A Golden Mess

He loves me! He loves me not! Let me count the ways.

A sixteen-year-old teenager plucked petal after petal from the marigold flower. The multiple layers of overlapping petals glistened yellow, orange and gold under the sunlight. The petals got smaller and more condensed as Betty plucked towards the flowers centre.

Betty, what are you doing?

A mother studied her child, and the marigold flower petals strewn across the kitchen floor. It was a golden mess. And a beautiful soft bed.

Betty kept pulling, petal after petal from the multiple layers in a rhythmic trance. Then a tear rolled down her cheek. And then another.

She looked up to see her confused mother's face turn empathetic.

Mom!

As her mother lunged forward to embrace Betty into a loving hug, she began to wail.

Betty, what’s wrong?

She hadn’t held her daughter like this for some years. Betty seldom cried or confided to her mother these days. She spoke to Carol, and Anne almost every day. Many times even to Jung, a fourth member of their quartet. Sometimes she asked her older sister, Grace, for advice. But never her mother, who watched and waited for her child to come to her side.

Why doesn't he like me? Why hasn't he called? Mom, what's wrong with me?

Mother hugged her daughter tighter, wanting to keep her safe. To guard and protect her youngest child from this hurt. An inevitable crush of a teenage heart. She had gone through many herself.

Betty, are you talking about Roger?

Betty nodded. Her eyes still glossy from her freshly fallen tears.

Since we hung out at school, I asked him to prom next month. It was a Sadie Hawkins themed prom, a push on women having a voice.

#metoo

Can you believe he said he was dating someone else?

Mother didn’t want to interrupt her daughter. She felt like heading to Roger's home and knocking on his door. She wanted to tell him that he was an idiot for not liking her daughter. And that he could never do better than her smart beautiful daughter. But she knew it was more complicated than that for Betty.

Mom, we have lunch together in front of our lockers most days. Just me and him. Most of the time we sit in silence, eating our sandwiches. He tells me about hockey, his younger brother, and his parents. Sometimes his friend Rami joins us.

A mother listened to her daughter in silence.

Mom, he never mentioned anything before. So I asked him who she was. And guess what he said?

Betty, I don't know?

By now, a mother had made a fresh pitcher of lemonade for both to share. It was Betty's favourite drink.

Guess, mom!

That his girlfriend hadn't asked him to the dance yet.

And that's not all mom. His girlfriend doesn't even go to our school. So, he can't even go to the dance with her.

Betty, did you ask him if you could go as friends, since his girl friend is at another school?

Mom, I tried, I really tried. I told him since we were good friends, and all.

What happened, Betty?

Their glasses were refilled with the cool lemonade by a mother's loving hand, as Betty kept talking.

Mom, Rami came down and sat down in between us. And then the conversation stopped. Ugh!

Mother and daughter both stared at the condensation beginning to form on the glasses from the ice-cold lemonade.

Betty, what do you want to do?

Mom, I want to go to the dance with him?

Can you ask him again to go as friends?

Betty shook her head. And grabbed another marigold flower. This time a burgundy red one. And began pulling petal after petal.

He loves me! He loves me not! Let me ....

The house land line interrupted.

Betty, pick up the phone. It's some boy called, Roger....

Betty threw down a half-plucked marigold, and ran to the kitchen phone.

She paused before taking in a deep breath, and calmly picked up the phone.

Hello!