Chapter Twenty-One
“Dealing” starts earlier than I expect it to, because when my mom wakes me up with a dish of pickled cucumbers—her surefire hangover cure—I know I’m in trouble. “Enough sleeping. Eat, Dotchka,” she says, holding it close enough to my nose to make me gag.
“Mama—”
“Don’t ‘Mama’ me when you are still passed out at two in the afternoon the day after a dance at which there isn’t supposed to be any drinking. Now eat.”
I hate to admit it, but they work. “Did you really think there wasn’t going to be any drinking at Homecoming? Besides, none of us were driving—the limo brought me home.”
“At what time?”
I mumble “3:00 a.m.” as quietly as I can, but she catches it anyway.
“Three?! Bozhe moi. Lara. There’s a reason you have a curfew, and I think it’s a pretty generous one—”
“If you wanted me to take the limo and stay safe with my friends, I couldn’t come home until everyone else was,” I point out.
In truth, I have no memory of what we were doing until that time, but judging by the gross, fuzzy taste in my mouth, it involved a lot of vodka.
“Anyway, I’m home. Safe. And eating pickled cucumbers.
” I take another one, as if it’ll make the argument for me.
She raises one of her eyebrows. “I take it you had fun.”
Did I have fun? I know I did all the things that are supposed to be fun. I danced and played drinking games and took a thousand pictures in my tiara.
I also know I avoided fooling around with Chase as much as possible and spent most of the night thinking about Jasmine until I drank enough to stop thinking about anything at all.
“I won queen,” I say instead of answering her question.
“And was that fun?” she asks, because my mother is very smart.
I hug my covers to myself. I want to tell my mom the truth. I want to tell her about Jasmine and how confused I am, and I want her to stroke my hair and call me Larotchka and tell me everything is gonna be okay and to just listen to my heart.
I want to, but I am fucking terrified.
“Of course,” I lie.
My mother always knows when anything less than the truth is falling from my lips; it’s why I have to text if I’m being slightly dishonest about where I’m gonna be. My face shows everything. And I wonder what it’s showing that’s making her give me that “Oh, honey” look.
But she doesn’t say anything. Just takes my hand.
And I fall apart.
My mother holds me while I cry into her shoulder, not moving even when I’m definitely getting snot all over her shirt. The hair stroking I’d been hoping for happens like clockwork, and I know that I’m running the risk of feeling it for the last time.
I can’t bear that.
My mother is pretty literally my everything. It’s why I barely complained about going to North Carolina for the summer. It’s why I didn’t argue with my father about me going to a state school. It’s why I’ve never fought her having full custody.
It’s why I have to tell her the truth, even though the very thought sends me into another round of tears.
“Larotchka, what happened? Did he hurt you?”
That’s enough to make me pick up my head and wipe my nose. “No, God. No. Chase was great. Chase is always great. It’s me. I’m a mess.”
“You’re not a mess; you’re my wonderful daughter who is not fully escaping punishment for missing curfew, but that’s beside the point for now.” She gently wipes a tear from my cheek with a neatly manicured fingernail. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath, and another, until I can talk without breaking into sobs. “I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to hate me.”
She looks like I’ve slapped her, which makes me feel worse. “You are my daughter. You are my whole heart, Larotchka. I could never.” She squeezes my hands so hard it’s like she’s trying to push that fact into my skin.
“I … there’s someone. Not Chase. Not … not a boy.” I exhale slowly. “I met a girl. She’s not my girlfriend or anything, but I think … I think that I want her to be. And I think she wants that too. And I know we’ve never talked about anything like this, but I didn’t—”
Her fierce hug cuts me off and sets off a fresh round of tears, her whispered “Larotchka” ruffling my mess of curls. “Bozhe moi, you had me so worried. This—happiness—is a good thing. Someone who loves you is what I want for my daughter.”
I didn’t think I could clutch my mother any tighter, but I’m pretty sure I’m leaving claw marks in her back. “You’ve always told me how traditional baba Mila and deda Tolya are, how mad they were when you had me without marrying Dad. I didn’t know how much tradition was in you too.”
“Do I seem traditional, Dotchka?”
“Well, there’s a dish of pickled cucumbers in my bed, so, yes?”
She laughs gently, releases me, tucks one of my messy curls behind my ear. “Some things about Russia, they stick. Their laws on gay people, not so much. But I have to admit I am surprised after so many years of hearing about the legend of Chase Harding.”
The mere mention of Chase, the knowledge that I have to tell him, makes me want to be sick all over again in a way Mama’s top remedy can’t cure.
“It wasn’t a lie,” I assure her. “I’m not gay.
I’m not sure what I am. I just know that this one girl makes me feel …
everything. The rest, I’ll have to figure out. ”
“You have plenty of time for that.” She drops a kiss on the top of my head. “How about we have a girls’ day? I’ll get some ice cream and we can watch movies and put on those ridiculous face masks.”
God, that sounds good. “Yes. Please. But I have to do something first.” There’s no point in putting off telling Chase.
Whatever happens with Jasmine, he deserves to spend his senior year of superstardom with a girl who’ll appreciate him.
And I’m no longer that girl. “I’ll come back right after, okay? ”
She nods, knowing exactly where I’m going. “I’m proud of you, Lara.”
“I’m pretty proud of me too,” I say honestly, “even if this feels kind of horrible.” I get up to get ready, turning away, and something hits me.
She hasn’t asked about the girl.
She didn’t say we’d watch movies while I tell her all about the person who’s stolen my heart. She didn’t ask who could’ve possibly made me forget about Chase Harding. Is that her way of giving me privacy? Or is this her way of keeping it—the truth of me—at a distance?
I want to say something, but I can’t. I don’t know if Jasmine told her parents the real reason she wanted to spend the year with Declan.
What if she didn’t? I can’t put my mom in the position of keeping this secret from her dad, and I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one who outs Jasmine either. What if—
“He feels the same way I do, in case you’re wondering,” Mama says softly to my back. “He and Sylvia both do.”
I turn slowly back around. “You knew.”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. I knew there was something special between you. I saw the way you were together. I saw you turn into a happier, more confident person around her. You wear your love for each other plain as day. I just didn’t know what kind of love. Now I do.”
“But you talked about it with Declan. And he talked about it with Sylvia.”
“Sylvia was the one who first mentioned it, actually, after that weekend you spent at her house. She said she’d never seen Jasmine glow like that.
And when Jasmine asked to spend the year here …
there’s a reason they gave in easily. I thought maybe it was only on her side, especially after all those years of your crush on Chase, but I see the glow on you too.
” She smiles. “It’s beautiful. You’re lucky to have each other. ”
“We don’t yet,” I tell her. “But we will. I hope. I don’t know as what. But we’ll figure it out.”
“Yes, you will. Deep breaths, Larotchka. You will get through this.”
I give her a kiss on the cheek, and then I’m off from one scary conversation to the next.
It doesn’t occur to me until I’m ringing Chase’s doorbell that I should’ve given him a heads-up.
No matter—he’s the one who answers the door, and he looks unfairly hot in a clingy T-shirt and shorts.
For a brief second, I contemplate not going through with this.
It would be so easy to keep riding the high of superstardom on Chase’s arm, to keep spending time with this good-looking and charming boy who genuinely likes me.
It’s not like Jasmine would tell anyone; she can disappear back to Asheville and I can finish out this perfect year I’ve been having.
I can wear my Homecoming crown and cheer at Chase’s games and hold his hand at the movies and pose with him for pictures at prom. I don’t have to blow that all apart.
Except I do. Because when I think about spending those Friday nights watching movies with Jasmine, when I think about Jasmine’s hips beneath my fingertips when we dance, when I think about ice cream dates and road trips and planning for college and making out in the backseat of a car …
she’s the person I wanna do all that with.
She’s my top-of-high-school-bucket-list prom date.
It’s that simple, even if it isn’t simple at all.
“Hey! I was just thinking about you.” He drops a kiss on my cheek and steps aside to let me in. “I had a great time last night.”
Well, that’s gonna make this harder. “I’m glad, but I really need to talk to you about something.”
“Oookay.” He closes the door behind me and leads me into his living room. “You want a drink?”
“No, thank you. Can—can we just sit?”
“This sounds serious.” He frowns. “This sounds breakup serious. Are you breaking up with me?”
I hesitate, because that’s really not how I wanted to start this conversation, and anger flashes in his eyes. “Did you seriously hook up with me to become Homecoming queen and then dump me? That’s really fucked-up.”
“No,” I assure him firmly. “God, no, Chase. It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” he asks, his voice dipped in acid.