Page 28 of Two Weeks to Fall in Love

Two Weeks to Have the Talk

The rhythmic tapping of my mom’s fingers against the living room table was making me nervous.

There was nothing worse than knowing you were in trouble, and then instead of the yelling, there was silence . Mothers had perfected the art of making you feel extremely guilty without even having to say a single word. A stern look was enough.

I cleared my throat for the third time in the last five minutes, eyes temporarily focusing on the beads of water dripping down the two glasses set on the table between us. “I, um, I can explain.”

“Mm-hm,” Mom hummed.

“It’s really not what you think. Noah was just, uh, he was kidding.

I mean, we’re not like, serious about dating.

” I stumbled over my words, and Mom raised her eyebrow.

“Not to say that we’re playing around, it’s more that we’re still getting to, um, know each other, so who knows if our relationship will last long, you know?

” I kept rambling, as I always did when I felt awkward.

“We might break up in like, a week, or something.”

Mom was still silent, tapping away with her fingers. I felt beads of sweat roll down my neck. Just as I was about to go into another awkwardness-fueled monologue, Mom let out a sigh and shook her head.

“Honestly, Sky, I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me, that’s all.”

Oh no. She was going to hit me with the I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. My stomach clenched.

“We used to talk about everything. I didn’t realize that had changed. I’m not mad at you hiding this, I’m just disappointed in myself that you felt like you had to. Do you feel judged by me? Can you not trust me? Is that why?”

Ugh. This was worse than I’d expected. “Mom, this wasn’t about you. It’s complicated with Noah. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew that this would last.”

“I see, I understand. You didn’t see the point in talking to your mom about boys.

It’s not like she’s been patiently waiting to talk to you about boys since that crush you had two years ago,” she said, sniffling.

“And it’s not like she has twice your age of experience with men. What could she know?”

Oh, dramatics laced with passive aggression. Delightful .

“Mom,” I said, in a voice that probably made me sound more like an adult than the fake-sniffling woman in front of me. Mom waved her hand in the air dismissively.

“Don’t worry about me, darling. I guess I should get used to my only child becoming a distant stranger. I had always wished to become best friends with my daughter, but alas,” she said, holding a hand to her forehead for maximum drama.

My lips twitched. I was already used to Mom having the maturity of a pine cone when she started her woe is me act, but this was on a next level.

“Oh, come on, Mom, you know you’re my friend,” I said, and she stopped her little act to raise her brow at me.

“Best friend, that is.” She nodded, her hand returning to her forehead.

“I tell you everything that matters. This wasn’t one of those things, so I just thought getting you excited for what might be nothing was pointless. ”

“A boy showing up to our house and staying for dinner doesn’t matter?” she asked, frowning at me for a second before her face returned to her forlorn expression. “It matters not, I understand, for you it is of little consequence what is shared between us . . .”

Oh god . Once she started speaking like she’d walked out of a historical novel, I knew it was time to wrap things up.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what you want to know, I promise, just enough with the theatrics,” I relented, raising my hands in defeat.

The change was instant, her face morphing from a sorrowful gaze into one of clear mischief and curiosity.

“You promised,” she sang, happy with her little victory.

“You really deserve an Oscar,” I muttered in protest, and Mom giggled.

“Why, thank you, thank you,” she said, and bowed her head two times before straightening and leaning closer toward me. “Now tell me everything.”

“I mean, there’s not much to tell.”

Mom clicked her tongue impatiently and tapped her manicured fingers against the table again. “Where did you meet?”

“Uh, school?” Duh .

“Is he in your classes?”

“Some of them, yes.”

“Is he the old friend you started talking to recently?”

“Uh, yes and no.”

A raised eyebrow was her only response. Further explanation was necessary.

“I started talking to an old friend recently, so I used him as an excuse that day. ’Cause, Dad.”

“Mm-hm,” Mom mumbled knowingly. She knew how protective Dad would get. “Did he ask you out?”

“Uhh, no. I, um, kinda asked him out.” I blurted this out as quickly as I could.

“You asked him out? What did you do to my Skyler?” she asked, in mock horror, and I snorted, rolling my eyes. And then she tried to seem overly casual while adding, “You have to like him at least a little then, right?”

“I don’t know. He is . . . interesting.” Not a lie. Not the truth either. I took a sip of water, my throat uncomfortably dry.

“Are you using protection?”

The water flew out of my mouth and across the table. “Using what?”

“Protection,” Mom said, staring at me in confusion. “For sex,” she added, for extra clarification.

Heat surged to my cheeks. “Mom! Sex?! What?!” I stumbled over my words, my voice sounding alarmingly close to a squeaky toy a dog would chew on.

“Oh, you’re seventeen and a senior, I’m not going to pretend like you’re not going to have sex with your boyfriend. I’m not your dad.” She waved her hand in the air, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “Just make sure you use protection. It’s not just for pregnancy, it’s for STDs as well, and—”

“Mom, please stop, we will not be having the sex,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and wishing this conversation would evaporate.

“Definitely don’t let him pressure you, darling.

It’s fine to wait, if that’s what you want.

Just trust your own feeling about it,” she said, and I exhaled, hoping this meant we were done with the topic.

I was wrong. So very wrong. She continued, “I had sex my first year of college, and wow, that was like an awakening, but honestly, until I met your dad I didn’t really—”

I stood up abruptly, clenching my hands over my ears. This was too embarrassing. Maybe we could revisit this conversation in a few years. Or never—never seemed good.

“Well, this was a great convo, Mom, thanks. My future therapist will be thrilled to unpack all of this in a decade. I’m gonna go drink bleach and get into bed now,” I said, giving her a pointed look.

Mom gave a small shrug, her expression pure and unassuming. This woman was the undiscovered gem of Hollywood.

When I reached the door, she yelled after me: “My darling, you do know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I’ll never judge you. Never think less of you. I will always love you, no matter what.”

I turned back to her, and the gentle expression on her face made me tear up. Mom was playful and joking, and this whole stunt was mainly her curiosity getting the best of her, but she could be serious when she needed to be.

Taking the few steps back to her, I bent down and hugged her. Taken aback for a second, she let out a happy giggle and squeezed me back.

“Thank you, I love you,” I muttered, and she ran her hand gently down my wavy hair.

“Oh, my darling, I love you too.”

*

Something felt different as I walked to Noah’s car the next morning. In fact, everything felt different, and it was messing with my head.

For starters, when I left the house, he was outside, leaning on the side of the car.

As soon as I saw him there I almost tripped over my own feet, and had to extend my arms for balance.

Which he, of course , noticed, and that perpetual smirk popped up on his face again.

He looked effortlessly casual in black jeans, pale-salmon-colored hoodie, and a leather bomber jacket.

It looked damn attractive on him. And it bothered the hell out of me that I genuinely thought that.

Before speaking a word, he opened the passenger door for me, like a perfect gentleman.

“Morning, honey,” he said, his deep voice washing over me like velvet.

A shiver ran through me. Calm down .

“You gonna stick to that one?” I asked, grateful my voice sounded way more relaxed than I felt.

“Hmm, don’t know, I’m still trying them out.” He shrugged, closing the door after I sat down.

Once he got in the car, I replied, “Well, let me know what you settle on so I can settle on something equally embarrassing for you.”

As always, the radio flared to life as soon as he turned the ignition, and we enjoyed a minute or two of comfortable music listening.

“You up for some questions?” Noah asked, a smile on his face.

“Always,” I said, and grinned back.

He glanced at me, his expression growing even more amused, before he focused on the road.

“Hmm, well, we might as well get this one out of the way,” he started, making me wonder what kind of question he was about to ask. “How do you think you’ll die?”

My head snapped toward him so quickly I almost got whiplash. “What?”

“Do you have a feeling of how you might die?”

“That’s a pretty morbid question,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t come up with these myself.” He shrugged, chuckling.

“Honestly, I’ve never thought about it. But I’m hoping I die in bed, of old age, surrounded by people I love. I’m guessing most people want that.”

“That’s not really the question. It’s not about how you hope you’ll die,” Noah said, giving me a knowing smirk.

“Well, it’s the best I’ve got for you.” I shrugged.

Noah sighed and shook his head, but the smile on his face told me he didn’t fault me for my slight avoidance of the question—or rather, my inability to answer with anything other than no .

“What about you? With that reaction you’ve got to have a better answer.” He leaned his head from side to side, as if debating whether to tell me. “Come on, spit it out.”

“Probably from some illness, before I turn forty-five,” he finally said, no emotion showing on his composed face.

“Uh, that’s oddly specific.” Frowning, I tried to study his face. What a strange answer for someone so full of life.

“It is what it is,” he said, shrugging again. I’d been planning to ask follow-up questions, which he clearly sensed, because he continued. “Another question?”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, filing my questions away for another day.

“What are you most proud of in life?” he asked, and immediately continued, “For me, I think it was the first time I played music in front of a crowd. Watching everyone’s reactions to the melody and how it triggered their emotions really solidified my love for music.

Seeing how proud and excited my mom was in the crowd was a plus too. ”

His face had softened, and I was instantly glad that we had had time for another question at least. Leaving the car on the topic of death seemed like a grim start to the day.

“Mine was getting through these questions, sheesh. Your love interrogation is rough,” I said playfully, and was rewarded by the sound of his laughter, the unexpected kind that filled the whole space and suddenly made it warm.

“I like to keep you on your toes, Fox,” he offered, glancing at me, and I felt the heat rush through my body again.

I knew I still owed a serious answer, but my brain was starting to feel fuzzy.

He parked the car in front of the school and turned to me, eyebrows raised, that should-be-illegal grin still on his face.

“Um, this is going to sound weird, but, being myself? I won’t say I don’t still struggle with this, because I do, but when I was younger I really wanted to fit in with everyone.

Be invited to birthday parties and sleepovers.

I had a phase when I was just trying to copy whatever the more popular kids in middle school were doing.

I just wanted to be liked, you know?” I said, and could see him nodding from the corner of my eyes.

“I acted differently, even in my friendship with Lily and Mel. It was bad for a while. Like I’d ignore their calls or say I was busy while hanging out with the more popular girls.

Then the summer before high school I got exhausted at the prospect of having to spend the next four years being someone I wasn’t, so I put an end to it.

Luckily, Lily and Mel still loved me for me.

I found other people who did as well. And honestly, I realized I’m pretty freaking awesome as is.

So, yeah. My greatest accomplishment is accepting myself as an awesome work in progress. ”

I finished speaking and took a deep breath. This was not the answer I would have expected to pass through my lips. It was way too raw, way too real. But for some reason, the truth was the only thing I could say with my brain so rattled.

Noah was quiet. His face was serious as he looked at me.

Our eyes met, and I held my breath. Seconds passed, or at least that was how it felt as I waited for him to say something.

Anything. I was about to make a joke about how we’d be late for class when he inhaled and leaned back in his seat, leaning his head back.

“Aw, shit,” Noah said, letting out a groan before he turned to me, the softest look on his face. “I’m really starting to like you, Skyler.”

My heart stopped.

Then it started up again.

And skipped a few more beats when I remembered what he’d just said.

Heat consumed me. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, everything felt hot. Especially in this tiny space with the person who’d caused this reaction.

My mouth opened and closed several times. I didn’t get to say anything because Noah chuckled and opened his door. “We’re gonna be late.”

He was already at my door by the time I managed to come back to my senses. Noah held the door open while I stumbled out, muttering a quiet thank-you.

When he closed the door, he held out his hand. Looking up at his smiling face, I smiled back, entwining my fingers with his before we went toward the school.

The way he held my hand as I walked, his thumb ever-so-slowly rubbing against my skin, was doing funny things to my insides.

Something had changed between us and it terrified me .