We had been sitting at the dinner-table for so long that a chilled ambiance came over the room, and, trust me, it had nothing to do with my tepid chick-pea soup. My mother’s nostrils flared with a sharp inhale as she hissed at me, “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

It’s not that I didn’t want to tell her before, it’s just that I couldn’t. Could Juliet tell Lady Capulet about Romeo? I think not. And so it was out of the question for me to divulge the details of my hush-hush romance with Barry to my mother.

Quite frankly, I haven’t had much luck in the world of men. And probably the only one worth mentioning was Harold, that piano technician; all he did was string me along. After that discordance of a relationship, I decided I better move on to something a little different.

Okay, so we met at a concert. I know, it sounds a little cliché, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him all night. Oh, and how his sound bellowed throughout the room, practically serenading me. I’ll admit his performance was a little brassy, but what could I do—’twas love at first sight.

My mother’s spoon clanged against her empty soup bowl, once I had gotten to this point in my romantic testimony. “Is this why you’ve been staying late at school, and why you didn’t come home right away after that band concert,” my mother said. “Anna, the truth is bad enough. Tell me. Are you in a relationship with that baritone?”

Barry and I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but my mother isn’t even the worst part. I’m not going to lie, it’s really difficult to see him out in public with that guy. It’s taken us so long to get to first base, and there goes that Ben Conley hitting an out of the park low run with Barry in front of the entire Pep Band. Oh, the humanity!

But, I have a feeling that this relationship is going to be steady. Barry’s a nice guy, and he doesn’t sound like a sick elephant like that Tuba down the street. Given, he may be filled with hot air, but soon enough, I think my mother will warm up to the idea of us.