““That must have been some date,” Mom says, noticing the flushing of my cheeks, or how I can barely stand straight. “Well?” she asks. “Good,” I say, suddenly realizing that the answer doesn’t even fit. “You really like this boy, don’t you?” she asks. “I’d take that as a yes,” Dad says, studying my expression. “So, tell us about him,” she insists. I nod, trying to gain full composure, to stop the well of tears I feel filling up behind my eyes. “He’s nice,” I say, reluctant to tell them about Ben.... “How nice?” Mom asks. I take a seat opposite them on the sofa, fully aware that my legs are still shaking. I glance toward the living room window, wondering if Ben’s still outside. I haven’t heard his motorcycle start up yet. “Camelia?” Mom pushes. “He listens when I talk,” I say finally. “He seems genuinely interested in what I do. He’s respectful during our time together—” “Well, he sounds pretty perfect,” Dad says. “Are you sure that you don’t want to date him?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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