How to Ruin Series Part 149

Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice my dad has moved the chair from the living room into the hallway, directly between my room and the living room where Avi is sleeping.

"Aba, how long are you going to be sitting there?" I ask him.

"All night."

I can't even get mad at him. I know he just worries about me and questions his own effectiveness as a father. After all, I've only lived with him a few months and he's still getting used to having a teenage daughter around. He's probably wondering what to tell my mom if she grills him on my life. Considering last year I didn't even want to talk to him, I understand why he's sitting on a chair in the middle of the hallway and isn't willing to budge anytime soon.

Moving past him, I say, "I just want to say goodnight to Avi. Does that meet with your approval?"

"That depends on how long your goodnight will last," he says, abandoning his post to follow me.

Okay, so three's a crowd in this scenario. It's not easy saying goodnight to the guy of your dreams when your dad is standing over your shoulder.

"Well, goodnight Avi," I say sheepishly when I get to the living room and wish we were still on the beach ... without an overprotective chaperone.

Avi is sitting on the sofa, wearing baggy shorts and ... well, that's about it. As much as I hate people staring at my chest, I have the hardest time not staring at his. I think he sits there half-dressed to tempt me.

Two can play at this game.

I can't do it now, but tomorrow I'm going to taunt him by wearing something extra low-cut and tight. Let's see how he reacts in the morning.

He's got this huge grin on his face. He has no clue I have ideas spinning in my head. "Lyla tov, Amy," he says, telling me goodnight in his native language.

I want to say more, but not with my bodyguard behind me, so I stroll back to my room. Although, one backward glance at Avi and I know I don't even have to say the words. He knows how I feel and what I want to say.

"Seriously, Aba, do you know how embarra.s.sed you're making me?"

"Seriously, Amy, do you know I don't care?"

I roll my eyes. In bed, I wonder how long he'll stay perched on that chair in the middle of the hallway. I hope he falls asleep in that chair and gets a crick in his neck.

I cuddle under the covers of my bed, wis.h.i.+ng I was cuddling with Avi instead of my Care Bear.

Two more nights until Avi leaves. How is my heart not going to crush into a million pieces? And how am I going to sleep tonight when I'm too excited to go to bed?

I'm replaying the evening in my head, focusing on the "I love you" parts and conveniently skipping over the embarra.s.sing parts on the Northwestern campus.

Because that can easily be erased from my memory.

Although ... I wonder if Jess, Nathan, and Miranda are okay. If you want to get technical about it, I did ditch them tonight.

29.

Sarah gave birth to Isaac when she was ninety years old and her husband, Abraham, was one hundred years old (Genesis 17:17).

I hope my mom and Marc aren't going to keep having kids until they're that old.

I love weekends. Especially when I don't have any homework and my boyfriend is in town.

In the morning, I walk out of my bedroom wearing a black, extra-small wrap s.h.i.+rt that shows off way too much cleavage. Jess and I both bought one last winter when they were the hottest fas.h.i.+on, but we were too embarra.s.sed to wear them in public.

During breakfast, I make a big production out of bending down to pour Avi cereal. He's not looking; every time I check his eyes are focused on his food. I keep bringing him stuff ... bread, hummus, orange juice. He looks at my face, but definitely not my cleavage. What's up with that?

When my dad walks into the kitchen, he takes one look at me and slaps his hands over his eyes. "Amy, where's the rest of your s.h.i.+rt?"

"This is it."

"Um ... no. No. No. No. It doesn't cover your ... parts." He points to Avi. "Close your eyes." He shakes the same finger at me, but still has one hand over his eyes.

"Go back in your room and put on something VERY.

conservative.

That covers those girl things."

Avi's shoulders are shaking and I think he just spit out his cereal from trying to cover up his laughter.

I huff in frustration and look at my boyfriend. "Did you not notice my b.o.o.bs practically hanging out?"

Avi looks from me to my dad. "Um ... is this a talk we should be having in front of your aba?"

My dad holds up his hands, stopping the conversation. "This is a conversation that should not be happening at all. Amy, I'm calling your mom. After you change your s.h.i.+rt. This is out of my jurisdiction."

I change, then have to deal with my mom and dad talking on the phone about me for fifteen minutes.

"I noticed them, Amy," Avi says as I plunk myself back down at the kitchen table.

"Well, you weren't staring at 'em," I say accusingly.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

He's got me there. Usually I hate people staring at my over-abundance of frontage that G.o.d "blessed me with" (my mom's phrase, not mine). Avi knows this. I know I'm being ridiculous and not making any sense.

"If it makes you feel any better, when you turned away I couldn't take my eyes off them."

Even though I know this entire conversation is ridiculous, I say, "Thank you, Avi."

He gives me one of his signature half- smiles. "It's all sababa."

"Yeah," I say. "It is."

After my mom has a "talk" with me over the phone about private parts remaining private, I drag Avi to the Museum of Science and Industry. It's my favorite museum, especially the dead baby exhibit.

Okay, so technically it's called the neonatal exhibit, showcasing embryos and fetuses in formaldehyde. I've always been fascinated with the exhibit: seeing how human life starts as a speck and ends up a real person. Total miracle, I can't describe it any other way.

Makes you believe in G.o.d all over again.

I thought Avi would be bored looking at the dead babies, but when I glance over at him and catch him riveted to the exhibit I know he feels the same way about it that I do. As I study the stages of development, my heart goes out to the mothers of these children who weren't able to grow up.

They lost their lives before life even started. But they're doing more for people than most do in a lifetime, surely more than I've done in my seventeen years. They've made people more educated, they've made people aware of what it's like inside of a woman's body as she's pregnant with a child, and they even bring people closer to G.o.d.

Avi takes my hand in his as we stop at each stage of development and study the fetuses. They're labeled as male or female (even identical twins are labeled) and how many weeks old they are.

Avi puts his hand up to the gla.s.s, right in front of the fetus that looks fully developed except it's so small. "I've never seen anything like this," he says.

I know it's not everyone's favorite exhibit, and if you really think about it it's kind of creepy. But it makes me feel good knowing I've shared it with Avi and he appreciates it as much as I do. Maybe one day ...

I look over at Avi. He smiles. I can tell he's thinking the same thing.

In the afternoon, I take him along with Mutt to my mom's house. I can't have Avi go back to Israel without meeting the other half of my nuclear family, although I'm not sure how Marc and Mom will act around him. And now that we've just seen the neonatal exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry, I hope my mom being pregnant doesn't freak Avi out.

As soon Mom sees Mutt, she says, "Do you have to bring the animal?" she says.

"Mom, you have a yard he can run in.

He loves your yard."

Since I'm keeping Mutt on an extender leash at the park so he doesn't impregnate anyone else's dog, my mom's place is like Freedom City for him.

"Last time you didn't pick up all of his p.o.o.p, Amy. Marc stepped in a little present last week."

Way to go, Mutt! "Sorry, Mom," I try and say sincerely, although in the back of my head I think G.o.d had something to do with it. B'shert, right? Meant to be.

"Amy, don't tell me you're sorry. Tell Marc."

After I let Mutt loose in the backyard, my mom says, "I'm going to a.s.sume you're Avi."

Avi gives her one of his killer smiles, putting on the Avi charm, and shakes her hand. My heart flips over because I know he's doing it for me, that it's important to him that my mom likes him. And maybe because he's lost some brownie points with my dad after last night and he wants to rack some up with my mom before he leaves. Smart guy.

"So, how old are you again?" Mom asks as she pats down her model blonde hair. If I didn't know better, I'd think my mom was trying to rack up brownie points with Avi.

Amy, don't go off on her. She's not embarra.s.sing you on purpose. Wait to interfere when she pulls out the naked baby pictures.

"Eighteen," Avi replies.

"And you're in the Israeli army?"

"Yes."

My mom sits down at the kitchen table and says, "So ... what do you do there?"

"Mom, he's training to be a commando,"

I say, interrupting. "He can't tell you what he does all day."

"Do you shoot guns?"

Avi looks from me to my mom and back.

"When we have to," he says.

I need a c.o.ke. This is harder than I thought. I open the refrigerator, but there's no c.o.ke ... no Diet c.o.ke, no Cherry c.o.ke, no Vanilla c.o.ke. There's not even a c.o.ke Zero. "Uh, Mom, where's the c.o.ke?"

"We don't have any in the house. It's not good for the baby," she says, then touches her stomach.

As I stare at her hand caressing her abdomen, I think about the neonatal exhibit we saw today. For the first time, I can picture what my little brother or sister looks like right now. The size of my fist ...

or maybe even smaller.

Marc stumbles into the kitchen, introduces himself to Avi, and the two shake hands. "Do you play golf?" Marc asks, then sneezes into a handkerchief he just pulled from his pocket.

"No. Soccer's my sport," Avi says, then looks to me. I shrug, confused. Does Marc want to go hit a few at the range with Avi to test his skill with a club? Or is he desperately trying to have a manly sports conversation or, scarier yet, a sports compet.i.tion?

"Why don't you boys see if there's a soccer game on TV while Amy helps me set the table?"

"I can help, too," Avi says.

"Go ahead," I say and push him gently out of the kitchen. I need private time to gossip about him with my mom.

While Marc and Avi settle into the living room, my mom and I set the table.

Mom is smiling wide and staring at me as if I just got engaged or something. "He's adorable," she says. "I can see how you can be so hung up on him."

Hung up on him? I'm a little more than hung up on him, I'm full blown in love with the guy and even being one room away I realize is too far for me. I don't even want to think about tomorrow, when I have to drive him to the airport and watch a plane taking off with him inside.

Staring at the fresh flowers in the middle of the kitchen table, I say, "Mom, how many times have you been in love?"

"How many times did I think I was in love or how many times have I really been in love?"

"How do you know the difference?"

"You don't. Well, not at the time you're having the feelings. I was in love with Danny Peterson in high school; we dated my junior and senior year."

"What happened with Danny?"

"I caught him kissing Shayna Middleton under the bleachers during gym cla.s.s.

Guess he didn't love me as much as I loved him. Then there was your dad."

Deep in my mom's blue eyes I detect sadness. "Why didn't you marry him, Mom? I know he wanted to marry you, but you wouldn't."

She wrings her hands together on the table. "My parents ... your grandparents ... they didn't think your father was good for me. He was a foreigner, someone who might leave me and go back to Israel or who knows where. Or marry me just for citizens.h.i.+p and leave me."