Welcome Home, Mary Anne

  The best part was, as Jeff had said, that it didn’t have to be permanent, especially since it hadn’t cost anything. If he got tired of it, he could try out one of the other ideas they’d come up with. But for now, he was happy.

  “Wow! All my favorites!” Jeff’s eyes lit up when he saw the spread on the dining room table that night.

  “It’s to celebrate your new room,” Sharon said, beaming. “You did a great job, honey. So Richard and I wanted to make you a special dinner.”

  Jeff grinned. “Yum,” he said, looking over the food.

  Yum was right. Sharon and my dad had created a feast. There was a huge pan of vegetarian lasagna, a basket of garlic bread, and a Caesar salad with homemade croutons (my dad’s specialty). There were also meatballs made with seitan, which is a vegetarian alternative to meat (believe it or not, it can actually taste good), and a pitcher of iced tea.

  “Make sure to save room for dessert,” Sharon told us. “I made carob brownies, and Richard brought home ice cream to put on top of them. There’s even Tofutti for those of us who prefer it,” she added, winking at Dawn. (Tofutti is ice cream made out of — gag me — tofu. Dawn and Sharon love it.)

  “Yahoo!” cried Jeff.

  “All right!” echoed Sunny. “Tofutti rules.”

  I should have known.

  “Who doesn’t love brownies à la mode?” asked my dad. “But right now I’m ready for some lasagna. Pass your plates, everybody, and I’ll serve it.”

  For a while, everyone was busy loading up their plates with food. Then there was a long period when nobody talked at all; we were too busy eating. Finally, Jeff spoke up.

  “This is the best dinner ever,” he said.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Sharon beamed.

  Dawn giggled. “Hey, Jeff, the sauce on this reminds me. Remember that time we tried to make spaghetti sauce in the pressure cooker? We didn’t have a clue about how to use that thing.”

  Jeff burst out laughing. “Mom thought there’d been some kind of terrible accident in the kitchen,” he said. “She actually screamed when she first came in.”

  “Who could blame me?” Sharon asked. “Everything was covered in red. The walls were dripping. The cabinets were full of sauce. Even the ceiling was spattered. It looked like a scene from a horror movie.”

  “It was the first time we’d tried to make dinner on our own,” Dawn told Sunny and me. “We wanted to surprise Mom. It was her birthday or something.”

  “No, it was Mother’s Day!” said Jeff, remembering.

  “We ended up going out for burritos.” Dawn helped herself to another serving of salad. “We didn’t even clean the kitchen first. We just left it and headed out. It was such a mess.”

  “But, being the well-behaved children that you are, I’m sure you cleaned up when you got home,” put in my dad, with a grin.

  “Um, right!” said Jeff. “I mean, we must have. Didn’t we?”

  Sharon just smiled.

  “You kids have made some good meals since then,” my dad said. “Mary Anne, do you remember the welcome-home dinner you and Dawn made me when I was coming back from that business trip?”

  “I remember!” cried Dawn. “That was when I was trying to convince you to be a vegetarian. We made great stuff. A zucchini casserole, ginger-garlic tofu, a huge salad …”

  “And I loved every bite.” My dad smiled. “Because my girls made it for me.”

  Jeff made a gagging noise. “Goop alert! Goop alert!” he said, rolling his eyes. He can’t stand it when people get sentimental.

  We laughed. I looked around the table at all the happy faces. Then I took another look at one of them. Sunny’s. She was laughing, just like the rest of us. But something was missing.

  Something I recognized.

  Something most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  But I did, because I knew exactly how she felt.

  There we were, one big happy family, reliving happy memories. Talking, laughing, passing dishes of food. It was a nice scene. And to most people Sunny would have looked like a part of it, like she was having just as good a time as the rest of us. But I knew better.

  We’d done everything we could to make Sunny feel at home, to make her feel welcome. Yet I saw that she still felt like an outsider, like a spectator at the happy-family parade.

  I’d felt that way so often over the years. Sometimes I still feel that way. I mean, I have a family. And — don’t get me wrong — I love my family a lot. I value the people in it above anything else. But I grew up without a mother, and I always feel that she’s missing. Most people seem to take family for granted, as if it’s like the air you breathe or the water you drink. But I know better. And now, so does Sunny.

  Sunny looked up from her plate and caught me studying her. Our eyes met for just a second, and I saw the pain in hers. Then she looked away. “Hey, Dawn,” she said. “What about that cake we made for your dad’s birthday? When we used salt instead of sugar by mistake?”

  Jeff groaned. “That had to be the worst cake in the history of the universe.”

  “Speaking of cake,” Sharon said, “isn’t it about time for dessert?”

  The brownies were excellent. We piled on the ice cream (or Tofutti, depending), and by the time we left the table, everybody was moaning about being way too full. Even Jeff hadn’t been able to handle seconds on dessert.

  After dinner, Jeff headed upstairs to his new room. Dawn, Dad, Sharon, and I hung out in the living room while Sunny put in a Sunday evening call to her dad. She was using the phone in Sharon and my dad’s room. The call must not have lasted long, because after a few minutes I heard her footsteps padding down the hall to Dawn’s room. She didn’t come downstairs.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the look I’d seen on her face, the “I don’t belong” look. And I couldn’t help wondering if she might want to talk about it. I wanted her to know I was willing to listen.

  I yawned. “I’m kind of tired,” I told the others. “I think I’ll go up to my room and read for a while.” I kissed my dad and Sharon. “Thanks again for a great dinner,” I told them.

  Upstairs, I approached the closed door to Dawn’s room. I knocked gently. “Sunny, it’s me, Mary Anne,” I said, pushing the door open. “How’s your dad?”

  “Fine, I guess,” she said. She was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “I mean, I don’t know. He misses me, and he’s all alone in that house. Sometimes I wonder if I should go back there.”

  “I’m sure he does miss you. But he understands that you want to be here with Dawn too.”

  “I know. And he’s so busy at the bookstore that I’d probably never see him anyway.”

  I sat down on Dawn’s bed. “Um, Sunny,” I said, not knowing exactly where to start, “I was wondering, I mean, I just wanted you to know — ”

  She interrupted. “Mary Anne, do I have to call Jeff in here for a goop alert?” She rolled over on her side, facing me.

  “No! I mean, I don’t mean to be goopy. I just thought you might want to talk, you know, about —”

  “I don’t want to talk about anything,” Sunny said firmly.

  “I know it’s hard,” I went on. “Like at dinner. I know how that can be, watching everybody else be this happy family.”

  Sunny closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and looked at me. “Was that not a riot, about the spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen?” she asked, grinning.

  Okay. The message could not have been more clear. Sunny didn’t want to talk. And whether I thought she should was beside the point. I couldn’t force her to deal with her feelings. I couldn’t demand that she open up about how her mother’s death had affected her. And, the truth was, even though I thought I understood, I probably didn’t. Her situation was so different from mine. I had no right to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for.

  “It was pretty funny,” I agreed. I stood up and yawned. “Well, I guess I’ll head to bed.”

  Tha
t was it. I figured Sunny would let me know when she was ready to talk. Meanwhile, I became her supportive friend again. And Sunny continued to be Ms. Energy Source of the Year.

  Dawn had been absolutely right.

  It wasn’t just that Sunny didn’t want to talk.

  Sunny didn’t want to think.

  That seemed to be her solution: If she could just stay busy enough, she wouldn’t have to face her thoughts. And if Sunny was going to be busy, so were Dawn and I, like it or not.

  We spent the next three days in constant motion. Sunny led us from the pool to the mall to downtown to the library.

  “And let’s go to the arboretum. And the Stoneybrook Museum. I’ve already been to the library, but I still want to go back there. And what about the radio station? Could we go there? I bet they’d show us around.”

  Finally, by Wednesday night, Sunny declared she’d seen everything there was to see in Stoneybrook. “This isn’t a bad town,” she told us as we lay in the hammock in the backyard after dinner that night. (Dawn and I were lying in the hammock, that is. Sunny was pacing beside it.) “But it’s limited. I mean, there are only so many people here, and so many places to see. There’s only one museum!”

  “The museum is pretty good for a town this size,” I said.

  “True,” agreed Sunny. “But don’t you want to see more? Don’t you want to see different kinds of people? Cool stores? Dozens of museums? Don’t you want to experience more than Stoneybrook can offer?”

  “Exactly what are you suggesting?” Dawn asked warily.

  Sunny just kept pacing.

  “Sunny? Tell us what you’re planning.”

  Sunny stopped in her tracks. Her eyes were gleaming with excitement. “I’m planning something amazing,” she said. “I’m planning a trip to the most exciting city in the world. Tomorrow. The three of us.”

  “I don’t know if my dad will — ” I began.

  Sunny shook her head. “This has nothing to do with your dad,” she said. “This is just us. Off to New York for a magical day on our own! And nobody has to know.”

  “You mean you want us to sneak off to New York?” Dawn asked, her eyes wide.

  Sunny nodded. “Bingo.”

  Dawn sat up suddenly, and I almost fell out of the hammock.

  Sunny didn’t seem to notice. She kept pacing.

  “Sunny,” Dawn said. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Sunny stopped and looked at us. “Kidding? Why should I be kidding?”

  We stared back at her. “You want us to sneak off to New York City by ourselves without telling anyone?” I asked.

  “That’s the general idea. Why is that such a big deal?”

  “It’s just — ”

  “You’ve been there before on your own, haven’t you? With Stacey?”

  “Well, yes,” I said. “But we had permission. And a plan.”

  “We can make a plan,” Sunny said. “It would be more fun without one, but a plan is fine. And as for permission — ” She waved a hand. “That’s just a formality. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. But I want to go tomorrow, and if we ask now, there’ll be one of those long, drawn-out decision processes that parents specialize in. They’ll torture us with ‘we’ll see,’ and ‘maybe,’ and the next thing you know it’ll be time for me to head back home to California.”

  I didn’t think she was being fair. Sharon and my dad aren’t like that. But I could tell Sunny wasn’t going to hear anything I said. She was in her own little Sunny world.

  “Sunny,” Dawn began. “Sunny, stop pacing and listen to me.”

  Sunny stopped in her tracks. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, grinning.

  Dawn sighed. She shifted position in the hammock. “Look, I’d love to go to New York. It’s a great city, no question about it. And I’d love to show you all the major landmarks, like the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. We could even go to Ellis Island. That is a totally cool place to visit.”

  Sunny looked unimpressed.

  Dawn went on. “But why don’t we just wait for the weekend and make it a family trip? I know my mom would love to go too. Richard always has a good time in the city. And Jeff? He’d have a blast.”

  She sounded so enthusiastic. I thought for sure Sunny would agree to the plan.

  I was wrong.

  “Dawn, Dawn, Dawn.” Sunny sighed. “You know I adore your family. They’ve been wonderful to me. So don’t take this the wrong way. But that is so not what I’m talking about.”

  Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Oh, no?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Then why don’t you tell us what you’re talking about, Sunny.”

  “You don’t have to get all bent out of shape,” Sunny said lightly. “Come on, this is about fun.”

  Dawn looked skeptical, but she uncrossed her arms. “I like fun. Go on.”

  Sunny sat down on the ground next to the hammock. “All right,” she said. “Here’s the thing. Visiting places like the ones you were talking about is fine for tourists.” She paused and held up a hand. “Don’t say it,” she said before Dawn or I could speak. “I know, I’m visiting from California. That makes me a tourist. And someday I’d love to do the Empire State, World Trade Center, Statue of Liberty tourist thing. But what I’m talking about is different. What I want to do is see the real New York. The New York that New Yorkers see.”

  She jumped to her feet. “Wait a sec,” she said. “Don’t move.” She ran toward the house.

  Dawn let out a huge breath and flopped back into the hammock. “What is she thinking?” she asked, lying there with her eyes closed.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Shh,” Dawn warned me. “She’s coming back.”

  Sunny ran across the lawn, waving something at us. As she drew closer, I saw that it was a magazine.

  “Check this out,” she said, climbing into the hammock with us. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Then she held the magazine so we could both see it. “City Chic,” blared the headline of the article she’d opened to. “Where Do Real City Kids Shop?” The guy and girl in the picture looked impossibly sophisticated and exotic. He was tall with a dark goatee and short dark hair. His eyes were obscured by yellow-tinted sunglasses. She was even taller than he was, with long corkscrews of coppery-red hair. Both were wearing all-black outfits.

  “Look at them. Are they not the coolest?” Sunny was shaking her head.

  “They’re very cool,” Dawn admitted. “But what do they have to do with us?”

  Sunny rolled her eyes. “You’re not listening, are you? My point is that these kids are real New Yorkers. They don’t spend time hanging around the Empire State Building with their parents. They live in the city. It’s their environment. They know where to go, what to do to have a great time. Shopping is a part of that, but so are restaurants and clubs.”

  Gulp. “Clubs?” I repeated. “You mean, like, with music and — and everything?”

  Sunny patted my hand. “Take a deep breath, Mary Anne. Don’t worry. I’m not suggesting anything wild here. But wouldn’t you at least like to sneak a peek at the kind of place that kids like these” — she gestured at the magazine — “go to? I mean, these two don’t hang out at any boring old mall, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so bored with our mall,” Dawn said stiffly.

  “Oh, come on,” Sunny answered impatiently. “Admit it. The mall’s fine, but do you want to spend every day of your life there?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “Then let’s go somewhere different!” Sunny exclaimed, jumping out of the hammock.

  Dawn and I held on as the hammock careened back and forth. Sunny was pacing again.

  “Look. It’s not such a big deal,” Sunny said. “Tomorrow, as soon as Sharon and Richard leave for work, we’ll head for the train station. We take the train to New York, take a cab to the Village, and walk around for a few hours. Then we hop back into a c
ab, zoom up to the train station, and we’re back before anyone knows any better!”

  She made it sound so simple. “How did you figure all that out?” I asked.

  “By reading this article,” Sunny admitted. “That’s how the interviewer met up with the kids. She took a train in from the suburbs and trailed along with them while they walked around in the Village and Soho. The Village is in the lower part of the city. It’s where all the coolest people have always hung out,” Sunny explained.

  “I knew that,” Dawn said quickly. “I’ve been there.”

  “And Soho stands for South of Houston. As in Houston Street, which, by the way, is pronounced House-ton, not Hyoos-ton. It’s even cooler than the Village. It’s where all the artists used to live and work and show their stuff. Now there are lots of super-hip shops.”

  “How do you get there from the Village?” I asked.

  “We walk!” Sunny crowed. “That’s the best part. Soho and the Village run right into each other.”

  Suddenly, I noticed something. We weren’t talking anymore about whether we would or wouldn’t go. We were talking about how to get where we were going. How had Sunny convinced us without our noticing?

  Dawn frowned. “What about Jeff?” she asked. So she wasn’t convinced. Not yet.

  “He’s planning to spend the day at the Pikes’,” Sunny said without missing a beat. “He and the triplets are building a fort or something. I heard him ask Sharon for permission. He’ll never know we were gone. And just in case anyone ends up looking for us during the day, we can leave a note saying we went to the pool.”

  Dawn was quiet for a second.

  I was too.

  I knew it wasn’t right. My dad would be furious if he found out. But would he find out? And really, as Sunny said, what was the big deal? I had been to New York before without an adult along. And this trip would be special. Sunny had made it sound very exciting. Her plan was crazy — but it might work. Still …