Page 5 of All of You

“Whose house was that?” I ask while pulling out some gear from under the bed.

“Hmm?” Mom says.

I hand Mom our chairs and ask again.

“Oh. He’s a nice man. We’re going to settle in here and then walk over to the house. I’ll introduce you.”

“Does this nice man have a name?” Irritation bubbles inside me. Of course we moved for a guy.

It figures.

“Heath.” She says the name like a bitter pill—weird. I let it go. Mom seems put out and frazzled which is weird enough considering move-in day is usually the best day of wherever we land. The first week is when she pushes the excitement of exploring a new place and making new friends.

“That ice cream shop in town looked cute. Maybe we can go after dinner?” I suggest.

Mom shakes her head. “Not tonight.” I pout at her. “I promise you’ll forget all about ice cream in a little bit.”

I don’t understand why she thinks that. I basically have a one-track mind when it comes to desserts but again, she looks so off that I let it go and help her set up the rest of our stuff. I really hope we’re not living in the van. The spot is gorgeous and private but that also means no water hook-up and no toilet.

Which sucks. Hopefully, this is just a couple nights before she finds an apartment or house to rent.

“Do you know when school starts?” I ask.

It’s August and a lot of the schools here start before Labor Day rather than after. If I’m honest, having school to attend is often better than having nothing to do all day long in a camper van. Maybe tomorrow I can walk into town and look for a job too. Sock away some more money in my ‘oh shit’ account.

I keep most of my money there for our ‘oh shit’ moments, like a tire blowing out, or gifts or oil changes, or dances that require dresses that my mom has no savings to be able to purchase. I keep a checking account and mom keeps a checking account and the difference between the two is that my checking account is a place to put money and basically not spend it unlessnecessary, and mom’s checking account is a place money goes to magically disappear.

“Um, nope. I haven’t looked,” she says. Her eyes dart toward the house and back. “But the high school’s called Mt. Morse if you want to google it.”

While she’s distracted and behaving rather nervously, I grab her phone and look up the high school calendar. First day for Seniors is September second. That gives me twelve days to figure out classes, summer reading if there was any, and hopefully find a new outfit.

I stuff a banana in my mouth wishing it were bacon-dusted fries as I set her phone on the bed. Mom flits about, in andout of the van, setting up camp. I lie belly down on the bed and pull out my journal.

August 2022

We’ve landed in our new home. A tree lined plot of dirt. On the way in town Mom embarrassed me. Or maybe I embarrassed myself. She caught me ogling a guy. Not just any guy really, an ovary-exploding kind of attractive guy. Hazel eyes. Dimples—yes plural. Naughty grin, tan skin, muscles. My god—the muscles. I swear boys go from gangly twigs to full-on men over the course of a summer. When his eyes caught mine the molecules between us zapped and buzzed with chemistry. So embarrassing.

Obviously, I freaked out and ducked out of sight because I am graceful and oh so cool and made for flirting. I’m a natural at being awkward. Then mom had to go and wave at him. Like she actually lifted her goddamn hand and waved. Sometimes I wonder if she has any boundaries at all.

In that moment though, when she waved, I honestly thought my head had disengaged from my body with mortification and tumbled to the footwell between my flip-flopped feet…and still she didn’t even notice. She wore that mischievous grin that made her eyes sparkle and laughed.

I wish I knew how to be as bold as my mother sometimes. If there’s one incredible trait she possesses…it’s unabashed boldness. The ability to give zero fucks about how people perceive her is downright admirable. But that boy…I don’t know…it felt like a spark of energy when his eyes locked onto mine. Is that even possible?

“Delia, it’s time.” Mom’s voice floats through the window. I set my journal down, pen inside the page, like a bookmark,and slip on my sandals.

The sun is low in the sky, hanging full and saturated like an overripe orange. Offering mom a smile I say, “Ok. Let’s go meet this Heath dude.”

“He’s not a dude, he’s an old man.”

I scrunch up my face. Since when does mom go for old men? She swats at me. “It’s not likethat. This is important.” She smooths my flyways in place and gives me a once-over before nodding to herself.

“Was I supposed to dress up for this?” I ask, glancing down at a fitted black tee shirt and cut-off jean shorts.

“No babe, you look perfect. As always.” She kisses my forehead.

“What’s up with you?” I ask. “You’re being weird.”

Mom cups my face between her hands and looks deeply into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says before grabbing my hand and walking us down the path, toward the house.What’s her deal?

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