It was a quarter of nine and I was upstairs when I heard a car door slam. I’d already eaten and put the rest of the food away. I went to the top of the stairs and watched as Dad and Sylvia came in and set their bags on the floor. Dad saw me at the top of the stairs.
“Al!” he said, breaking into a smile, his arms outstretched, and suddenly I flew down the stairs and gave him a bear hug as he swung me around. I hugged Sylvia, too.
“Did you have a good time?” I asked, then wondered if that was an appropriate question about a honeymoon.
“A wonderful time!” Sylvia answered. “And the leaves are absolutely spectacular. It’s so gorgeous in West Virginia! I don’t see why people feel they have to go to Vermont to see fall colors.” She had on a pair of slacks and a suede jacket, loafers on her feet.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk with you before we left,” Dad said. “How did things go here?”
He didn’t even apologize, but I was determined to stay cheerful. “Liz and Pamela stayed over the weekend, and Aunt Sally cooked up a storm.” I turned to Sylvia. “The bracelet you left for me is beautiful. Thank you.”
“Thank you!” she said, turning on a lamp in the living room. Then she saw the dining-room table set with linen and candles. “Oh, Alice! Was this for us?”
Dad looked around and saw the place settings. “You weren’t expecting us for dinner, were you, Al?”
“Well, I just thought maybe you’d want something. I wasn’t sure when you’d be home,” I said.
“We got hungry and decided to get a bite on the road,” Dad said.
“Why don’t we leave the table just like this and eat here tomorrow night?” Sylvia suggested, and suddenly everything seemed “right” again.
“I wish I had your wedding present done, but I don’t,” I told them. “It’s something I’m making myself, and it’s taking a lot more time than I thought.”
“Those are the best presents, worth waiting for,” said Dad. “We’ll appreciate it all the more when it’s finished.”
We sat in the living room talking for an hour or more—how well the wedding went, the beautiful day, the Greenbrier Resort—and then Dad said, “Well, I’d better get our bags up to our room and let you go to bed, Al. We can’t keep you up all night.”
He turned out the light and went to the front door to lock it. Sylvia picked up the smaller of their bags and started up the stairs. I followed closely behind.
I saw the light go on in Dad’s bedroom. There was a gasp, then a shriek from Sylvia.
“Sylvia?” Dad said.
Her laughter rang out over the hall, and I joined in. Dad came hurrying up, staring at us both.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, moving toward their bedroom.
“Oh, Ben!” Sylvia laughed. “Lois has been here. I know it was Lois!”
Dad stepped through the doorway, and I crowded in behind him. “What… ?” And then he started to chuckle. “I’ll bet you had something to do with this, Al!”
“Lois said it was Sylvia’s story to tell, so my lips are sealed.” I giggled. “Something about a fraternity party, though, in case you’re interested, Dad.”
“Oh, that girl! Now, how did she ever find that costume? I’ll bet she and Nancy were going through my closets! It was for a fraternity costume party, Ben. Lois went as Cleopatra, as I remember, and boy, were we hot!” She winked at me, and we giggled some more.
Dad was still staring. “You went in that?”
“Yeah, Dad, and you have a spaz when I just wear my backless dress!” I teased.
Dad raised his eyebrows, smiling at Sylvia. “So what did happen at that party? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Absolutely nothing, sweetheart, except that I was a hit that night. And so was Lois. There was a lot of flirting going on, and I drank two beers. One of the seniors drove us back to our dorm. And I think Lois and I both kissed him on the cheeks at the same time.”
“What are we supposed to do with this … uh … woman in our bedroom?” he asked.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “It has to go back to Hecht’s, but Lester said he’d take her.”
The wedding had been so much fun that I hadn’t thought of much else, but once Dad and Sylvia returned from their honeymoon, I slowly came back to Earth. And what I found myself thinking about most was that there were now two girls at school whom I had hurt; I’d wanted to hurt Penny, but not Amy.
I’d tried to make it up to Amy by being extra nice to her, but Penny avoided me and I couldn’t blame her. At the same time, I didn’t care. It wouldn’t have been so bad, I guess, if, when I was inviting people to Dad’s wedding, I’d made it clear that I was asking only those friends who had had Miss Summers as a teacher. Instead, I had included Amy, who hadn’t even gone to our junior high, and I’d done all this in front of Penny. That really must have hurt. But did she ever stop to think how I felt when she took Patrick away from me? And then, to know that she invited him out on Dad’s wedding day, when she knew I’d invited Patrick!
I was thinking about Penny, I guess, because the newspaper staff was having a Halloween party at Jayne Renaldi’s house, and I remembered that the last Halloween party I’d gone to was at Penny’s. I hadn’t realized then that she liked Patrick. I just remember that she had looked really sexy in black shorts and a pirate’s costume, and the guys sure went for her.
Then I had an awful thought. What if she gave another party sometime and invited everyone but me? It’s one thing not to be invited to a friend’s father’s wedding, but not to be invited to a party is a lot worse. And of course she wouldn’t invite me. Why should she? If she went around the tables in the cafeteria whispering invitations to people right under my nose, excluding me, I’d be humiliated.
This could go on all through high school, I was thinking. I insult her. She insults me. And the thing was, neither of us was even going out with Patrick! Why were we still feuding? Because she’d really hurt me, I guess, and it still stung.
“I’m going to a party at our new editor’s house on Halloween,” I told Dad and Sylvia at dinner on Thursday, when we ate in the dining room with candles on the table.
It was only the second night Dad and Sylvia would sleep together in our house, and it made me feel really weird. The night before—the night they’d come back from their honeymoon—was the worst because I was so afraid I’d hear something I shouldn’t. It was crazy! Other kids grow up with dads and moms who have sex, and they must hear stuff sometimes.
But as late as it had been, I’d gone into my room and turned on my radio so they’d know I couldn’t hear anything. And about eleven Dad tapped on my door and asked if I shouldn’t be thinking about going to sleep, that he and Sylvia were tired from their drive home. Could I at least turn the music down? he had asked.
But it wasn’t just the nights that were awkward. It was everything. As much as I’d wanted Sylvia Summers for my mom, I felt too formal and polite when she was around. I kept saying “Excuse me” for the smallest burp or bump and always wondered if I was remembering to chew with my lips closed. It didn’t feel like our house anymore.
“Who’s the new editor this year?” Dad asked.
“Jayne Renaldi. She lives somewhere near Colesville Road. It’s a party for the newspaper staff.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Sylvia.
I glanced at Sylvia and then at Dad, and I tried not to smile. “I was thinking I could go in Sylvia’s belly dancer costume.”
“Oh!” Sylvia said, and Dad’s mouth dropped open.
But he collected himself and said, “Over my dead body.”
I just laughed. “She went to a party dressed like that, and she’s still a respectable woman,” I told him.
“Wait till you’re in college,” said Dad, smiling. “And then, if you’re ever invited to a fraternity costume party, maybe Sylvia will lend it to you.”
I’d been teasing, of course. I wasn’t about to show up in a belly dancer costume. Pamela might do it, b
ut I wouldn’t. It would be like going out in public in your underwear. I glanced over at Sylvia as she ate her green beans. She must have had a lot more nerve than I do. I noticed that she held her fork in her left hand, the European way. After she’d cut a piece of meat, she didn’t put down her knife and transfer her fork to her right hand the way Americans do.
“What time will you want me to drive you over there?” asked Dad.
“You won’t have to drive. Tony’s going to pick up a bunch of us and bring us back,” I said.
“Tony?”
“The sports editor.”
“Well, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” said Dad.
“I won’t be comfortable if you drive me. I’d be the only one on the newspaper staff who is driven over by her dad,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t come in and embarrass you or anything.”
“He’ll only wear his clown costume and do a little dance,” Sylvia joked, and we smiled, but I wondered if Dad and I were going to quarrel over this in front of Sylvia.
And then I noticed she had a drop of salad dressing above one corner of her mouth. It sat there glistening like a white pearl—beautiful Sylvia Summers with salad dressing above her lip. I couldn’t believe it!
She just went right on talking. So did Dad.
“I guess I always dreaded this day,” he said.
“Hey, Dad. I’ve been to Halloween parties before,” I said.
“Not in someone else’s car,” he told me. “Someone your own age.”
“Lester lived through it.”
“Yeah, that’s how I got this,” Dad said, and pointed to the gray in his hair. And then he reached over with his napkin and dabbed at Sylvia’s lip.
“Splattering, am I?” she said, and took another bite.
Sylvia seemed comfortable with me. How long would it take me to feel that way around her? Ever? Never? It always felt as though we had a guest. As though I had to get out of the bathroom quickly in case she needed it. When I used the toilet, I sprayed deodorizer all over the place and hoped she wouldn’t come in for ten minutes. I’d wipe out the tub when I was through so there wouldn’t be any hair lying around, and I put my used tampons in a small grocery sack instead of just wrapping them in toilet paper and dropping them in the wastebasket. I’d never been this careful with Dad or Lester.
Maybe no matter how long Sylvia and I lived together, it wouldn’t be the same as having a real mother. Maybe you have to grow up with a person to feel that close. But then, how did people ever get married?
“What are you going to wear?” Pamela asked me on the bus going home the next afternoon when I’d told everyone about the Halloween party.
“We’re supposed to come in a costume made of newspaper,” I said. “I just found out. It was Jayne’s idea.”
“Entirely of newspaper?” Elizabeth asked.
“We can use tape to hold it together, but that’s all,” I told them.
Elizabeth thought that over. “What are you going to wear underneath?”
That’s Elizabeth. “Newspaper undies, I guess,” I said, then laughed. “Underwear not included.”
“How about a sarong?” Pamela suggested. “Liz and I could come over early and fix you up.”
“Would you?” I cried. “I’ll be afraid to move in it, almost.”
“What if you have to go to the bathroom?” Elizabeth asked.
“The whole thing comes off,” I teased. “This is going to be some party!”
I had a ton of homework to catch up on over the weekend. When The Edge came out that Friday, I saw that Tim, the new assistant editor, had used three of my suggestions that kids had given me for things they would like to learn before they left high school: how to put on eyeliner, how to deal with a teacher who’s sarcastic, and how to unhook a girl’s bra. Some kids wanted to know how to snowboard, and others asked how to get along with your girlfriend’s mother—things like that. Our list was a real hit. I don’t know that the faculty was wild about it, but it got a lot of laughs from our friends.
I didn’t have any other newspaper assignments for a while, so that was a relief. But I was beginning to be embarrassed because it was taking so long to finish Dad and Sylvia’s wedding present. One of the pillowcases was really wrinkled and soiled, and I had to take some of the stitching out and do it over. I also was helping Dad and Sylvia open the pile of wedding presents we had brought home from the wedding that they hadn’t even seen yet. I kept a list of people who were to receive thank-you notes.
I guess I was just feeling sort of … well … unsettled. I didn’t feel I quite knew my place in the family anymore. In fact, sometimes it felt as though I didn’t have a place. I was so used to being the only female, and suddenly here was Sylvia with clothes to press and presents to open and nails to polish and bras to wash. It was all the more difficult because Les wasn’t around. For about as long as I could remember, our family had consisted of Dad and Lester and me. And now it was Dad and Sylvia and me. It wasn’t the same at all.
At school on Monday, I was standing in line in the cafeteria. Penny was ahead of Elizabeth, Elizabeth was ahead of me, and I was ahead of Pamela. I kept staring past Elizabeth at Penny, wondering if she had gone out with Patrick Saturday, wondering if that’s why he left the reception early, and hating her for trying to ruin Dad’s wedding day for me. There was a large platter of fresh fruit on the salad counter, and I think all four of us were eyeing a large ring of pineapple—the only piece of fresh pineapple—right in the center, surrounded by melon slices.
Penny reached for the tongs and took the pineapple.
“That’s right, take the best one!” Elizabeth kidded.
And before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice saying, “Oh, she’s good at that.”
To which Pamela added, “Not just pineapple, either.”
I think I surprised even Elizabeth. I know I surprised myself. It was like I couldn’t trust my mouth anymore. I sounded so bitter and petty and quarrelsome that I was embarrassed. It was almost as though the words had to come out—as though they had been trapped in my chest so long, they just exploded from my mouth.
Penny didn’t respond to either me or Pamela, though I know she’d heard us. She just said to Elizabeth, “Now, you know that if I hadn’t taken it, you would have. Want half?”
“No, that’s okay,” said Elizabeth, helping herself to the melon. “I like honeydew.”
We didn’t talk about what I’d said just then or what Pamela had said after I did. What was the matter with me? I wondered. I’d never had a real enemy, unless you counted the Terrible Triplets, as I called them, back in third grade—three girls who had made my life miserable until they got to know me better—and Denise Whitlock, in seventh, who terrorized me until I got to know her better.
The problem with hating Penny was that I had liked her until she stole Patrick from me. Everyone liked her. Everyone still does, probably, except that she committed the unpardonable sin of stealing somebody’s boyfriend. But now I found myself avoiding her as she avoided me, averting my eyes if she looked my way.
I helped Sylvia with the dishes after dinner and told her about the newspaper costume I had to wear.
“What fun!” she said. “Now, that’s going to take some creativity!”
I spent the rest of Monday evening answering e-mail, and at the bottom of the list I recognized Penny’s e-mail address.
My heart began to race. I was almost afraid to open it. Finally I pressed READ.
How much longer are you going to stay
mad at me?
My first impulse was to type, Forever. Then I stopped. I would think for a long while before answering.
10
Pretending
Penny probably got a ride the next morning because I didn’t see her on the bus. Once at school, we both kept our distance, probably trying to figure out what to say to each other. I was glad when the day was over at last and I was home again.
Sylvia m
ust not have heard me come in, because she was taking a nap on the couch. She was dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt, with both hands resting on her stomach, and she was snoring. Snoring! Not real loud, but loud enough for it to be considered a snore.
I couldn’t help myself. I just stood in the doorway staring at her. Beautiful women were just like the rest of us. Their bodies worked exactly the same! I tiptoed on up to my room to study for a sociology test.
A half hour later Sylvia came upstairs.
“I’ll bet I was sound asleep and you walked right by me,” she said. Her hair was tousled and she still looked sleepy.
“You looked like you could use some sleep.” I smiled.
“Well, I’d better not get used to afternoon naps, because I’ve only got one more week to get myself organized,” she said. She came over and handed me a notepad. “I got a call this morning from Lois’s friend at Hecht’s. She said you should return the mannequin to the Customer Service Department.”
“Okay. I’ll call Lester,” I said.
He wasn’t in, but I left a message, asking if he could come by that evening to return something for me to Montgomery Mall.
I know how Lester feels about shopping malls, though. I know how he feels about department stores and especially how he feels about the women’s stuff in department stores. So I decided not to even tell him it was a mannequin. I found the long blue tissue-paper bag that Sylvia’s wedding dress came in—she’d put it in the trash—and I managed to slip it over the mannequin’s head. We had put the mannequin on Lester’s old bed, and I carefully wriggled the bag over the shoulders, the hips, the legs, and I stapled the open end. Perfecto!
Lester showed up at the house around eight. Dad and Sylvia were out with friends.
“Helloooo!” he called, coming inside.
“It’s up here, Les,” I said.
He came upstairs and studied the long blue bundle. “What is it?”
“Just a prop Lois borrowed for the wedding. Nothing breakable. I’ll help you carry it to the car,” I said.
I picked up the end with the head and Lester picked up the bottom. “This isn’t heavy,” he said. “I can carry it.” And before I could protest, he draped the bundle over his shoulder, took it outside, and stuffed it in his trunk. I held my breath.