Page 17 of Under Southern Stars
“But do you know what it’s ABOUT?” She’s looking at me like I just announced I speak fluent Klingon.
Just to mess with her—but also because it’s an amazing song—I lock eyes with Madison and belt out the chorus to “The Giver” at full volume.
“Oh my God. Oh my GOD.” Madison covers her face. “Please tell me you don’t actually know what—”
“Madison, I’m thirty-eight, not dead. Also, I was in college once.”
“MOOOOOM!” She’s practically climbing out the window. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”
I turn the volume down slightly, grinning at her mortification. There’s something unexpectedly liberating about shocking my teenager, about being seen as something more than just “Mom.”
“Okay, changing the subject forever,” Madison says. She studies me as I pull into Chloe’s driveway. “So. You really like this guy, huh?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You always say that.” She grabs her bag but doesn’t get out yet. “Just…try to have fun tonight? Without overthinking everything?”
“I don’t overthink—”
She gives me a look that’s pure fifteen-year-old superiority. “Mom. You pre-plan your grocery lists. In order of store layout.”
“That’s being efficient.”
“That’s overthinking.” She opens the door. “Don’t be efficient tonight. Just be…you. The you who knows all the words to ‘The Giver’.”
“Madison—”
“Love you! Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She practically runs to Chloe’s door, leaving me sitting there with my face burning.
My fifteen-year-old just gave me dating advice.
And used Chappell Roan to do it.
God help me.
8:24. Six minutes to get to Giuseppe’s. Six minutes to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Six minutes to talk myself into—or out of—whatever is happening between Jack and me.
My phone buzzes.
Jack: Running few minutes late. Got caught with a late call. Be there by 8:40. Sorry!
Me: No problem. I'll grab us a table.
