What I Know About Love Stories

Lesson #3

Lesson #3: I hate to admit this, but sometimes your mother…is right. But don’t ever tell my mother I said that.

“Mom do you think this is too much eyeliner?” I asked as my mom watched me from the bathroom doorway. “I was going for smoky eye, but I’m afraid that I have veered into raccoon.”

“You look fine honey,” my mom cajoled rolling her eyes. “It’s just a date.”

“Mother, I have told you a thousand times that this is not just a date. This guy could be your future son in law. You have to take this seriously.” She may have rolled her eyes at me again, but I had just stabbed myself in the eye with my eyeliner pencil and was trying to not cry out in pain.

“Okay, okay. But if this is so important maybe you should call Kelsi to help you out with your makeup.” I frowned not responding to her helpful suggestion. Kelsi and I were still “warring states” for the time being. She refused to apologize to me for her hurtful words about Dylan. “Sweetie I don’t want to minimize you possibly meeting the love of your life so quickly, but maybe you should try to take things a little slower and freak out a little less.”

“I’m not rushing mom,” I pouted as I tried to remove some clumped mascara. “And I’m not freaking out! I just want everything to be perfect!” I stabbed my eye once again with the mascara wand this time and tried not to cry. So maybe I was freaking out a little bit, but she didn’t have to point it out. I really should have called Kelsi for some help. Makeup and I just didn’t get along.

“Honey, first dates are never perfect. It’s all awkward moments and stilted conversation. Why when your father and I—“ she broke off midsentence her tired eyes wide in shock. She had just realized mid thought that she was finally speaking about a man she had purposely avoided discussing my entire life.

“Why don’t you ever talk about him?” I asked giving up on the makeup. I wanted to make it to this date with at least one properly working eye. “What happened between you two to you can never mention him? Did he just one day decide to leave us? Is he dead? In prison? Have a second family? Did you run from him because he was abusive?”

“Run from who?”

“My biological father mom. Tell me something about him for once!”

“You need to finish your makeup.”

“Mom, please—“ I was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.

“I’ll go get that. You just finish getting ready,” she called racing for the front door. “Don’t want to keep him waiting too long right?” I sighed in frustration facing my reflection in the mirror. Why couldn’t she just tell me something about him? All I wanted was to know some piece of who he was. Did I get my intelligence from him? My determined planning? My stubbornness? I wanted to be able to answer the simple question of where my father was when asked. Even if he was some axe murderer that would be better than some ghost never spoken of in our house.

I heard my mom downstairs happily chatting with Dylan. He was probably charming her with stories about his music producer father. Mom loved her celebrity gossip. Dylan would be a perfect addition to our family. I could picture our future home now with our kids running about. Maybe a dog or two. And mom could live in the gorgeous home next door stopping by to make cookies once a week. Finally my life would be perfect and close to normal. I applied a small amount of lip gloss before making my way downstairs to meet with my destiny.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to finish getting ready,” I called out walking down the stairs. “I just wanted to make sure everything was perf—Tucker?!?”