Story #40 - Live a Little

Hey everyone!! Wow, Story #40!! I've only got twelve left and then I'll have written a full year's worth of stories! I can hardly believe it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this story!

Title: Live a Little (suggestions welcome)

Warnings: lightly implied sexual content

Summary:  A comment from Theresa's mom makes Theresa worry that she isn't having enough fun.

Length: ~2,400 words
Notes: First person point of view, present tense. I'm not sure what the genre is.

Live a Little

                You know it’s a weird world when your own mom accuses you of not having enough fun. I’ve just gotten off the phone with my mom, and the conversation went pretty much like this:

                *ring*

                Me: “Hello?”

Mom: “Theresa?”

Me: “Oh, hi, Mom. What’s up?”

Mom: “Just checking on you. I worry about you, honey.”

Me: “Uh, I’m fine, thanks.”

Mom: “Mrs. Merriweather is having a little get-together tomorrow evening. It’s not just for old people like me – Mark’s friend Gary is going, and I think Sharon is too. You should come.”

Me: *sigh* “Sorry, Mom, I can’t. I’ve got a twenty page essay on the DREAM Act due next week, and I need to start working on it.”

Mom: “C’mon, honey, you need to live a little. It’s not due until next week. I haven’t seen you for ages.”

Me: “Well, I’ve just been really busy right now. With Mark unemployed at the moment, it’s up to me to support us, and –”

Mom: “I know, I know, but you never seem to have fun anymore. You need to learn to put your worries aside and just… just have fun for a bit. The party will be fun.”

Me: “You realize how weird it is for a mother to be trying to convince their child to slack off, right?”

Mom: *laughs* “True, but when have I ever been normal?”

*pause*

Me: “I’m sorry, Mom, I don’t think I’m going. And I’ve got to hang up – I’ve already spent too much time talking.”

Mom: “Fine… but do change your mind, sweetheart. I hate to think of you cooped up all week working on that essay.”

Me: “I’ll think about it.”

Mom: “That’s all I ask.”

Me: “Bye.”

Mom: “Bye!”

*click*

After that I went back to researching for my paper. But now while the page is taking forever to load I’m thinking about it. And I really so lame that my own mom thinks I should be having more fun and worrying less? That my mom is having more fun than me?

Well, why not? She’s in the prime of her life, barely 45, and her 23-year-old daughter is already out of the house and living with a guy, completely independent. Well, it would be nice of Mom would give us a little cash, but she’s already paying for most of law school.

Which, speaking of, I should get back to. The page is loaded. Thank God for Wikipedia. I scroll down to read some of the information and begin taking notes, but I can’t help but think of what Mom said.

Live a little.

Mark gets home at six after another day job-hunting. I look up from my computer (I’ve gotten three pages written) as he hangs his coat up. I can tell from his slumped shoulders that it didn’t go well. Still, I get up to kiss him hello and ask, “Any luck?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, baby. The job market’s just such a mess right now.”

“Shh, I know,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his short hair. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“I just feel awful that you’re having to work on top of law school so we can keep this apartment. I should be helping you. You’re working so hard.”

“Oh, God, please don’t tell me I’m no fun too,” I groan, sinking down onto the sofa in our living room. Mark joins me after a second, face twisted in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

I shrug. “Nothing really. I got a call from my mom earlier today. You know how she can take it out of me.”

Mark nods but says nothing. He’s waiting for me to elaborate, I guess. I thought I didn’t want to, but Mark’s gentle silence opens the floodgates like nothing else could have.

“She said she was worried about me. That I need to ‘live a little,’ that I never have fun anymore. My own mom is worried about my social life. How pathetic is that? She wants me to go to this party tomorrow, but I can’t. I have a huge paper due – you know, the DREAM Act one. I can’t go, but that doesn’t make me boring or lame, does it?”

“Oh, Theresa, of course not,” Mark soothes, drawing me into his arms. I go willingly, suddenly fighting the urge to cry. Mark continues, “You have a lot on your plate right now. So what if you don’t have time to go to some parties? When you graduate from law school, we’re going to have a party a billion times better than the one tomorrow night.”

I smile. “I doubt it’ll be a billion times better.”

“Oh, it will be,” Mark says solemnly. “You’ll see.”

“Well, that’s if I graduate,” I mutter. “The way things are going, we’ll probably be throwing a dropped-out-of-law-school party instead.”

“No, we won’t. Don’t talk like that. You’re always telling me to be positive about looking for a job – well, you be positive about law school. And together we’ll shine so bright that it won’t matter that our landlord threatened to cut off our power.”

I laugh. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only way I know how.”

Maybe I would be more fun if I made stupid jokes like Mark. I don’t really joke much, do I? Well, time to change.

“Thanks, Mark,” I say warmly. “Your advice really hit the spot. Now I know not to use pot!”

Mark stares at me. “I wasn’t talking about pot at all,” he says.

“Um, I know that,” I say. “Nevermind.”

Note to self: rhyming does not a joke make.

It is the night of the party, and I’m working on my essay. I just got back from my day job a few hours ago, grabbed a snack and started word on what I’ve titled in my mind The Vampire Essay. “Vampire” as in it’s sucking all of the fun out of me. Which I’m totally not worrying about.

I should listen to what Mark said. He was such a sweetheart about everything. And not to mention right and totally logical.

Feelings aren’t logical, though. That’s one of the first things you learn in life.

I glance at the clock. It’s 8:30. The party started at 8:00. I definitely have enough time to get ready and show up fashionably late. If I only stayed a few hours, then I’d still have time to work on my essay. But it’s not fun to show up to a party and not commit, right? If I go in planning to leave early because of my essay, that’s almost worse than not going at all because of it.

Mark isn’t back yet. Hopefully that means the job hunt is going well and he’s in a really late interview or something, but I doubt it. Knowing Mark, he’s probably blowing off steam at a bar (hopefully by playing pool and watching sports and drinking beer and not by getting into bar fights). He likes to pretend that the job search isn’t getting him down and that he can deal with everything without any vices, but he’s only human.

Maybe that’s what my problem is. I’ve been trying to be superhuman with my job and law school and everything, when really I should be blowing everything off and partying like a real person. Maybe that’s what Mom was trying to tell me?

What does she know, though? Her tendency to “party like a real person” is what got her pregnant with me. Which I guess I should be grateful about.

I glance at the clock again. 8:47. Totally still time. I only think about it for a few more seconds before saving my work and turning off my computer. I need some time for fun before I forget what it is entirely. I’m going to the party.

An hour later and I’m walking up the driveway to Mrs. Merriweather’s house. I’d forgotten how hard it is to walk in high heels. I clutch my purse tightly, trying not to teeter too noticeably. Finally I get up to the door and ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door swings open to reveal Mom.

“Theresa!” she beams. “You came!”

She’s wearing a red dress that woman over forty really should not wear. Her makeup is tastefully done, but I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to look younger than she is. Mom has always been like this – trying to reclaim the youth she never had or something like that. Maybe she’s so worried about me because she doesn’t want me to turn out like her.

I lean in to give Mom a careful hug. “You convinced me,” I say ruefully. “When a daughter’s having less fun than her mother, you know something needs to be fixed.”

Mom laughs her tinkling laugh. “I’m glad you could make it. Is Mark coming?”

“Uh, no, he’s still out.” I feel kind of bad leaving him to an empty house. But who knows how late he’ll be out?

“Well, come on in,” Mom says, ushering me inside. She points vaguely towards the buffet table and says, “I think Gary’s over there somewhere. See you around, sweetie!” She gives me a kiss on the cheek and hustles out. I notice that she’s wearing high heels too, but seems to walk much more gracefully in them than I do.

I wander over to the buffet but don’t see anyone that looks like Gary. There are a few 40-somethings and 30-somethings, but no one my age. I wonder just how truthful Mom was about this party. They’ve got music playing, though, and it’s contemporary pop, so that gives me some hope.

About an hour later I’m ready to leave. It’s not that the party sucks, exactly – it’s that I really have forgotten to have fun. As the minutes go by, more people my age have been trickling in. Some of them I know, some of them I don’t. People are milling about, some talking and others dancing, but I’ve spent most of my time either by the buffet table or a chair. My feet are killing me. One guy asked me to dance and I had to tell him about Mark. After that men have pretty much been avoiding me, while women that I know come up to talk with me but we only make extremely boring small talk. Have parties always been this lame or have I really just forgotten how to have a good time?

Eventually I run into Mom again. “Darling!” she trills. “How are you doing?”

“I think I’m going to leave soon,” I say. “It’s getting late.”

Mom frowns. “It’s only eleven.”

“Exactly, eleven. I still need to work on that essay.”

I never thought I would actually be grateful to the Vampire Essay, but if it helps me get out of this party, then I’ll never curse it again.

“If you say so,” Mom says with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m glad you could get you for an hour, at least.”

I give her a hug and say my goodbyes, then I hobble back to my car. On the drive home, I ponder the party. I got myself all psyched to have a good time tonight and to put off my essay, and I didn’t even enjoy the party. I feel like such a failure.

The light is on when I get home. I let myself into the apartment to find Mark sitting on the couch watching TV. He’s got a five-o-clock shadow on his face and bags underneath his eyes. For the first time I truly realize how hard he’s had it lately, too. Ever since he got laid off he’s been spending all his time searching for other jobs. Well, not all his time – somehow he finds time to go to bars and watch TV.

He glances up when I come in and mutes the TV. His eyes are clear and curious. “How’d the party go?”

Good, he got my message. I make my way over to the couch to join him, tossing off my shoes as I go. I collapse beside him. “It was awful,” I say. “I think I’ve forgotten how to have fun.”

“Or maybe the party was just really lame.”

“Maybe,” I say with a tired laugh. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have gone. It’s like you said – we’re going to have way more awesome parties when I graduate.”

Mark sighs. “I’m gonna say something, and I want you to really listen to me, okay? Not just pretend to be comforted like you did yesterday.”

“I wasn’t pretending, I just overthought –”

“Just listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mark takes a deep breath and begins. “Therese, I don’t love you because you’re a party girl or because you’re always the life of the party. I love you because you’re the most dedicated, hard-working person I know. Some people can get away with partying all the time. It works for them. But can you really see yourself acting like your mom every day? If you had acted more like her, you would’ve been pregnant already! Instead you’re doing great in law school and we’re waiting on having a kid. And that’s how it should be, for us. Maybe not for someone else.”

Mark’s words wrap around me like a blanket. I snuggle up next to him and smile. “How do you always make so much sense?”

Feelings aren’t logical. That’s probably why Mark’s words didn’t work on me the first time. But now, after trying and failing to be fun and “live a little,” and realizing that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Mark’s words help solidify that impression.

“Still,” I say after a moment. “I got all ready to blow off my essay tonight. And I guess I did, but… well, I didn’t have fun.”

Mark turns to me and waggles his eyebrows in a mock-seductive manner. “I can think of something we can do that will be fun.”

“My feet hurt too much,” I groan. “So only if you don’t care if I don’t move at all.”

“I don’t care,” Mark grins.

I hit him with a pillow.

We end up watching TV together for a while, and then we do wind up in the bedroom. And for once, the Vampire Essay doesn’t even cross my mind.

Well, except for just now.

The End! J