It was Mary at the door.
“You're back,” she said, and then walked into the house. “I called you thirty-eight times and there was no answer. Check caller ID if you don't believe me.” Her hair was braided in lots of tiny braids with beads at the ends. Mary's older sister, Karen, wants to be a beautician. She's always doing cool things to Mary's hair. I'd let her do cool things to mine, too, but Dad likes my hair the way it is 'cause it looks so much like Mom's.
“I believe you,” I said, awakened from my zombie-like state.
“Did you get any good books?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I got that Richard Peck one you told me to read, about the Titanic.” Mary loves all of Richard Peck's books. Each of us always tells the other what titles are good. This summer we decided to see how many we could read before school starts again. My goal is one hundred.
“I came over to see if you wanted to walk to the library with me.” Mary swung her head, and the little beads clinked together.
“Sure,” I said. “I don't think Mom would care. Just as long as I'm home in time for dinner. She's actually making food tonight. We're not going out.” I rolled my eyes in an exaggerated way and Mary laughed.
“I wish we were always going out to eat,” she said.
“No you don't. After a while it gets boring. There aren't that many restaurants in our area.” To tell you the truth, we'd have to be in a city bigger than New York to have enough variety, that's how much we eat out.
“Let's see if you can go,” Mary said.
I grabbed her by the arm to stop her. “Do me a favor,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. “See if Mom looks different to you.”
“Different how?”
I noticed that the beads in Mary's hair matched the ties on her braces. “Different, different.” I couldn't bring myself to say the word fat.
She gave me a squinch-eyed look, then said, “Okay.”
We went into the kitchen. Sun splashed through the windows onto the sink and counter-tops.
“Mare-Mare,” Mom said in a voice that made it sound like she hadn't seen my friend in a million years and not just since yesterday. “Hello!” My mother is so cheerful that, sometimes, even that gets on my nerves.
“Hey, Mrs. Stephan. Can Laura go to the library with me? I'm out of books.”
Mom had piled all the ingredients near the stove to make grilled cheese sandwiches: bread, cheese, butter, and a cookbook. A cookbook. Whoever heard of having to read directions on making a grilled cheese?
“We're having grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. Chips, too,” Mom said. She held up a package of Baked Lay's potato chips. “With fresh sour cream.”
Good grief, I thought. I crossed my eyes at Mary, who ignored me and smiled at my mother.
Mom popped open the sour cream container and dipped her finger into it. She licked off the sour cream, then said, “Sure, Laurie can go. Can you two be back in an hour?”
Mary nodded and I heard the beads tap.
“By six o'clock, Laurie girl?”
“Okay,” I said. Grrr. Laurie girl. I'd have to add nicknames to my list of things to change about my mother. And cheerfulness.
Mom came near to give me a kiss. She had a tiny bit of sour cream on her top lip. I wasn't sure if it was there by accident or if she had left it there on purpose. Sometimes she does that. I mean, sometimes she coats her lips with chocolate from-the-can icing and walks around like it's lipstick. That makes Dad laugh. It makes me sick. At least nowadays. It used to be I'd wear chocolate lipstick too. Now I've grown up. Too bad my mom hasn't.
“Let's go,” I said, avoiding even looking at Mom. I hurried down the hall and out into the hot day.
“Well?” I said when we were out of hearing distance. Not that Mom would have heard. We weren't five steps out of the house when the Pointer Sisters' “I'm So Excited” came blasting out behind us.
“She looked fine to me. Beautiful as usual.”
“Are you sure she didn't look…” Again I couldn't say fat.
“She looked as gorgeous as your mother always looks,” Mary said. “It must be cool to have a mother who used to be a model.”
“Not really,” I said. “What's really cool is a mom who cleans the house and makes more than three kinds of meals and doesn't wear her pajamas to work in.”
Mary laughed. These past few months we've talked about this very thing a million times. She wishes her mom were more glamorous and I wish my mom were more normal.
“But she's in all those magazines.” It's true. Before Mom married Dad she was a high-fashion New York model. No lie. She's been on the cover of Elle, Glamour, Cosmo and a bunch of others. Mom saved everything in books she calls her portfolio in case she wants to go into modeling again. This includes all the last articles about when she decided to give up her exciting career to marry a Utah computer geek and settle down in the little town of Mapleton and start having babies.
The trouble is Mom was only able to have one baby: me. All her other pregnancies ended in miscarriages. Finally she and Dad quit trying. “Let's talk books,” I said, “not mothers.” “That's all right with me,” Mary said. And that's what we did. We spent the rest of that hour walking and talking about books, then finding great books to read. We chatted with Vivian, our librarian, about what she liked to read, and with Pat, too. They both love kids' books. I even brought home a few more to add to my stack.
But before I began any reading, before I began anything, I would have to add a few more items to the list about changing Mom. And spy on her about this fat thing.
things to change about MY MOTHER!!!!!!!
5. her always being happy
6. food on her face
7. working in her pajamas
8. Fat!?!
There was a fire engine in front of the house when Mary and I got home. And one police car, its lights flashing blue. A crowd had gathered on our front lawn and neighbors stood in their own yards watching our place.
Mom waited on the front porch. Inside the house I could see smoke. It rolled out the door, dark and scary-looking. A lump came up into my throat and fear made my skin prickle.
“Oh my gosh,” Mary said. “Laura, oh my gosh.”
I couldn't say anything.
We started running, Mary with all her books and me with my five new ones, all Richard Peck paperbacks, thank goodness. It seemed I ran in slow motion. I couldn't get to Mom fast enough.
Once I almost fell, running through a small dip Dad landscaped into the yard so things would have a rolly, country look. Imagine that, us living in the country and all, and he wants to make sure it has a rustic feel. I've heard him say that. And now his designing slowed me down.
At last I was there, standing on the sidewalk that cuts the yard into sections, just a few feet away from my mother. I could hear Mom talking to the one policeman and all three firemen.
“I'm so sorry,” she was saying. “I just went into my studio for a moment.” She shrugged and pouted, pursing her lips. She looked quite beautiful, if not a little chubby, standing there with her arms crossed in front of her. I felt happy she wasn't still in her work pajamas. She must have changed because Dad was coming home.
One of the firemen, dressed in a dark blue shirt and thick yellow pants, smiled at Mom. “It's okay, Mrs. Stephan. That's what we're here for: to help.”
The other two firemen nodded in agreement. So did the policeman. Everybody smiled. Except me. I could see what Mom was doing without her even meaning to: being a pretty woman. And all the men on our front porch were falling for it. Her pretty face, I mean. And her used-to-be-slim body. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they gave Mom a salute.
Mom saw me where I stood on the sidewalk. “Oh, Laurie,” she said. For a moment I thought she might cry. Then she bit her bottom lip and gave me a brilliant smile.
“What happened?” I asked. I walked up to Mom and half the Mapleton, Utah, rescue team. Mary followed. “Did the kitchen burn up? Did our house catch on fire??
?? I was afraid to hear what my mother had to say. There was all the black smoke, after all.
Mom gave a nervous giggle. “Well, Laurie girl. I started cooking because Daddy will be home any minute. And while I was toasting the bread for grilled cheese, it happened. I used the whole loaf because I could tell this was going to be a fantastic dinner and I knew we'd all want seconds and maybe even thirds. I had just put the bread under the broiler for a moment, laid out all those pieces of pretty white—when it hit me.”
The policeman smiled.
“What hit you, Mom?”
“Well.” Mom shrugged a little again. “Well, I guess I feel creative when I cook because I all of the sudden had this idea for the piece I'm working on.” Mom talked to everyone now. Not just to me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, somehow knowing what she was going to say. “Never mind,” I said under my breath. “Never mind, Mom. I think I—”
Mom didn't hear, I guess, because she kept right on going. And everyone on the porch kept right on smiling. “So I went into the studio and started making a few minor adjustments.”
“Mom.” I could feel my face getting hot. “Why were you toasting things in the oven when you were going to brown the bread on the grill? You didn't need to toast it too.”
Mom's head tilted like a little bird's. “I didn't?”
“Mom.” I leaned close to her and she put her head on my shoulder. “You don't pretoast the bread. Everyone knows that. You just cook it. In a pan. On a grill.”
“Now, Laurie girl,” Mom said. “I haven't had that much experience in cooking yet and I got this idea and I wanted things to be nice for you and a little extra toasting seemed the smart thing to do…”
“Grrr,” I said, “you could have burned the whole house up, Mom. I don't think you should use the broiler again. Ever.” I looked at the policeman for support. He frowned at me.
“Jimmey!” Dad's voice came rolling over the lawn from the car window. He stopped his Jeep with a jerk after screeching into the driveway and nearly threw himself to the ground trying to get out. At least I think he might have thrown himself to the ground. He had forgotten to unfasten his seat belt, though. I watched, horrified, while he wrestled around in the front seat, trying to free himself. So did fifty other Mapleton residents. Including Quinn Sumsion, who stood on the edge of the crowd with Christian.
Dad's arms paddled around like he was slapping at kitchen smoke. His left leg was out of the car and it looked like he was riding a bike, the way he pedaled at the air. At last, one hand grasped at the lip of the door. He tried to pull himself free. All the while he called Mom's name: “Jimmey!”
Mom stopped her explanations, then started for my father, calling his name. “Danny, oh, Danny. I've done another bad thing.” Her thick blond hair had fallen loose from the haphazard knot she'd pulled it into. For a moment I hoped she'd crawl over Dad and into the passenger seat and they'd drive out of town forever. My face burned as I watched the two of them.
Instead, she unbuckled my father. The whole crowd observed my crazy parents as Dad got out of the car and Mom slung her arms around his neck. Someone started clapping, and the next thing I knew, Mom was crying and waving and Dad was giving a small bow to this local ovation. Even the rescue team clapped.
Another fireman came out of the house and in a loud voice announced, “Mrs. Stephan, there's not even any smoke damage. You are one lucky woman.”
The crowd applauded harder, and I heard the policeman say to no one in particular, “No, Dan Stephan is one lucky man.”
I looked at Mary. “Stop clapping,” I hissed at her.
She just grinned at me and pounded her hands harder. “Don't be a moron,” she said.
I tried not to see Quinn Sumsion, but there he was, at the edge of the driveway, clapping for Mom and Dad too. So was Christian.
I turned and ran into the house, through the thick smoke and up to my room.
Why me? I thought. “There is nothing that could make this day any worse for me. Nothing,” I shouted at my ceiling, but all the hollering in the world didn't change one fact: my mother had shown the entire neighborhood and those who serve the city how ridiculous she was.
I couldn't stay in my room. Because the kitchen is right below me, everything smelled like smoke. I opened the three windows on the east wall and the French doors that lead onto the small balcony I sometimes read on in the early mornings, and hoped for a breeze.
I was lucky. The evening winds came down out of Hobblecreek Canyon and blew through my room, cleansing the air, making the curtains dance and billow. But the wind couldn't take away a bit of my hard heart. So when Mom called up the stairs that we'd be eating at Mi Ranchito in Orem, I almost didn't go.
When Daddy insisted I come with them, and said Mary could come too, I agreed. So we wouldn't be eating home-cooked food. At least I could enjoy an evening with my best friend. Maybe we could sit at a separate table from my parents. Maybe I wouldn't have to look at my mother at all. Ever again.
That didn't quite work out. We hadn't been seated in the restaurant, munching chips with fresh salsa, even fifteen minutes when Mom tapped her water glass with a table knife.
“May I have your attention?” The way she said it, looking around the restaurant like maybe everyone in the world wanted to hear what she said, I could tell at least she thought she had important news.
Dad, Mary and I all looked at her. I was still angry.
“I've got wonderful news,” Mom said. “Wonderful for all of us. Danny. Laura.” Mom grinned like she did on those old magazine covers. “Mary, even you should be happy about this.” Mom clasped her hands in front of her, still holding the knife. Lucky for her she didn't put out an eye.
“I just want you all to know”—Mom paused like she expected a drumroll—“that I'm six months pregnant. We're going to have a baby.”
things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!
9. burning down the house
10. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I had thought nothing could be worse than my mother almost burning down the house. Watching my father try to free himself from the car had been pretty bad too. Seeing them in the restaurant dancing some made-up I-don't-know-what dance while a guitar player sang and grinned, that was awful. But none of those things was the worst.
I don't remember what I ate for dinner that evening. Maybe it was beef tacos. Maybe it was chicken enchiladas. Maybe it was my own plate. I was so horrified by Mom's announcement that all I could do was look at the ground. That was after I shouted, “What? You've been doing… you've been having… but you're so old.” I glanced around, looking at the people who were staring at us.
“Not so loud, honey,” Dad said through a wide, wide smile.
“I'm not that old,” Mom said. “For heaven's sake, Laurie, I'm thirty-eight.”
I leaned across the table, clutching my napkin. Knowing she was pregnant made my face burn. Just last year in Science Health I had seen the pictures about how a baby gets to be a baby. I knew what they had been doing. All of Mi Ranchito knew. “Mother. Do you know how close to forty you are?” I whispered through clenched teeth.
“Oh, Laura,” Mary said. “This is great.”
“Greatnotgreat,” I said. I faced my friend. “She's forty. Four. Tee.”
Dad laughed a little. “Honey, two years away. Two.” He held up two fingers. I had no idea what he meant.
“You two are too old…” I wanted to say “too old to be doing the deed,” but I was embarrassed. Mom and Dad were probably too old to know what that even meant.
Every time I saw my mother's pink face, and my father grinning, and then Mary smiling, smiling, smiling, I felt appalled.
Didn't my best friend get it?
Didn't they?
My mother and father, the oldest people in my immediate family, had been doing it. It. The it that would get my ancient mother pregnant. I thought they were too old for… for… you know. I couldn't even bring myself to say the word. I could barely thin
k the first letter. S. I thought people stopped having you-know-what when they were about twenty-nine.
Mary leaned toward me. “Now you know,” she whispered when Dad and Mom were toasting each other with caffeine-free Coca-Colas.
“I know what?” It felt like a tortilla chip was caught in my throat. Maybe it was just embarrassment.
“You know why your mom nearly burned down the house.”
“No, I don't.” I glared at Mary, my eyebrows pushed together.
“Sure you do. She's pregnant.” Mary lifted her hands at me like I might find an answer for my parents' craziness hidden between her fingers.
“Ha!” I said. The only thing I knew now was why my mother was getting heavier. She should be heavier.
I should have noticed Mom was getting heavier, especially in her tummy area. The fact was, though, she wasn't that much bigger. I mean, her face looked a little puffy, but it was hard to notice. Mom didn't look a thing like Mariah Barry when she got pregnant. That girl porked right up, and it was her first baby. I only know that because she came to our house to talk to Mom about exercising and she said those very words. She said, “I've porked right up.”
On the way home that night I tried to ignore my mother and father and best friend as they sang baby songs. Baby songs. I guess there were things to be thankful for. Dad wanted to stop at a music store so he could buy a guitar.
“I'm sure I could teach myself a song on the way to Mapleton,” he said, pulling into Keith Jorgenson's. “It can't be that hard. Jimmey, you can drive us home.”
“Okay, Danny,” Mom said.
The store was closed, and even with all Dad's tapping on the window, the employees counting money at the cash register wouldn't open up for him.
“That's the last time I shop there,” Dad said as he climbed into the car. “They could have let me in and they didn't.”
The good thing was that the window I sat behind in the car was tinted. I was pretty sure no one in the store could see me.