“Yeah, maybe,” I said, unsure how to respond. He was a coach. Is going out with a coach even allowed?
My mom’s car pulled up. She’d had that perky Lexus for almost a month, but it still surprised me to see her driving it. We had some work to do before she looked like she belonged behind the wheel. The haircut helped. But she still wore too much makeup. And those cheap faux Ray-Bans really had to go.
I waved to her （coming!） so she wouldn’t honk. “I gotta go.”
“Is that your mom?” Logan said, glancing at her, and I knew what he was thinking. Even those cheap sunglasses couldn’t hide that my mom was a Betty, blessed with full, pouty lips and perfect skin. People loved to say how we “didn’t look anything alike.” I knew what they were implying, but it happened so often I stopped getting offended.
“No, but I’ll get in her car anyway,” I snarked.
“A risk taker, I like it,” he said, and I felt my neck redden.
“See you tomorrow,” he called after me as I walked toward Mom’s Lexus. “For tacos!” he reminded, as if I possibly could have forgotten his invitation from thirty seconds ago.
“We’ll see,” I shouted back, then climbed in the car.
“Who’s that boy?” Mom asked as I clicked on my seat belt.
I felt my cheeks redden. Is it too soon for me to be talking up a boy? Or is Mom worried because she saw me crushing on someone out of my league?
“He used to run track, he’s helping manage the team,” I said, careful not to use the word “coach.” Or reveal that he already graduated, and from another school. I didn’t want to add “improper” to my growing wall of shame.
“He’s cute,” my mom remarked, and I quickly changed the subject.
“What’s for dinner?”
My mom cooked dinner every night. Usually it was something simple—pasta with homemade sauce, turkey meatloaf, some sort of stir fry. She wasn’t a bad cook, as long as you didn’t mind eating the same eight recipes on endless repeat.
“I thought we’d go out,” she said. “Someplace nice. To celebrate you making the track team.” She glanced over at me. I must have been looking at her like she had three heads, because she added, “Unless you don’t want to?”
We never went out to dinner. Not even since the accident. Especially since the accident. “Like where?” I asked cautiously, not knowing what “someplace nice” meant in the new version of our life.
“I found a nice sushi place near us?” she said, her voice going up like it was a question. “Not a little hole-in-the-wall like the one in our old neighborhood, an actual sit-down place.”
She seemed like she was trying to sell me on it, so I nodded. “That sounds great!”
For most people, going out for sushi was probably no big deal. But for my mom, in this moment, it was huge. She drove the car they gave her, and moved into her new Louis Vuitton bag, but other than that, she still lived like we had to watch every penny. I had to drag her to get a haircut, and she only agreed to go to a “by appointment only” salon because she found a Groupon. Her closet at home was mostly empty, and she still only bought “special” foods like macadamia nuts and Italian coffee if they were on sale.
“I just need to shower,” I said brightly to show her I was into it. “I’ll be quick!” I had felt guilty about spending my dad’s killer’s money at first, too. The first time I tapped my new debit card was at a McDonald’s for fries and an apple pie. As soon as I did it, I felt so sick to my stomach I ran outside and puked behind a tree. But after crying until my eyes burned, I got mad. That money was ours. We earned it with our blood, sweat, and a shit ton of tears. After two months of hating myself, I decided I was not going to let those murderers make me feel like the criminal here. And that meant spending that money. At the mention of sit-down sushi, I stupidly thought my mom might finally be coming around, too.
We pulled into our garage, which was empty except for the handful of unmarked boxes against the back wall that neither one of us wanted to touch. My dad probably had some cool T-shirts I could crop or tie in the back, but I didn’t look. I wasn’t ready to see his stuff, smell his smell, ugly cry until my eyes swelled, just for a few lousy T-shirts.
I hopped out of the car, glancing at my mom as I reached for my backpack. She still had her hands on the wheel. She’d had her nails done pale pink, and her diamond solitaire drooped to one side. She didn’t wear the wedding band anymore, just the diamond, because it was pretty and she didn’t have many pretty things. She had a faraway look in her eyes that made me feel nervous, but I wasn’t sure why.