Perfectly Messy Read Online Free PDF Page B

too much. Water floods my newly potted chrysanthemums. A pool of mud forms, threatening to drown the plants. Mom’s green thumb is clearly not genetic. I take off her engagement ring she gave me this summer, carefully placing it in my pocket before I plunge in after the ugly orange flowers. Surprisingly, the coolness of the mud is more soothing than any fancy lotion Marissa used during our manicure nights. I squish the mud between my fingers, enjoying the mini spa-treatment.
    “Lucy?” Mom walks over, scratching her cheek and leaving a smudge. “As much as I understand the draw to examine dirt, we need five more pots planted and loaded in the trailer for my fall exhibit this afternoon.” She hands me her gardening rag, always tied to the back end of her garden tool-belt. I’m pretty sure it’s the only belt she owns.
    “Right, got it,” I say, rubbing the mud off my hands before draining the extra water from the soil.
    She hands me another scoop of potting soil. “To replace what was lost.”
    “Thanks.”
    Mom sits down on the steps of the deck. “So, what were Justin’s parents like?”
    “Nice,” I say as I debate how much to share with her. I’m not really in the mood for advice.
    She takes out a mini hoe from her belt and uses the end to scrape the dirt from under her nails. “Well, that’s pretty boring,” she says with a grin that’s tilted up in the corner, so much like Eric’s when he’s playing Batman. With that smile, I know it’s safe to share. She’s not in over-drive Mom mode. She’s just curious.
    “No, they aren’t boring. Just different than you and Dad.”
    “Well, I’d certainly hope they are different. I’d hate to be a cookie-cutter mold.”
    I roll my eyes. She knows she strives to be the non-generic parent. I study her, wondering if she’ll expand. I dare not say anything until she does. I’m more careful with my words now, still trying to be more considerate than my instincts guide. Old habits have been hard to break. Just because we have a relationship now, doesn’t make it easy. We still fight, but when we’re not in the heat of it, I try to remember she’s a person too.
    “Truthfully,” she continues, “dealing with the differences of your significant other’s family is part of the process. Your Grandma Jane and I didn’t initially see eye-to-eye. You know that.”
    I laugh; Grandma Jane has always been a well-ironed business woman with a heart of gold. Dad introduced her to Mom during their hippie phase. I can’t imagine how horrible that introduction went. At least my introduction was more like a non-introduction. I mean, yeah, we shook hands, but it didn’t feel that real at all.
    “So, how are they different from us?” Mom pats the step next to her.
    “Well,” I slide up on the step, knee to knee with her. Smart, Mom. It’s much easier to spill when you don’t have to look each other in the eye. She hands me the garden hoe, my turn to pick beneath my nails. “I don’t really know. We met at this political fundraiser event ... For a moment, everything felt fine. His grandma is really cute, his mom tried to put me at ease, and his sister even gave me a hug. But the moment I met his dad and some big exec dragged himself into the conversation, the tone shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t about meeting the family. It was some weird political exchange.”
    “Were you uncomfortable?”
    I thought about it. “No, not really. Justin never left my side and included me as much as he could.”
    “Did his family introduce you to others?”
    My stomach dropped. “Kind of. I was introduced as Justin’s ‘special friend.’”
    Mom shifts in her spot and sucks in one of her therapeutic breaths. Uh oh, here comes the Mom advice, whether I want it or not. I find myself taking in a similar breath, just less noisy.
    “It’s hard for parents to acknowledge their kids’ relationships as serious,” Mom begins, “but here’s the thing. They are. They shape them