Turning Eighteen, Part Twelve

It was fucking awful. Monica’s visit, I mean.It started with the clothes I was wearing. Remember how I kept going through Mr. Mendes’s shirts? I was trying to find one that would make me look not only hot, but smart. I was still standing at his closet when he went downstairs to let his sister in—but he should have stayed up with me and double-checked my choice. So this was all his fault.I chose this checkered button down and then a sweater to go on top of it. The sweater was this mossy-green color—it was perfect. It made me look intellectual.I walked down the stairs just as Monica was coming inside. Mr. Mendes smiled up at me as he shut the door behind his sister.“Monica, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend,” he said. “This is Jason.”I liked hearing him call me that. ‘Boyfriend,’ I mean. But I don’t think Monica liked it. She raised her eyebrows at me as I reached the landing.I held my hand out to her. She shook it, but she gave me this weird look at the same time. “Nice sweater,” she said.“Thanks,” I answered, smiling a little.“I gave it to my brother last year,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “He probably doesn’t even remember.”I started panicking at that, but Mr. Mendes just grinned. “Jason lives here,” he explained. “We’ve ended up sharing clothes.”Her mouth almost fell open. “He lives here? How long have you two known each other?”“Oh, for about four years now,” Mr. Mendes answered, still smiling. “Jason is an ex-student of mine.”Fuck. I wish he hadn’t told her that—now she’d know that I was some kind of a retart. But I guess she would have found out sooner or later.“Oh,” she said, turning back to me.Christ, it’s amazing how much someone can put into that one word. She didn’t like me.Well, fuck her then. I didn’t like her either. I didn’t even like the way she looked. I guess she was ok, if you’re into women. She was too heavy—but she had big breasts. Some guys are really into breasts. And she had good hair too, just like Mr. Mendes. It was black and curly. But unlike Mr. Mendes, she looked snobbish and stuck up.Jesus, how does someone manage to look stuck up wearing a pair of old jeans and a Giants’ sweatshirt? I guess she was talented.“When did you graduate?” Monica asked me.I felt my face heat up. “I didn’t. I’m working on getting my high school equivalency diploma.”“Oh,” she said again. She made that word sound just as nasty this time as she did last time. I felt myself start to tense up.“So what do you do?” she continued.“I work as a cook at the diner,” I answered. “And I’m thinking of going to art school or culinary school.” Actually, that was more Mr. Mendes’s idea than mine, but all of the sudden I wanted to claim it.“If you can get your high school equivalency diploma,” she said.“Yeah,” I agreed.“He won’t have any trouble with that,” Mr. Mendes broke in. “I’m going to order a pizza—what would everyone like on top?”He was trying to get us to relax. I thought that was a good idea, so I answered right away. “Pepperoni,” I said.Monica rolled her eyes. “My brother’s going to order from a kosher place,” she said. “You can’t have pepperoni on a kosher pizza.”Jesus, I knew that. “Sorry,” I managed. I'll bet my face was bright red. “Mr. Mendes--I mean Aaron--explained all the kosher rules. I just wasn’t thinking about them.”Goddamnit! I had slipped. I didn't mean to call him 'Mr. Mendes' in front of her.Mr. Mendes was rolling his eyes now too—but at his sister, not at me. “Monica, I only explained them yesterday. And most people don’t think ‘kosher’ when they hear ‘pizza.’ Cut him some slack.”She shrugged again. “Sorry,” she told me. “And for the record, I’m with you. I’d love pepperoni. I don’t know why Aaron insists on the whole kosher thing.”Mr. Mendes sighed and suggested a bunch of vegetarian toppings. We all finally agreed on garlic and onions.Things calmed down a little after that. The game started—and Mr. Mendes had a cool flat-screen, high-def TV to watch it on. I sat next to him on the couch and Monica took an easy chair.For a while Monica actually seemed cool. She knew her stuff when it came to sports—she was full of opinions about what the Giants were doing wrong and how they needed to straighten up in order to make the playoffs. Mostly I agreed with her.She was fun to watch with. She’s the kind of person who throws herself into the game, living and dying with each play. My Dad was like that.I went into the kitchen at half-time. We’d already devoured the pizza, and there were chips and salsa on the coffee table in front of the TV, but I figured we could still use something else. I started poking around in the fridge to see what kind of dairy kosher snack I could make.I ended up making a salad out of tomatoes, mozzarella and basil. I put some onions and olives on the side and a little bit of oil and vinegar on top. Then I walked back toward the living room.I heard Monica’s voice before I got there. She was talking in a loud whisper. I froze in the hallway and listened.“He’s eighteen, Aaron! And he’s a high school drop-out. What are you thinking?”I felt my face turn white. Suddenly my hands were clenching the dish now. Bitch, I thought.“Quit judging, Monica," Mr. Mendes said. "You don’t know him yet. And you don’t know why he chose to drop out.”“Aaron, come on,” she said. “He’s sexy as hell—I’ll give you that—but you can’t be serious about him. How are you going to explain him to Mom and Dad?”I won't lose my temper, I told myself. I won't lose my temper. Mr. Mendes was counting on me.“What's to explain?” he asked. “I have a new boyfriend—that’s not going to shock them. He is a little younger than me, but so what? Mom’s twelve years younger than Dad.”“That’s different,” she said. “Not only are you robbing the cradle—you’re taking advantage of a kid you used to teach. A kid who’s slow.”I didn’t wait to hear anything more. I walked in on them instead. I wanted Monica to know that I had heard every word.“I made this for a snack,” I said, trying to control my voice as I set the dish on the coffee table. “I hope you like it.”Monica’s face was bright red. I noticed that because I stopped for a second to look her in the eye.“And for the record,” I told her, “he’s not taking advantage of me. I was the one who came onto him.”I turned around and walked out after that. I heard Mr. Mendes get up to come after me, but I headed straight to the bathroom and slammed the door when I got there. I had to get away from both of them.