“You know how much she hates photographs of herself.”
“Only because you take them when I’m eating.”
Emma laughed.
Daniel smiled, then turned to her.
“Did your mom ever tell you why she hated having her picture taken when we first met?”
I knew where he was going.
“No,” Emma said.
Daniel glanced at me, giving me the chance to stop him.
I hesitated, then set down my fork.
“When I was about your age, I dated a boy who didn’t like my smile.”
Emma frowned.
“Your smile?”
“He said my front teeth looked too big. He thought I should smile with my mouth closed.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It sounds ridiculous now.”
I looked at Daniel.
“But I spent years covering my mouth when I laughed. Even after we broke up.”
Emma stared at me.
“You never told me.”
“I hadn’t thought about it in a long time.”
“Did Dad know?”
“He noticed I never smiled in pictures. Eventually, I told him why.”
Daniel reached for my hand.
“And I told her I thought her smile was the best thing about her.”
“Several times,” I added.
Emma smiled.
But Tyler had stopped eating. He was staring at his plate.
Daniel didn’t ask him what he thought.
He simply said, “It’s strange how one person’s opinion can stick with us long after that person stops mattering.”
The conversation moved on.
Tyler was quieter for the rest of dinner.
After dessert, Emma helped me put away the leftovers while Daniel and Tyler carried the dishes to the kitchen.
I heard Daniel asking about Tyler’s next basketball game.
Nothing more.
When Tyler left, Emma walked him to the door.
She returned looking disappointed.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did he apologize?”
She looked surprised.
“No. Why would he? You didn’t tell him anything.”
I glanced toward Daniel.
“Maybe he needs to hear it from me,” Emma said.
Daniel stopped wiping the counter.
“That’s your decision, honey.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell him what he said to you and how it made you feel.”
“What if he says he was only being honest?”
“Then decide what that honesty tells you about him.”
That night, I found Daniel folding dish towels.
“You planned the story about my teeth,” I said.
“I hoped you’d be willing to tell it.”
“You could have warned me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Do you think Tyler understood?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what was the point?”
“Emma heard you say someone made you ashamed of your smile. And she heard you say you don’t feel that way anymore.”
“She needed to know she won’t have to carry this forever,” he added.
The next afternoon, Emma came home unusually quiet.
She dropped her backpack and went upstairs.
I found her sitting on her bed, staring at her phone.
“Did something happen?”
“Tyler wants to talk.”
“About Friday?”
“I think so.”
She showed me his message.
“Can we talk tomorrow? I need to explain something.”
“Are you going to?”
“Maybe.”
Then she surprised me.
“Mom, did you stay with that boy after he said your teeth were ugly?”
“For a little while.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought being someone’s girlfriend meant trying to make them happy. I didn’t understand that making him happy wasn’t supposed to make me miserable.”
Emma considered that.
“Did he apologize?”
“Eventually.”
“Did you forgive him?”
“I stopped being angry. But I didn’t want to date him anymore.”
She picked at a loose thread on her blanket.
“I really like Tyler.”
“I know.”
“And he was nice before.”
“I know that too.”
She looked at me.
“Can somebody be nice and still hurt you?”
“Of course. What matters is whether they take responsibility and whether you feel comfortable telling them they’ve hurt you.”
The following day, Emma came home with more questions than answers.
She and Tyler had talked after school.
“He said some boys on the basketball team were making jokes,” she told me.
“About what?”
“My arms.”
I felt my anger rise.
“Tyler said one of them noticed when we were holding hands. They started teasing him.”
“Did he tell them to stop?”
Emma shook her head.
“He laughed.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“He said he didn’t think it was a big deal until they kept bringing it up.”
“And that’s when he asked you to shave?”
“Yeah.”
Emma twisted her fingers together.
“He said he didn’t mean to make me cry. He just wanted them to leave us alone.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I wasn’t the one making jokes.”
“Good.”
“He didn’t really answer.”
She hesitated.
“Then he said I didn’t understand what it’s like when everybody keeps staring at something about you.”
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t explain.”
For the next few days, Emma and Tyler barely spoke outside school.
She stopped checking her phone constantly.
She also stopped wearing the heavy sweatshirt around the house.
Then, on Friday, Emma came home looking troubled.
“Mom, can I ask you something without you getting mad?”
“I’ll try.”
“Tyler has something on his arms.”
I waited.
“Red patches. I saw them when he took off his sweatshirt in gym. He said it’s eczema.”
I nodded.
“He told me some boys have been making fun of it since last year. They call his arms gross.”
I felt my understanding shift.
Emma sat across from me.
“He wears long sleeves because he doesn’t want anybody looking.”
“That must be difficult for him.”
“Yeah.”
She stared at her own forearms.
“Mom, he knows what it feels like.”
I didn’t have to ask what she meant.
“He knows how much it hurts when somebody says something mean about your body. So why would he say that to me?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But it’s a fair question.”
“Do you think he wanted me to feel as bad as he does?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes people are so afraid of being embarrassed that they hurt someone else trying to protect themselves.”
“That’s not fair.”
