The Truth About Letting Go by Leigh Talbert Moore Page A

Jordan’s just a friend.” I can’t figure out where this sudden interest in my life is coming from.
    “Still—”
    “You know, it’s a little late for this.” Fighting with Mom hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the knot twisting in my stomach.
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “I mean now you’re the attentive parent?”
    “Ashley, you’re being disrespectful.” The edge has returned to her voice, and it’s a sound I’m much more comfortable with than the warmth.
    “I’m being honest.”
    “You’re still dealing with your emotions. I know. But I intend to meet your date.”
    “How can you be so cold?” I hate that my voice breaks when I say it, that tears prick at my eyes.
    There is no way in hell I’m crying in front of her. She, who went all stonewall the minute the doctors said six months to live … Who gave up and started working like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
    She looks at me and I see a flash of emotion in her eyes. I’d almost forgotten what that looked like on her face, but just as her lips part, the doorbell rings. She closes them again and strides to get it as I hurry to beat her.
    “I’ll get it,” she says, reaching in front of me.
    Jordan is leaning against the entrance with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing the lighter jeans I bought him and a Hawaiian-print shirt, and he still looks great. I briefly accept he’ll never be just Jordan to me again.
    He straightens up, looking surprised to see my mother. “Uh… hi,” he stammers. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t expect—”
    “Hi, Jordan!” I call from the side. I know how my mother’s eyes can make you feel. Like you’re very unwelcome. “I’m ready if you are!”
    “I’m Ashley’s mother,” Mom says still blocking us. “You’re very tall. I mean… I’m sorry. Are you on the basketball team?”
    “It’s okay,” he smiles in that easy way. “Nah, basketball’s not my thing. I just take after my dad.” He suddenly flushes red as if the word Dad is off-limits at my house.
    “Well, Jordan. I hope you don’t think because I’m a single parent, you can stay out all hours.”
    “No! Of course not. We’ll be home by—”
    “Eleven.” Mom finishes his sentence.
    “Eleven,” Jordan smiles. “You got it.”
    I’m furious. I know my curfew. “Good night,” I say as I push past her.
    “Sorry about that,” I say, as I dig through his mom’s music collection. “I know she can be intimidating. It’s the lawyer in her.”
    “I didn’t expect to meet your mom.”
    “I didn’t think you would either.”
    I’ve found the disk I was looking for. Eurythmics. Missionary Man. I slide the silver plastic in and crank it.
    “Very funny.” Jordan says, turning the volume back down.
    “If you’re the missionary man, then I’m the original sinner.”
    “She’s little… like you.”
    “And that’s where the similarities end.”
    His eyes slant to me. “Maybe.”
    I think of how she’s acted ever since that day in the kitchen. My thumb automatically touches the silver ring that’s grown loose on my finger now. “Definitely.”
     
    * * *
     
    The gym is a blaze of lights and tropical decorations when we walk in the door. Music is loud and thumping, and I can feel the vibration of the bass line in my bones.
    “You want to dance?” Jordan shouts at me.
    “Let’s walk around some first.”
    “You have a pound of thirst?” Jordan frowns. I smile and a bit of the tension from my unpleasant moment with my mother eases. I don’t know how he does it.
    “No!” I shout. “Walk around. Walk!” I wiggle my fingers like two legs.
    “Oh!” He smiles and nods.
    We go to where a few of the junior class officers are standing, sizing up the event. When they see Jordan, their eyebrows rise.
    “You’re making an impression,” I yell up at his ear.
    He leans toward me smiling. “What?”
    I shake my head and we keep walking. I can’t help looking for Mandy.
    “I’ll get