I moved toward the couch, wanting them now to smel me. I wedged myself into the thick of them. The couch was plenty big enough for three people, but neither of my parents moved as I forced myself in the space between them.
My mother sniffed my hair. “Have you been smoking grass?”
I laughed at her term, grass. I knew it wasn’t funny, but at same time it was sort of funny.
“So now Marcus McCready has you using drugs?” my father said.
I giggled again, as Marcus stayed away from weed. It would violate his probation. The whole thing was funny, my parents sitting here waiting for me at six in the evening as though it were three o’clock in the morning, as if they were regular parents, as if I were an ordinary girl.
“Gwen,” James said, “if you can’t control her —”
“If she can’t control me, what?”
“She doesn’t need control ing,” my mother said. “She needs something else.”
“Legitimacy,” I said.
“You are legitimate,” my mother said.
“What’s in the paper sack?” James asked, reaching for it.
I clamped the bag down between my knees. “It’s not your business. It’s a present.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” James said. “Give it to me.”
My mother was stricken. “What is it, Dana? Dana, honey, what is it?”
“It’s mine.” I felt like I was watching this whole scene happen, that I wasn’t real y me and these weren’t real y my parents.
“You used to like me,” I said to James. “When I was little, you liked me.”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “I like you now. I just need to know what’s in the bag.”
I looked to my mother. “Tel him to leave me alone. There is nothing in the bag. Tel him to trust me. Please. Make him leave me alone.”
My mother looked at the bag. “What has happened to you, Dana? What happened to my little girl? We used to do everything together.”
“It’s not fair,” I said.
“James,” my mother said, “why don’t you run on home? I need to talk to Dana in private.”
“You can’t send me away,” James said. “You can’t send me away like I don’t belong here. She’s my daughter. You’re my family. I need to see what’s in the bag.”
“There’s nothing in the bag,” I said.
“There’s something in the bag,” James said. “Let me see it.”
“Mother,” I said, “tel him to leave me alone.”
Her eyes flickered between the two of us. She looked a long time at the bag, trying to make a guess as to its contents. She took a deep breath, no doubt taking in the smel of the weed, my anger, and my sweat. She knew I had been up to something; I had no argument, no reasonable cover story, but I wanted her to stand up for me anyway. Isn’t love when you defend someone when you know she’s wrong? I didn’t want her to stand up for what was right, I wanted my mother to stand up for me.
“Mama,” I said.
“Dana —”
“Mommy?”
“Dana, baby, just show him what’s in the bag. If it’s nothing, show him that it’s nothing. What has happened to you, Dana? What are you doing?
You come home smel ing like grass. You have this boyfriend, a delinquent. Don’t ruin your life, baby. Just show your father what’s in the bag.”
Keeping my eyes on Mother, I opened the bag, turned it upside down, and poured the jel y beans and peanuts on the floor. They made a beautiful mess. Ronalda had gotten these jel y beans special, from Lenox Square. They were al colors, pink with brown flecks, purple, orange. The flavors had exotic names like Piña Colada and Fig Leaf. The sight of them there on the ugly brown carpet made me want to cry.
“Are you happy?” I said, not knowing for sure if I was talking to my mother or my father. I wondered if weed could make me emotional after al . I couldn’t care this much about a bag of candy and nuts.
My parents looked at the mess on the carpet, and then they looked at each other. My mother worried her rings and my father bucked his head as he tried to free the words stuck in his throat.
“I told you there was nothing in the bag,” I said. “You didn’t believe me.”
“From who?” James snapped. “F-f-f-from M-Marcus McCready?”
What right did my father have to the details of my life? He squandered his chance to be the protective father. You can’t come rushing to the rescue six months later. I wasn’t a person to be saved only when it was a convenient time to swoop in.
My mother said, “This boy isn’t good for you. He’s not going to give you anything but a reputation.”
James said, “I-i-if a-al you end up with is a reputation, you’l be lucky.”
“Do you talk to Chaurisse like this?” I said. “I’ve seen her. She walks around looking like a streetwalker. I don’t see you saying anything to her.”
My mother looked at me sharply. We had gone surveil ing at the JCPenney outlet the week before. Chaurisse was wearing a halter top that was too smal for her.
“Don’t talk about my d-d-daughter,” James said. “You don’t know anything about her.”
“That’s it,” my mother said. “This is enough and getting out of hand. Dana, you go on to your room. You wil not see the boyfriend anymore. That’s that. And James, you need to go home and cool off.”
We each did as she said. My father went to his car and blew the horn twice as he was pul ing away, as though this day were like any other. My mother busied herself in the kitchen; I heard the dishes moving around in the cupboard as I lay on my bed, staring at the water spots on the ceiling.
My mother cal ed my name, but I didn’t answer her.
“Dana,” she said, “I know you are not asleep. Come here.”
I made my way to the den, where she sat on the couch James had just vacated.
“Tel me what you’re thinking,” she said.
“You know what I’m thinking,” I said.
“No, I don’t. I don’t know what’s on your mind; you didn’t even tel me about the boyfriend.”
“Don’t I have the right to some privacy?” I said. “Can’t I have my own life?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dana. This is the time in your life when you need your mother most. You’re sixteen. One wrong move and you can ruin your life forever. Talk to me, Dana. Tel me what’s on your mind.”
“You took his word for what’s happening, and he doesn’t even live here.”
“Tel me about the boy,” my mother said.
“His name is Marcus, and James doesn’t like him because Marcus’s dad does James’s taxes.”
My mother’s face bent to let me know that James had left out this detail. “Your father said he was a hoodlum.”
“He lives on Lynn Circle,” I said. “Nearby to Ronalda.”
“Your father said that he’s twenty years old. That he isn’t al owed around underage girls.”
“Marcus isn’t like that. And he’s just nineteen.”
My mother looked at me with her tired face. “Dana. I need you to tel me the truth here. Are you being intimate with him?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing like that. We’re waiting until we get married.”
“I find it hard to believe that you two are just playing pinochle.”
I was seized with a desperate need for her trust. “You can take me to the doctor. A doctor can look at me and see I haven’t been doing anything.”
“Is he a good guy, Dana?”
“Yes,” I said. “He’s so nice to me. He’s so good to me. He doesn’t cheat on me. A lot of girls like him, but I am the only one he goes out with. He loves me. He doesn’t have a temper. He has never raised his hand to me.” I could hear my own voice, shril with lies.