Chapter 6 #2
“We’ll be fine. I’ve ridden in much worse conditions.
Thank you, though. You also, please drive home safely.
I would hate to have something happen to my two new friends.
” He gave Gilda a wink before tucking his phone into his pocket, his dog under his arm, and heading for the door.
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” He juggled the min pin burrito, plucked a few mismatched mittens from the line, and dropped his donation into the jar. “There. Now we can go. Mush, Della!”
Gilda and I both laughed at the thought of that little dog pulling a sled. We stood by the window watching as Anders got his pup strapped into the doggy seat on his handlebars, tucked her in tightly, and with a jaunty wave, pedaled off.
“He’s very nice, isn’t he?” I asked while watching Anders take off with speed, bent over the bike like a racer.
“His dog is cool. I bet he doesn’t talk about her personal female issues with the whole town like you! He seems smarter than that.”
She stalked off, tossing the curtain aside with attitude. I drew in a breath through my nose and followed, moving around in front of her to block her from locking herself into the bathroom. The glower I got was intense. Gilda folded her arms over her chest.
“Okay, I get that you’re mad, and you have a right to be, but that does not clear you from speaking to me with respect.
I’m not a total moron, and your calling me dumb is not cool.
” Her eyes rolled. Hard. But she didn’t snap back.
“Now, we’re going to close the shop early and go home before the snow gets any worse.
While we’re riding home, I think we both should think about what we wish to say to each other, calmly and respectfully, and then we’ll talk over dinner. Now, get your coat and hat.”
She did as she was told but the silence was as icy as the weather outside.
There were a few inches on the roads already, and it was highly doubtful anyone was out doing any shopping with several more inches predicted.
Thankfully, the Subaru handled the snowy roads well, and within fifteen minutes, we were home.
Gilda went to her room, the door closing with a little more vinegar than was necessary.
Toeing off my boots, I let out a weary sigh.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. If this were someone ringing me up to say they were at the shop and needed something, I would scream.
Thankfully, for my larynx, it was Anders texting to tell me that he and Della were in the camper and that she was trying her best to gnaw through the mittens on her tiny feet.
I hit him back to let him know that we’d also gotten home safely.
Then I walked to the door of my angry almost teen and rapped gently.
The thumping dance beat of a K-pop band floated out from the crack under the door.
I had no clue which band it was. I knocked louder.
With a huff that the big bad wolf would be proud of, she threw the door open.
And then stood there, hip out, arms crossed, the very epitome of a rankled teenager.
It was going to be a turbulent few years.
“Anders and Della are home. She’s eating mittens.”
“Okay.” She closed the door in my face and cranked the K-pop back up.
“Nice talking to you too,” I mumbled before turning from the door to go make some coffee while staring at the snow, wondering what to make for dinner and how to make amends for my gaffe.
The meal would be easy. Chicken nuggets and mac and cheese.
She might be older now, but she still loved her nugs and cheesy mac.
Trying to navigate the explanation slash apology would be far harder.
So, I did what most people would do. I sat down with my coffee and began scouring the internet for tips on how to speak to your upset teenager.
I suspected I might need those suggestions over the next few years.
***
Dinner started out tense.
The snow outside was still falling, covering the ground with a few inches of white fluff that would taper off after midnight, according to my weather app.
Gilda remained sequestered in her room until I had summoned her to come eat.
Usually we chatted over the meal, relaying to each other how our day was or what was new in school, etc. , but tonight it was strained.
Even with the nuggets and homemade macaroni and cheese, she didn’t seem willing to let go of her upset. Finally, after ten minutes of stilted silence with only the sound of the fridge coming on and the clink of silverware to plates, I spoke up.
“I know that you’re upset…” She dunked a nugget into some honey with real ire.
“And I know I stepped out of bounds speaking about your personal information without your consent. I am sorry, truly.” She chewed as she stared at the gooey mac and cheese on her plate.
“I didn’t think of how you might feel.” Her sight flickered from her plate to me and to her glass of milk.
“I was trying to find out how I could do better as a parent to a young lady—”
“I hate that term.” She shoved another nugget into the monkey dish of honey.
“Young lady?” I asked and got a violent nod. Sandy hair falling into her eyes that she pushed back with a sticky thumb. “What do you not like about the term young lady?”
“It’s just so patronizing and old-fashioned. It’s super condescending. Like, it reeks of a power dynamic that minimizes a woman’s accomplishments.”
I stared blankly. My fork was loaded with cheesy goodness. “Oh. Okay, well, I didn’t realize it was so offensive. I thought it was respectful or even endearing. My mother used to use it all the time when talking about girls under eighteen or so.”
She dunked another nug. “My generation doesn’t like being made to feel less than because we don’t fit some patriarchal notion of what a lady is. I’d much rather hear someone use a more feminist term like young woman or young people.”
“Noted.” I regrouped. “I was trying to find out how I could do better as a parent to a young woman and was fixated on my side of things. Gilda, you know I would never embarrass you on purpose.”
She blew out a breath that rolled over the table to cool my nuggets.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just too stupid of people to come up and talk to you about your period.
Like, I love Franny, I do, but why does she think I need advice on how to menstruate?
Also, her tips were like from the 1700s or something.
Drink lemonade? What the heck is that about?
What is that supposed to even do for you? ”
I shrugged, glad to hear that some of the rancor had left her voice.
“I have no clue. Old folks have old ways, not always the best ways, but that was how they were raised. Maybe it helps keep a body hydrated. There are notes about keeping hydrated and how it can alleviate some of the discomfort and bloating. What?”
“Can we not talk about my bloating?”
“Sorry. I’m not wholly sure what we can talk about when it comes to this subject, honey.
I’m doing my best to tread carefully yet stay informed.
Being a man, I don’t have firsthand knowledge, so I have to glean what I can from the internet and other women.
That was what I was doing when I went to the Woolverines for advice. ”
She chewed and nodded. “Yeah, I know. It was just so embarrassing. And she said it right in the store with like two other people there shopping for embroidery floss. I mean, yeah, they were women and all, but it was still super cringe.”
“She meant well.” It was all I could say at the moment. “I can talk with her about it if you want?”
“Yeah, okay, that would be cool. I love Franny, but I just don’t want to talk about my period. And I get that you didn’t do it to be a jerk.” The tight lines around her eyes smoothed.
“I didn’t, and I never would. I see that I kind of messed up big time with how I handled it. And I promise I will never discuss anything that personal with anyone other than you.”
She gave me a weak smile. “I would like to bring up a point I have, and I think we need to clarify. I know you were mad and people say things in anger that they regret later, but I will not allow you to call me dumb. I’m not a fancy college graduate, but I’m not stupid either. That’s disrespectful and hurtful.”
Her sight fell to her plate. “Okay, sorry, I didn’t really mean it. I know you’re smart. I won’t say that again.”
“Cool.” She rolled her eyes, which signaled that we were past the worst of the storm. “Groovy? Keen? Far out? What is the term young adults are using now?”
“Cool is okay. Lit or fire. Just not groovy. That’s so Scooby-Doo.”
That made me chuckle. “We should watch one of those Scooby-Doo movies tonight.”
“Yeah, sure, we can do that. I need some help with making a sweater for Della. I’m not sure how to work sleeves in for her front legs.”
“I can help.” She smiled, a real smile, and we spent the rest of that night curled on the sofa, knitting dog sweaters and tiny mittens, while watching Scooby and the gang deal with an island filled with zombie pirates.
I even got a peck on the cheek before she went to bed.
The wild storms of teendom do blow up and die off quickly, it seemed.
Better make sure I invest in some floaties for the next typhoon.