Chapter 9: Romance (Part II)

Are you there, Judy Blume? It's me, Henriette

He wrote me a poem.

I bit my lip.

He likes me? A lot?

That evening Seth called.

We talked for a long time about a lot of things, like school ending and our plans for the summer. I could tell we were dancing around his poem, but it felt exciting, like a pulling, a momentum. A train moving forward.

“Thank you for the poem.”

“Do you like poetry?”

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. Why did I say that? I barely knew any poetry, and I definitely wasn’t sure if I liked it. I didn’t like not telling the truth. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe I would like poetry if I read more of it? I knew I liked his poem. Maybe I just liked that he had written me a poem.

“What do you think it means?”

“Your poem?”

“Yes.” Oh, God. I had no idea what to say about his poem. Honestly, it seemed a little sexual with words like uniting and withdrawal, but maybe I was being too literal. Maybe it was about two people meeting for the first time?

“I’m not sure.”

“What are you not sure about?”

“I mean, I like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yes. Very much.”

I didn’t think we were talking about the poem any more. Sometimes it seemed like we were talking about the poem, and sometimes like we were talking about something else. Seth said he had to go for an hour, but would call me back.

I went to the basement where Mum was hanging laundry. We didn’t often use the dryer because Mum said it was too expensive to run. I wasn’t sure if that was a fact or if she had picked that up from Bedstemor and Bedstefar who conserved water and electricity like Armageddon was nigh.

“How was your chat with Seth?”

“It’s still going.” She flapped out a wet T-shirt. “It’s frustrating. I think he’s trying to get me to admit I like him.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“Yes.” God, yes.

“So, why don’t you tell him?”

“Well, shouldn’t he tell me first?”

“Didn’t he already write that in your yearbook?” She was right. He had.

“Shouldn’t he say it out loud first?” Mum smiled into the washer, pulling out the remaining wet clothes.

“Welcome to the game.”

Are you there, Judy Blume? It’s me, Henriette. This is one of my favorite Mum moments. It was the first time Mum treated me like an equal, talking with me adult to adult, not dismissing my feelings for Seth as a silly crush. That one statement was like the offering of her hand, as I stepped forward into the world of romance. A precious piece of insight, intel I would need to survive.

The idea that love was complicated, and there would power struggles that knocked you off your axis. And sometimes you just had to hang there, like the t-shirt, and wait for their next move.

I watched her as she hung clothes, feeling myself grow tall. I understood exactly what she meant. It did feel like a game! A game I didn’t know how to play, but wanted to learn. And win.

I went back upstairs and sat on my canopy bed, ruffles spilling down the sides. It was so young and girly, the total opposite of how I felt. Inside, I was jittery, but revved, like a train ready to leave the station. I really liked Seth. I opened my yearbook again.

Please keep in touch this summer. I like you a lot.

Why didn’t I just tell him? Why was it so hard? I could do this. I wanted to do this. I knew how good it would feel if I just told him. I looked at the phone. He was going to call me, but what if I called him first? I wiped my hands on my legs and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Seth answered on the first ring. My face flushed.

“Hi.”

His voice lifted, surprised. “I was just about to call you!”

I took a big breath.

“Seth…I like you, too. A lot.”