The Girl Who Invented Romance (6 page)

“Oh, George, you shouldn’t have!” cried my mother, taking her tiny wrapped gift with delight. This time my
father had brought a white lace bookmark, six inches long, an inch wide: thread spun into a row of hearts.

Nobody ever spun a row of hearts for me.

Members of the opposite sex! I thought. Report to my house. Gift in hand. Kiss on lips.

“That’s lovely, Mother,” I said enthusiastically. I gave Daddy a hug. “You’re such a sweetie,” I told him. “I should be so lucky.”

He shared hugs with Mother and me. “Your time will come, Kelly. I don’t mind if it’s slow arriving. I kind of like my baby girl.”

I
minded.

“Let’s go out for dinner,” said Daddy, exclusively to Mom.

“Oh, George. I’ve already started dinner. I’ve been marinating the chicken since this morning and the rice is a special—”

“It’ll be good tomorrow. Come on. Where shall we go? The Japanese restaurant on Fifth? The Sicilian place over by the campus? What are you in the mood for?” This triggered Daddy’s musical memory and he began loudly singing “I’m in the Mood for Love.” My father has a terrible voice and worse rhythm.

I was glad Parker wasn’t home yet. He always ruins it by telling Dad, “If you can’t reach the notes, don’t sing the song.”

Details, details.

Sometimes we go out as a family but more often my parents go out alone. Megan says this is abnormal, because
once you have children, you are obligated to take them with you wherever you go. Especially if you’re going to a nice restaurant. Megan says my parents are selfish. I say they’re romantic and Megan is jealous.

Parker came bounding in, saw Mom looking for her heavy coat and said, “You’re going out? In Dad’s car? Then I can keep Mom’s car and drive Wendy?”

“May I,” corrected Mom.

“Where with Wendy?” said Dad.

“May I,” said Parker to Mom. “Don’t know,” he said to Dad.

My father looked steadily at my brother. Parker looked steadily back. They didn’t take their eyes off each other, a contest I didn’t understand and Mom didn’t see because she was humming around getting ready for her date. Whatever the contest was, Parker won. My father dropped his eyes, grinned at nothing and said, “You have enough money, son?”

“Could use more.”

Dad gave him some bills, folded over so I couldn’t tell how much, and Park was gone. Dad held Mom’s coat for her. “You going to be all right alone, Kelly?”

They hated worrying about me when they were out, so I said, as I always did, “Sure.”

Daddy touched the earrings he’d given my mother at some anniversary, tiny silver violets, and the silver necklace that was last year’s Christmas gift. “You’re beautiful, Vi,” he said softly.

My mother lit up, the way she does for compliments, and for one moment she really was beautiful.

They left hand in hand.

In the TV room I slid a rented movie into the VCR and went back to the kitchen to pop popcorn. Then I settled in front of the computer screen to compose my sociology quizzes. I can’t actually do more than one thing at a time, but I do love to think of myself as a multitasker.

My current plan was to have a hundred words everybody would check off for romantic value. But when I finished (lace, calorie counting, candlelight, wallpaper), it was obvious that everybody would check off the same words I did and nobody would learn a thing, which didn’t meet the requirements of Ms. Simms.

Next I tried categories.

Colors might be interesting. Maybe there was a person who would think avocado was a romantic hue. But who would check off cough drops under FOODS? And who would put hitchhiking ahead of holding hands under HOBBIES?

I munched popcorn. I got butter on my paper.

Was Faith on the phone with Angie?

Were they arranging their first real date?

Would everything work out for them?

Or would Faith report back that she was right about F names and that people who wore them were doomed to a fat, frumpy, failed life?

“That’s it!” I cried. “A name game!”

I’d list names. Which is more romantic? Ethel or Rosemary? Laura or LuEllen? Starr or Stephanie?

By the time the movie was over, I had written two tests.

I went to bed laughing. For once I had had a day packed with romance. Of course, it wasn’t real. Other people were doing it while I was writing it, but it turned out that romance is fun even on paper.

Good night, world, I thought. I hope you’re ready for me. Because I’m about to leave square one.

I
cannot now believe that I turned in those quizzes.

You would think sixteen years of life would have taught me to avoid public humiliation.

But no.

I ran toward humiliation as if it were male and in love with me.