree with that statement?”

  Luke takes a deep breath. Grabs my water and drinks it down.

  “Hey, what we have is great. It’s the best thing ever, but we have to admit that things change. We’d be crazy to try to keep this up next year. Long-distance relationships never work, and you should have a blast your senior year.”

  He said it. It’s out there. We are going to break up when he leaves. I guess I always knew it, but hearing him say it out loud cuts through to my soul. And yet he tries to spin the bad news as though it’s going to be really great for me.

  “Don’t put this on me. I’m not looking to have a blast. I’m not the one who is a big proponent of the empty hookup. That seems to be your department.”

  “Janey, you’re getting really emotional.”

  “No shit,” I say. Now I’m pissed and I am not trying to hide it. “Sorry if this is an emotional subject for me. I happen to think sex requires emotion. Guess you don’t.”

  “You sound really judgy,” he says. He has run out of patience. His tone is turning cold.

  “Oh, I’d hate to judge you for all the nameless, faceless sex you’re planning,” I say with all the sarcasm I can muster. “You know what? Why wait? Feel free to start now.” I grab my keys and walk out his front door, trying not to cry.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  How is this happening? How are the people I thought I knew transforming before my very eyes? Is Mercury in retrograde (whatever that means)? I ran to Luke to ease the shock and horror of witnessing my presumed-to-be-celibate mom in the throes of appalling passion, only to be made aware that he’s not so committed to this commitment thing. Here I am, annoyingly confident that sex in a real relationship is the only way to go, that I’ve given Luke a piece of myself and that I’m so fortunate that my first experience is something real. And the truth is that my boyfriend (is he even my boyfriend anymore?) has much different views about sex than I do. And much different views than I thought he did.

  Less than an hour ago, we were zealously bringing each other to orgasm in his Jeep, and now our relationship status is questionable and our future seemingly nonexistent. Would it have been so hard for him to be sympathetic? Couldn’t he have just said, Aw, man, Janey, that sucks. I can’t believe your mom would do it with a random stranger. I would never do it with a random stranger. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but something along those lines. I mean, sometimes it’s okay just to tell someone what she needs to hear, isn’t it?

  I can’t go home quite yet. The idea of facing my mother is just too excruciating to consider. If I thought the How was your day, sweetie? questions were grating, I can only imagine what she has in store for me now. Perhaps if I stay out late enough, she’ll be asleep when I get home. If I’m lucky, she’ll be exhausted from all the high-octane afternoon activity.

  Sloan. Sloan is the answer here. Sloan has a new job at a pizza place in La Jolla Village Square. She is planning to go on a student tour of London and Paris this summer, and her parents are asking her to pay for half of the trip. This is her first week on the job and she’s been working really hard. I walk in, grab a table, and wait for her to notice I’m there. She catches sight of me from behind the counter, where she’s working the cash register. I don’t want to interrupt her or get her in trouble, so I wait. When she gets her break, we take a walk around the mall. I fill her in on the unfortunate, and unsightly, recent events. Sloan, my port in the storm, has all the right answers.

  “What is your mother thinking?” she a
sks, incensed. “She went all holy and pure when she found your condoms, and meanwhile she’s got a little something going on? Who is she to tell you that you don’t know Luke well enough to do it? Does she even know this guy? I mean, who is he?”

  “Exactly!” I concur, thankful to finally be in the presence of sanity. What a relief it is to speak to someone who validates my feelings. “And Sloan, it was so unbelievably gross. I mean, the sights, the sounds, the whole thing. I can’t shake the image.”

  “Ugh! I can only imagine. It’s making me sick, and I didn’t even see it.”

  “Seriously,” I say as we sit on a bench outside the movie theater. “But the worst part is Luke. It’s almost like he took the opportunity to say, ‘By the way, your mom’s not the only one who’s going to be surprising you with terrible news today. I, too, plan to sleep with people who mean nothing to me.’ ”

  “I’m shocked. I thought he was so into the committed-relationship thing,” she says.

  “I thought so too,” I say. “But he seems to think there are plenty of wonderful opportunities to have sex with perfect strangers. He definitely does not see this lasting after he’s gone.”

  “Very disappointing,” Sloan says, checking the time on her phone. “I gotta get back.”

  “Don’t make me go home,” I whine teasingly. “I can’t face my horny mommy.”

  I walk Sloan back to work. She gives me a big hug. “Just tell her she’s your role model and you want to be just like her, so you’re going to take a page out of her playbook, and she might want to knock on your bedroom door from here on out.” We share a laugh.

  “Excellent idea,” I say. “What would I do without you?”

  I walk into the house as quietly as is humanly possible, hoping and praying that I can somehow avoid a confrontation. I have barely placed a foot inside when I hear her.

  “Hi, honey,” she says. Her voice is lacking that chipper tone she usually uses when she’s greeting me at the end of the day. She’s taking a more careful, almost apologetic approach. “I’m in the kitchen. Come on in.”

  Is No thanks, I’m good an option? Probably not. I enter cautiously. I half expect my mom to look different somehow. My impression of her has changed so dramatically since I saw her this afternoon, legs spread and bouncing furiously, that I am pleasantly surprised to find my unchanged mother at the stove.

  Mom is stirring a big pot of minestrone soup. Warm crusty bread and a chopped salad are already on the table. She’s prepared one of my favorite meals—​her shameless attempt to win me back, no doubt. The table is set for two. Trapped!

  “I’m not really hungry,” I say, hoping she’ll let me retreat into the safety of my room.

  “Sit down, Janey,” she says, sweetly but firmly.

  “Is there any chance we can get away with not discussing this?” I ask, almost begging.

  “No chance,” my mom says. She gives me a remorseful smile. “Sit down.”

  I do as I’m told and sit at the table while my mom doles out bowls of soup. I toss the salad and load generous heaps onto our plates even though I feel far too nauseated to digest chopped turkey, salami, and cheese. However, assuming the duty of salad server does afford me the opportunity to look at something other than my mother’s We’re about to have a very important conversation expression.

  She sits down and wastes no time. “I’m very sorry about this afternoon.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am,” I say.

  “I can only imagine how surprising that was for you,” she adds, trying to be sympathetic.

  “Can you, Mom? Can you, really?” I don’t know if she really grasps how utterly horrific it was for me.

  “Yes, I can,” she tries to assure me.

  “Who even was that?” I ask.

  “Jason Maiser,” she explains. “He’s a fifth-grade teacher. He’s new this year. He’s been divorced about a year, has two kids in college—”

  “I don’t need his résumé,” I interrupt. “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “We’ve gone out a couple of times,” she says, breaking off a piece of bread and putting it on her plate.

  “A couple of times? Do you know him well enough to have sex?” I ask pointedly.

  “I don’t think that’s really your business,” she says, clearly trying not to sound punishing, but it stings nonetheless.

  I take a big swallow of soup. “That’s essentially what you said to me when you were worried I was rushing into sex with Luke,” I say.

  “It’s different,” she says.

  “How is it different?” I want to know.

  Mom puts down her spoon and leans back in her chair. “I’m a grown woman. A woman going through a divorce. You’re still technically a kid. And you’re my kid, so it’s my job to try to guide you in the right direction. I want you to make good choices that you won’t regret.”

  “But you should be taking your own advice,” I say. “You should be making good choices. After all, as you say, you’re a grownup, so you should behave like one.”

  “Are you saying that grownups shouldn’t have sex?” she asks.

  “No. Of course not. I know grownups have sex. But I don’t think you should be having sex with some dude from work you barely know. And in the afternoon with your door open? Seriously, Mom, not so grown-up of you,” I say.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. Yes, it was stupid to assume you weren’t coming home and to be careless about the time and place. However, I want to remind you that longing and desire and need do not go away when you hit thirty or forty, or probably fifty,” she says, looking closely at me.

  “This may be falling into the category of too much information,” I caution, getting up from the table to refill my soup bowl.

  “I don’t think so,” she says. “Teenagers tend to assume that the world, and all the good stuff in it, is reserved for them. But Janey, when you’re thirty-five and forty, you’re going to feel like the same person you feel like today. And you’re still going to want to feel wanted. That doesn’t go away.”

  “I’m not saying it goes away, but I would think that your priorities would change. I mean, isn’t being a mom, being my mom, more important than getting some?”

  Now she looks confused. “Well, first, don’t be gross. And second, of course it is. Nothing is more important to me than being your mom. But I’m not just your mom. I’m also a woman. A woman who is single for the first time in almost twenty years.” She puts down her fork and shifts her body so she’s leaning on the table, her face getting close to mine. “Let me ask you this,” she says. “How do you feel when you’re with Luke?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” I say. I’m afraid she wants me to talk about how he makes me feel sexually, and there’s no way in hell I’m going there.

  “When you’re walking down the street and his arm is around you. Or when he sends you a text and tells you he loves you. How does that make you feel?”

  “Um, good?” I answer weakly.

  “Come on, Janey, you’ve mastered the English language, for god’s sake. I would think you’d be able to come up with something a little more descriptive than just one syllable. Tell me how it makes you feel to know that this guy who is smart and athletic and handsome adores you. Think about it.”

  I think about Luke. I think about the first time he held my hand in the school hallway. I think about our first kiss in his Jeep after we had smoothies. I think about the time he stood me in front of my mirror and told me I was perfect.

  “I feel lucky and beautiful,” I admit.

  “Do you think you’re ever going to stop wanting to feel that?” she asks.

  I think for an extended moment. This time not about Luke, but about myself. The way I feel about myself has changed considerably since that fateful plane ride from Mexico to San Diego. I am aware of myself as a sexual person who is desired. I am confident about the woman I am becoming. I love how I feel.

  “No.” I sigh.

&nb
sp; The past few months have brought more changes and surprises and challenges than the several years prior. My parents’ separation has made me redefine our family. As a kid, I thought of my parents as merely a mom and a dad, like they had no other identities. Sure, I was aware of their jobs, but their roles of teacher and pilot were secondary to their jobs of meeting my needs. My needs to be fed, driven, tickled, tucked in, read to, hugged, kissed, cheered up, and advised. My mom and dad met all of my needs—​physical, material, emotional—​readily and appropriately. I didn’t ever stop to think that those needs are not unique to me. They are basic human needs, and my parents, as hard as it is to admit, are human.

  I can now fully understand that part of growing up is accepting that my parents are grownups, and grownups are complex human beings who have not only needs, but also shortcomings and flaws. They mess up, just like I do. I’m not going to stop messing up just because I get married and have kids. Even though my mom and dad look and act, in my eyes, like old people, I guess they don’t feel much different than they did when they were seventeen. They’re working hard to meet my needs as well as their own.

  I have fallen in love and become aware of an array of new and pressing needs. I now feel the need to be touched and pleased. Knowing what it feels like to be truly wanted has made me realize that I need that, too. It’s scary to need something that I cannot provide for myself. It makes me feel vulnerable to know that these emotions that are making me feel whole could go away.

  Luke makes me feel sexy and strong and desired. And he’s going away. Does that mean those feelings are going to go away? I don’t want to feel complete only when there’s boy around who loves me. I won’t always have a boyfriend. I don’t want to always have a boyfriend. I want to be single and independent at various times throughout my life, and I need to be okay with that. I need to figure out how to keep feeling confident even when no one is holding me close and whispering I love you into my ear.

  It makes my head spin to imagine the future, how I’m going to feel, what I’m going to want. I’m not ready to think like a grownup, even though I’m well aware that what I’m doing with Luke is supposedly a pretty grown-up thing. Right this very second I feel like a little kid—​lost and untethered. The afternoon was confusing and upsetting. I hate that I saw my mother having sex. I hate that I fought with Luke. I hate that I’m going to lose him. I have so many feelings inside me, feelings that are new and complicated. I’m scared.