"Oh, come on, Mom," I moan, spinning around to face her again. "It's a party, not a drug-crazed orgy!"

This is clearly not the right way to make my argument. My mother fixes her blue-green eyes on mine and gives me the Look. The Look is what Dad and I call my mother's unblinking gaze that straight-forwardly says that the conversation is over; she's already won the argument.

"Fine," I raise my hands in front of my chest and let them fall. "I'll miss it. Just like every other party at Axel's house."

"Axel's house is half an hour away, and typically unsupervised, if I recall."

"Yes. And the one time I was allowed out there for a party, I returned home alive, if you'll recall."

"Alright, Kati," she sighs. "Let's just take it down a notch, alright?"

The front door opens and closes and my father announces his arrival home.

"Hey, gorgeous," he smiles, kissing my head as he passes to greet my mother. He kisses her and then, as usual, tries to diffuse the tension. My mother and I actually get along really well. Our arguments are few and far between, but when they happen, we both think we're right and it takes some time to settle. My dad says it's because we're exactly alike; stubborn and unwavering.

"What are we talking about?" he asks, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Mom has a desire to see me with no friends, invited to no parties, and remaining a virgin until I'm 60," I reply drily.

"Well I'm on board with the last bit there," my dad replies. "What party?"

"It's a kegger," Mom answers, glancing at me pointedly, and sorting papers from her briefcase. "And it's at Axel Mason's house, and I'd bet my last dollar that his parents won't be there."

"You are archaic," I reply, monotone, closing my eyes.

"Just good ol' Southern love, baby girl," she replies, walking over to me and kissing my forehead. "Forgive me for not wanting to send my only child off to a fire in a woodpile."

"Where do you get these sayings?" I ask, my hands pointed to the ceiling.

"Kati, why do you want to go this party?" Dad asks, biting an apple.

"Because I'm sixteen," I reply, completely serious.

"She gets that sarcasm from you," Dad says to Mom. "And where are we in the Yes or No situation?"

"No," I answer.

"Hey, I didn't say no," Mom says. "Not exactly. I said not if it's unsupervised."

"Please don't tell me you're stipulations involve you being there to supervise," I breathe.

"Now there's a party," Dad says through a bite of apple. "Break out the SoCo and Bluegrass." Mom playfully pinches him.

"You don't even know that his parents won't be there," I retort. "And since when do you not trust me?"

"We do trust you, sugar," she replies. "I just don't trust any other teenagers."

"Well, if you trust me, then you trust my judgment. What do you think I'm going to do? Drink? Because I haven't lied about that. I have had beer. You think I'm going to do drugs? Have sex?"

This seems to startle my Dad into strict attention. He looks up, glancing from me to my mother. "Sex? Is there sex?"

I roll my eyes. "No, Dad. There is no sex."

"Yeah? Because we can...we can talk about, y'know. All of that."

"We did. When I was 12," I reply, getting exasperated. "And it will be a long time before I forget your awkward explanation of sexual reproduction."

"Look, baby, there are a lot of things and situations that you just might not be ready to handle just yet."

"Well how am I supposed to grow up, Mom, if you won't let me? I'm gonna have to experience certain things, if you want me to know how to handle them."

This seems to silence both of them. Dad looks over at Mom, who glances at him, and they have one of their Eye Conversations. With no words, they can come to a conclusion for just about anything. I take a deep breath and rub my foot over Nigel, our English bulldog.

"Alright, listen," Mom begins after a few moments. I glance up, surprised at her tone. "You may go-" My eyes widen. "On several terms," she finishes.

"Alright," I reply, sighing. "Let's hear it."

"No drinking," she points at me, sternly.

"Fine. It's not like I've ever gone and gotten wasted and come home soaked in vomit, without my shoes and with a score of hickeys on my neck" This is the wrong thing to say, as both my parents look disturbed by this tidbit.

"No smoking. Anything."

"Mom," I look at her, head cocked. "Seriously."

"I know you wouldn't, I'm just stating it. It's a...family rule. And you're home by 11:30," she finishes.

"Midnight?" I counter hopefully.

"Eleven?" she counters back.

"Eleven-thirty," I agree. She holds out her pinkie finger; a silly thing we've done since I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to know what a promise was, and how important they were to keep. I reach out and hook my pinkie with hers. She smiles, and I can't help but smile back. She pulls me in and hugs me tightly, kissing my hair as she pulls back.

"I love you," she says, tucking a dark lock of hair behind my ear.

"I love you, too," I reply. She squeezes my hand before turning and walking around the kitchen island to the fridge.

"And no sex," Dad pipes up, pointing his apple at me.

"Believe me, I have no desire to be naked with any of the morons I go to school with." This relieves both of them; my dad more openly.

"And when you do feel like maybe that's...maybe..."

"Yes, Dad. When that day comes, I will be smart and come to you if I need to." He raises his hands in surrender.

"Just making sure. We had an agreement."

I shake my head, rolling my eyes, as my phone vibrates on the island. I pick it up and reply to Jamie's text about the party.

"Will Jamie be joining us for dinner?" Mom asks, pulling dishes out.

"Probably," I reply. "She's on her way over. I'm going to have a shower." I head upstairs to shower before Jamie arrives. As I head up the stairs, I hear Dad sigh, and Mom say, "Yeah...Those Days have arrived."