Page 22 of Italian Professor

“You’ll be fine, baby girl. Stand your ground and show her that you’re an adult with a good head on your shoulders.”

“She thinks you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

“Yeah, she does, but it doesn’t matter. With time, we’ll just prove her wrong.”

He pulls out of the drive and I walk back inside. My mother is sitting down on the sofa, pretending she hasn’t been watching us.

“Aria, what is wrong with you? I told you all of the stories about my teen years and what older men tried to do to me. Some even succeeded. Now, you’re putting yourself in the same position.”

“No, I’m not. He didn’t approach me. I approached him.”

“You did what?”

“I approached him. He didn’t want to get involved with me because he knew that it would cause controversy, but I pursued him anyway because I really liked him. I still do. I want to be with him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

“You seduced your teacher? Are you kidding me?”

“Why do you make everything sound so vile and dirty when it comes to this? You’ve overshared way too many things about your sex life with me and I’ve never once judged you, Mother.”

“I’m an adult…”

“So am I. Sure I have four months of school left and I guess that might blur your vision, but I’m not going to mature drastically in less than half a year. I’m grown up and I get to decide who I want to be with.”

“You’re going to get hurt.”

“No, you got hurt because you were surrounded by men with bad intentions. I won’t get hurt because Anthony isn’t like that.”

“Do whatever you want but not here. I don’t want him coming into this house to see you.”

“If that makes you feel like you have some kind of power over the situation, that’s fine. It’s your house. Are we finished?”

“If that’s how you’re going to be, then I guess so.”

“Great. I’m hungry and you’re drunk. I’m going to make some dinner,” I tell her and move to the kitchen.

She sits down at the kitchen table and continues to sip on what I can only assume is her third or fourth daiquiri of the day. She’s become a pro at hiding her intoxication from outsiders, but she can’t hide it from me. I can always see the subtle changes in her tone and demeanor.

I slide a plate of pasta in front of her and take a seat at the other end of the table.

“Carbs? I can’t eat carbs.”

“Yes, you can. You’re a solid ten pounds under your ideal body weight and the pasta will soak up some of the alcohol so you don’t wake up with a hangover.”

“You’re so smart,” she grins and picks up her fork.

“Good. For a minute, I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I’m not talking about your choice of lover. Even smart people can have bad judgment. Just look at me for example.”

“Let’s just eat and go to bed. Maybe things will change by morning.”

“That’s a wonderful thought, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” she snorts and goes back to sipping her drink.

I stand up and lean on the table in front of her. “You would know, Mother. You’re the only problem here.”

I slip out of the room and up the stairs before she can come up with a response. I sometimes forget how a simple conversation with her can be so exhausting. Everything is about her. She hears me but doesn’t listen, especially to what I’m not saying.

My phone chimes and I see that Anthony has messaged me. He wants to know how things went after he left. I consider texting back but I really need to hear his voice so I call him instead.

---