Last spring my sister graduated from high school. My parents threw a spectacular graduation party on our newly remodeled backyard patio. I invited some of my close friends, and “M” was one of them. I stood awkwardly in my black dress, not knowing whether or not I should to attempt to socialize with my sister’s friends. I decided to make a beeline for the bathroom. I always hide in the bathroom when I feel out of sorts. Right before my third hurried step in the direction of the restroom, “M” strolled in. He was the first of my friends to arrive. The others had all texted me with some elaborate excuses for why they were running late. No doubt, they didn’t want to be the first ones to arrive at this haphazard, potentially awkward family gathering.
“M” was dressed up for the occasion. He handed my sister an unwrapped present. It was a UChicago Sweatshirt (the school she would be attending that fall). Upon spotting me, he walked over.
After the party my Grandmother asked me about “M”. No one had informed her of any juicy information, she just happened to be smitten with him. She kept insisting: “He’s sweet on you”. In her world, guys and gals don’t date. Guys are simply “sweet on” girls.
Finally I cracked.
“Why are you so adamant that he is ‘sweet on me’…” I cautiously inquired.
“I can tell from the way he looks at you” She replied softly.