OOM: Conversation
The house is quiet, but not dark, when Hannah lets herself in, with her shoes in one hand and her shawl draped over her arm. Her mother calls out from the living room, and Hannah looks around the door frame and then comes into the room.
"Sneaking in?" her mother asks, with a gesture at the shoes.
"They got uncomfortable about two-and-a-half hours ago," says Hannah, dropping the shoes unceremoniously at the end of the couch. The shawl, however, is folded carefully, and placed on the coffee table. "And I know I'm late. The sheriff was breathalyzing everyone as we left, and it kinda created a traffic jam. And then I had to drop Henry off."
"I think," says Steph, a little amused, "that we'll let it slide, since it's only three minutes past your curfew."
"So the waiting up is just general motherly worry and not the localized you're-in-trouble-young-lady kind?" Hannah kind of thinks her dad would have made a big deal out of the three minutes.
"More or less."
"Okay," says Hannah, drops onto the couch, and waits. She's had sixteen years to learn that when her mother says "More or less," she never, ever means "less."
"Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah. We did."
Steph hesitates for a moment, because thinking for the last few hours about what she wants to say to her daughter hasn't made it any easier to start. So for now she settles for the very non-committal, "Henry seems like a nice boy."
"He is," says Hannah. "He really is."
There's another pause, and then Steph continues, "I printed some of the pictures I took before you two left."
"Oh, cool," says Hannah. "Can I see them?"
Her mother hands them to her. For the most part, they are very standard before-a-dance pictures, very posed, bright special occasions smiles and fancy clothes. But on the bottom on the pile is the first one Steph took, the one that startled Henry, the one candid shot in the group.
This picture, and the moment it captured, are the reasons Steph is having an actual conversation with her daughter tonight, rather than just asking if she had a good time and promising to listen to all the details in the morning.
Because candid it may be, but casual it's not.
Steph waits till Hannah is through with the pictures and then asks, "How serious are you about this boy, Hannah?"
"Ummm," says Hannah, drawing out the syllable to stall, because while she perhaps should have been expecting this question, she wasn't. "Well, I guess that depends on what you mean by 'serious.'"
"That's not an answer, Hannah."
Hannah shrugs. "Can I ask for clarification of the question then? I mean, what do you actually want to know, here, Mom? I haven't slept with him, if that's it."
"Part of it," says Steph, frankly. "Are you going to?"
"Ummmm," says Hannah, drawing the syllable out even further. "You mean, assuming it's not all just a moot point because it's not like he's from around here, anyway?"
"Putting that aside, yes."
"I don't know. It's certainly not going to happen any time soon. It may not happen ever, but . . . I don't know. If it does, it will be because a deliberate decision was made after a lot of thought." Her mother doesn't say anything. "Not exactly the answer you wanted, huh?"
"Well, I wanted the honest answer, honey."
"That was the honest answer."
"And I want you to promise me that if you do, you're going to be careful about it. And that you're not going to let him pressure into doing anything you don't want to do."
"I will. And he won't. It's not his style," she says. And then, before her mother can interrupt, she adds, "And even if it was, I wouldn't let him."
"All right," says her mother.
"So what's the rest of it?"
"'Rest of it'?"
"You said that was part of it," says Hannah. "So what's the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is that I still want to know how serious you are about him."
"I like him," says Hannah. "I like him a lot. He's kind, and thoughtful, and I enjoy talking to him. Or writing to him. He makes me happy." A slight shrug. "On a serious scale of one to ten, I don't know. Higher than five, lower than nine, I guess."
"That kind of worries me, Hannah."
"Why?" Hannah asks, perplexed.
"Because it's very long distance, honey," says her mother. "And that is not easy. And I don't want to see you get hurt. And I think you're going to."
Hannah decides not to tell her mother that she has no idea how very this long distance is. "I know," she says. "I know, Mom, I really do. And yeah, it would be nice if he lived around here, but he doesn't. He's still a person I care a lot about. He's a good friend."
She pauses, takes a deep breath, and then goes on. "As for getting hurt . . . I'm sixteen, and we're from California, not Kentucky. The odds are pretty against me marrying a guy I met when I was fifteen, or anything like that, and I know that. So I know it's gonna end at some point. And I know it's probably gonna hurt when it does. But I think now is going to be worth then, this is going to be worth that. And time and distance and circumstance might hurt me, but he won't. Not deliberately. Not ever."
Her mother looks at her for a long moment, looks down at the picture on the coffee table between them, and does not remind her only daughter that she's been very wrong about this sort of thing before.
Hannah has always been pretty sure of herself. She hasn't always been right, of course. Far from it. But she hasn't often been in doubt, either. And, a few notable exceptions aside, Steph has thought that was a good thing. She'd been worried, watching Hannah wander about uncertain and withdrawn and unhappy over the summer and the fall. She'd been glad when, a few months ago, Hannah had gone back to being confident and outgoing and cheerful.
So she's not surprised that Hannah sounds very certain about all this. She's just not sure Hannah's right. She is sure, however, that it won't be easy to convince Hannah she's wrong. And right or wrong, this is probably something Hannah will have to figure out on her own, anyway. So she's raised her concerns and she's comfortable with Hannah's answers. She's also reasonably certain Henry Wellard is unlikely to get her daughter into any sort of trouble.
Especially not from Vermont.
"All right," she says, finally. "Just be careful."
"I will," says Hannah. "I have learned some things in the last year, you know."
"Yes, you have."
A moment. "Is there more, or can I go to bed?" Hannah asks.
"Go ahead," says her mother. And then smiles. "But I want to hear all about it in the morning."
Hannah smiles back. "Probably in way more detail than you want." She takes the shawl, leaves the shoes, and then picks up the pictures. "Can I take these?"
"Of course. Good night, Hannah."
"'Night, Mom."
But it's a while before either of them sleeps.