See You in San Francisco

22 | valentine's day is a scam

          "Yes, yes, I'm sorry," my mother piped in. She wasn't really sorry, though, and I balled my hands into tight fists. Somehow, she always found a way of ruining everything. "I'm running late."

          "Don't expect me to be home for dinner. I'm sleeping at Christina's house."

          She straightened her shoulders, standing as straight as an iron board. "Excuse me?"

          "Well, it's Valentine's Day," I explained, hating that I had to dumb myself down to explain something that should be painfully obvious to her. "It's also my birthday, in case you've forgotten. It's been eighteen years since you popped me out, which, in theory, makes me an independent adult who doesn't actually owe you an explanation—"

          She sighed, with all the patience and condescension in the world. "Grace, first of all: Valentine's Day is a scam. Companies don't actually care about celebrating love; they care about celebrating the money you spend on their products while thinking they do."

          I had been trying to be a better person and to not pinpoint my mother's flaws at every opportunity I found. The only problem was that she was making that a much harder task than it should actually be, and her fake anti-capitalist monologue was sending my anger to a whole new level.

          Nevertheless, instead of letting it ruin my day even more, I ignored her. I finished my coffee, rinsed my mug with water, and carefully placed it inside the dishwasher. Any sudden movements would piss off my mother to an extra degree and, by that point, the mere prospect of going to school was strangely appetizing.

          "See you," I said, waving over my shoulder and grabbing my helmet. With the rain, I knew I was bound to drive off the cycling road and swerve into the main road, and I was not willing to get into an accident. Christina's bike would have to do. "Try not to frighten many people today. Smile."

          My mother scowled. "Do not tell me to smile."

          The kinship I felt towards her shouldn't be so strange to me as it was—she was still my mother, after all. I'd heard the same thing all my life—smile, be nicer, don't be intimidating—and it just made me want to smile less. My smiles had to be earned and deserved.

          I didn't bother saying anything else. Instead, I followed Christina outside and hopped on her bike. I was secretly glad we wouldn't have to talk about it on the way to school; in fact, I wasn't sure if I ever wanted us to acknowledge the entire conversation.

          Ever.

          The decorations at school were as tacky as they could possibly be. It was the kind of stuff Courtney liked—dangling hearts and glitter everywhere—but it definitely wasn't my thing. I was shocked they hadn't set up a kissing booth somewhere, as I remembered it being mentioned last year, but I was glad. It was so much more hygienic that way.

          Courtney's hair even matched most of the decorations. Everywhere I looked, I saw red, pink, sparkly things, especially when she was around. All of that for one day in the entire year.

          When June died, no one decorated the school in black for everyone to mourn. Felix had to take care of the memorial all by himself; how was that for hypocrisy?

          As if my day couldn't get any weirder, the second odd thing I noticed, besides the horrible, tactless decorations, was Sofia's amicable conversation with Leon. Ever since I first moved to Palo Alto, those two had always been at each other's throats, even after he started dating June and, even worse, after June died.