Not in the Mood

During the hour long drive back to campus, Mike blasted Jay Z, pounded the steering wheel, and happily yelled foul descriptions of the drivers around him, everyone speeding well past seventy mph.

Amanda preferred no conversation, anyway. What was there to say? She absolutely didn’t want to talk about her mother.

And whatever Mike felt like doing tonight—if it involved her—wasn’t going to happen until tomorrow. Amanda assumed since they hadn’t made love at Cheryl’s, Mike would want that first thing. Or sooner, when the traffic eased up, he’d want her mouth working on him until he was done. Usually she didn’t mind, and often she liked it. But now she was seriously not in the mood. He had to respect that. After all, sometimes, not often, but sometimes, Mike wasn’t in the mood.

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Cheryl yanking her arm like that, snarling her desperate, impossible command outside while they both shivered—what was she, stupid? Because if she insisted Amanda not think about something, what else could she possibly think about?

While Mike, the irresistible charmer, acted aggressive and ugly in the speeding traffic, she grew sad and contrite. How could she have forgotten the Underwoods? They were her family when she was little. During the week until Amanda was ten, a live-in nanny, Lolly, had taken care of her.  Cheryl came home on the weekends, but mostly cried on the phone and slept. Amanda kept quiet in the house until noon. After lunch, she ran across the street and played with Olivia Underwood. Olivia’s mother was moody like Cheryl. But Walter, Olivia’s father, loved watching them play. He made tea party snacks for them and their dolls. He took them to playgrounds and taught them both to ride bicycles.

It upset Amanda that she’d practically forgotten about Walter, as if not remembering him diminished her gratitude. More than gratitude—her love. Walter Underwood was like a father to her. He deserved a place front and center in her mind everyday. Because when the Underwoods separated, and Olivia and her mother moved to Maine, Walter was Amanda’s father. He had adopted her when no one else was there.   

The traffic let up as they neared campus. Amanda pressed herself against the far side of the car and shook her head.

Mike nodded. “You haven’t said a word all day, sweetheart. Are you sick?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. Or, I don’t know. My mother stresses me out.”

“You’re kidding? Cheryl? She’s so great.”

“It’s typical, though,” Amanda said. “Mothers and daughters. Ask your mom if you think I’m cold.” Mike’s mother was a psychiatrist, an expert in bipolar disease. But whatever—no one needed an M.D. to recognize how friction built up between mothers and daughters. They were like magnets, attracting and repelling each other, some more charged-up than others.

The next morning, going to breakfast, she took a foot path around the administration building. Right there on the steps, in the sunshine, Mike was kissing Melanie Park.  Amanda stepped backward, her heart racing out of control. His hand held the back of Melanie’s head, and they were still kissing.

She hurried back to her dorm room, sat at her desk, and stared at her feet as if she’d never seen them before. What were they doing here? What was she doing here?

Mike knocked lightly and sauntered into the room. Amanda didn’t move; she continued staring.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He stood up and reached for her. Something in her expression warned him to back off.

“What?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“I saw you kissing Melanie.”

He laughed and threw his head back to laugh louder. “Oh that. Shit, Amanda, I thought somebody died. We grew up together. Her parents work with my parents. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s like, um, our custom. Since we were babies. She’s like my sister.” 

She barely nodded, moving very little. Walter Underwood had taken her to Disneyland right before she and Cheryl moved. He was the best father she could have hoped for and because of that, he got sent to jail.

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