Sending love,
Michelle
Betsy’s is written in fancy calligraphy, like it’s an official document.
Dear Corinna,
I don’t know if you remember, but I was in your mom and dad’s wedding. They have been such wonderful friends to my husband and me over the years. Sue suggested I write a story about your mom so that you will have some nice things to read now and over the years. The funniest story I remember is from when she was staying at her professor’s house. He and his wife were away, and your mom was there, house-sitting and taking care of their two daughters. Well, a squirrel got into the house and was wreaking havoc. It was chewing on the window frames and pooping all over the place. The girls were panicked, and your mom was trying to keep them safe and herself calm. She had to chase that squirrel out of the house, not once, but three times. The squirrel had gotten in through the chimney again and again. It was an epic battle.
Please give me a call if you are ever in Cleveland. I’d love to take you to lunch.
Love,
Betsy
The final story is from Abby.
Dear Corinna,
Greetings from Norway. I am on a new posting to the U.S. Embassy. Did you know that your mom is responsible for my joining the Foreign Service? When she told me about her exciting experiences living in Japan during her high school semester, I decided that I wanted to study abroad. I went to graduate school and learned Japanese, and that started me on this very interesting path. I have your mother to thank for opening that door in my life. She was an amazing person. I’m sure you are, too.
With warm regards,
Abby Liffland
Summer
Dates
It’s the second day of June, Mom’s birthday. Dad and I both have extra busy days at school, and I have to stay after for a math review session, but on the way home, we stop to get some yellow roses so we can put them next to Mom’s ashes in the ginger jar. White doesn’t seem right since that’s what we had at the funeral.
She would have been forty-two today. She loved chocolate cake, so we make another stop to buy one at Patisserie Poupon, her favorite place for delicious treats. It’s strange celebrating a birthday of someone who is dead, because she’s not actually turning that age, and she’s not having a happy birthday at all. But I guess it wouldn’t feel right not to do something.
I cut us each a huge slice. As I stuff my mouth with a huge forkful, Dad says, “Did Mom love chocolate or what? You know it was because of chocolate that we met.”
After swallowing most of that huge mouthful, I ask him to tell me that story again.
“It was at a friend’s wedding. We were both in the kitchen eating leftovers after most of the guests had left. She’d missed the food because she was playing music for the wedding, and I just wanted more because it was so good. There we were, diving into the chocolate wedding cake. I don’t remember if we used forks or fingers.”
“So how long was it before you fell in love?”
“I had noticed her before the cake eating, when she was playing a Beethoven trio. She was a beauty, and her music was amazing. But I didn’t get the nerve to call her up for a full two days after the wedding.”
“Two whole days?”
“Yeah, I was shy, but it was worth the risk.”
“Don’t you wish you had met sooner, so you would have had more time together?”
“There are lots of things I wish.”
“Me, too.”
After dinner and feeling very full of chocolate cake, I go into my room to try to figure out if this would be a good time to ask Dad about Mom’s whole thing about her father. After all, it’s her birthday. I’ve been wanting to ask him about it, to tell him I know, to tell him about her notebook, but I haven’t known how to do it or how it would go. I’ve come close to bringing it up about ten different times but I just haven’t been able to. I talk it through with Maki. Maki curls up next to me and falls asleep while I’m talking. So much for his advice.
I finally decide to just go for it, even though the thought of it makes my stomach feel tight. I go halfway down the stairs and sit on a step. Dad’s sitting in his reading chair with the newspaper.
“Hey, Dad? I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”
“Yeah?”
He puts down the newspaper, and I can see his eyes look sleepy.
“Well, I kinda sorta know about Bapa not being Mom’s biological father and about how Bapa and Grandma kept that a secret from Mom. What’s up with all that?”
He sits up straight and looks like he’s just touched something electric.
“Oh. Oh, wow. Uh . . . Well, what do you think about that?”
“Well, I’m mad at them for lying to her. And besides, the donor guy is my grandfather! How bizarro is that? And I have a right to know about my genes, too.”
“Yeah, I hadn’t really thought about it that way since I’ve always thought of Bapa as your grandfather, but you’re right, it’s your information, too.”
“So when were you going to tell me?”
“It was one of those things that we knew we wanted to tell you, but we hadn’t found what felt like the right time. There are some other things that I wish we’d shared with you, too.”
Dad takes a big breath through his nostrils, letting it out slowly.
“Like what? That you’re not my real dad?”
“Yes, yes, yes, I’m your dad, one hundred percent. This has nothing to do with that. I just wish we had had more family conversations about Mom dying before she died.”
“Hmm. Well . . . You could at least have told me about this donor thing. What were you waiting for? Were you going to tell me on my wedding day or something?”
“No, of course not. But I’m curious how you found out. I mean, I’m glad you know, but how did you?”
“I’m quite the investigator. I found Mom’s notebook in her closet, and she wrote about it in there. She wrote about a few other things, too. You might want to check it out.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up with a look of surprise.
“Did you know she had a diary?”
He shakes his head no.
“Well, it’s in her closet, in the back behind the hanging clothes we saved, in a flowered duffel bag.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh, and don’t be surprised when you see a piece missing from the bag,” I warn.
“Missing?” “Yeah, I used it in my quilt.”
I wait for him to react, but he just says, “Oh.”
Even though he’s not reacting, my insides are reacting big-time, telling me to skedaddle.
“Okay, so this is a lot to think about. I’m going to bed now.”
I go up the stairs, two at a time, as he calls after me, “Okay. Just let me know if you want to talk some more. I may not be good at it, but I’ll do my best. And I know Aunt Jennifer would be happy to talk to you, too.”
Phew. I made it through that incredibly awkward conversation without totally freaking out. I’m glad there were no more surprises. I can’t handle any more surprises.
Two days later, a bunch of us meet for ice cream at The Mix to celebrate Clare’s birthday. I’m really glad she invited Nicole to come, but I start to feel bad when I see Nicole ordering the sugar-free, fat-free yogurt without any fun toppings. Maybe I should skip the toppings, too, but I’ve already started in on my Reese’s Pieces and they are delicious.
“What were you and Eliana talking about in PE?” Olivia asks me.
I have no idea what we were talking about, but I find it annoying that Olivia is prying. Juliette changes the subject with her very serious announcement that she is going to have a crush on Nathan as soon as she’s finished with Danny because Nathan is so much fun to flirt with. Joci and I make eye contact and try hard not to laugh. That’s when shy Lena shocks us all with her suggestion that we try to start a trend by wearing hats every time we go to the movie theater. Everyone loves the idea and we discuss
what kind of hat it should be.
On my way home from The Mix, I cross through the parking lot on my bicycle and see a license plate that says July 22. I wonder what happened on July twenty-second. Did the driver win the lottery? Did he or she get married? Was it a good day or a bad day? Death is a different kind of anniversary than a birthday or a graduation day. You mark it, it marks you, but you don’t celebrate. August fifth is the date I won’t ever forget, but I don’t exactly want it on our license plate.
I want to call Clare to ask her what her family does on her dad’s anniversary so I can try to prepare myself for August fifth, but I decide I should wait until her birthday is officially over so I don’t make her sad. When I see her the next day, she tells me, “We always light one of those twenty-four-hour burning candles, the kind they sell at the grocery store.”
“We did that, too, on the anniversary of my mom’s diagnosis. Did you do anything else besides that?”
“I think my mom goes to church every year on that day. And she takes us to the cemetery where my father’s buried. My brother hates going. He always wants to stay in the car.”
Later on when I see Dad, I ask him where we’ll be on August fifth.
“Somewhere in Japan, but I’m not sure which town yet.”
“Really? So we’re going?” I ask, smiling a gigantic smile.
“Yup. Grandma and Bapa offered to pay for our tickets, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mom would be mad if we didn’t go. She really wanted her Japanese family to meet us.”
That was so nice of Grandma and Bapa. We haven’t seen them since Mom’s funeral, but we’ve had some phone calls about the weather. I think we’re all meeting at Aunt Jennifer’s next Thanksgiving. That should be interesting. I mean, I’m glad we’ll be with Aunt Jennifer, but now that I know this secret about my grandparents and my mom, it could be really awkward. Am I the only one with such a weird family?
Dreamer
All night I dream about Mom’s notebook and secrets. I even dream that I’m telling Joci and Clare about it and they don’t get why I’m upset.
“It’s not a big deal,” they both tell me. “Just chillax.”
I wake up feeling super-frustrated with them. My mood gets even worse when I remember that I’m supposed to get to school early for another special band rehearsal. I have to rush, rush, rush, and then Dad drops me off extra early on his way to work.
I go through the side entrance by the lunchroom, having finally figured out that Alex sometimes hangs out there with the skateboarders before school. I’m not exactly a skater girl, but this morning, I’d rather see Alex than Joci and Clare, only Alex isn’t at the side entrance. It seems that the laxbros have taken over that territory from the skaters. Laxbros is what the lacrosse boys are calling themselves now.
I’m the second person to arrive in the band room. Alex is already here, adjusting the drums. I guess drums need an awful lot of tightening. Or is it loosening? I try to think of something to say, but how many times can I ask about math subs?
“Hey, Alex, I heard you’re running for class rep.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking up.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. Hey, did you hear that Connor is going to boarding school next year?” he asks.
“No. Really?”
“Yeah. And get this.” Alex does a drum roll before making his big announcement. “He’s running for class VP.”
“You mean for boarding school?”
“No, for our high school, our ninth-grade VP.” Alex’s face gets even more adorable as he’s telling me this. I can barely focus on what he’s saying.
“That’s ridiculous,” I say a little too loudly. My voice squeaks on the word ridiculous and I cringe.
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with him. Guess he thinks it’s funny,” he says, his shoulders shrugging.
I tell my voice not to squeak again. “What a jerk.”
“Yup, that’s Connor.” Alex smiles his adorable smile.
By then, the room is full and more kids are talking about the election. I enjoy being in a haze — or is it a daze? — for the rest of band.
After class, Alex walks with me and Eliana to our lockers and then continues past us. I’m in La La Land, thinking how sweet he is, while Eliana asks me if I am planning to come to her graduation party at her dad’s bowling alley.
“Of course,” I say distractedly.
Graduation announcements and invitations are everywhere. The big graduation dance is on Friday. I know that most of the kids in my grade will be going to the dance, so I assume Alex will be there, but I don’t want to come right out and ask him. Olivia has to miss the dance because she has to go to her parents’ college reunion. I wouldn’t miss the dance for anything, even though the last one was so awful. This time I’m on a mission, and besides, graduation is supposed to be a time to celebrate. I still don’t know what I’m going to wear, which is ridiculous since the dance is only five days away. Mom and I would never have left dress shopping to the last minute.
Fortunately, I’ve recovered from that weird dream and don’t feel bad about asking Joci to ask her mom to squeeze in a mall trip to take care of this immediate and gigantic graduation-dance problem. I don’t bother asking Dad. He obviously hates the mall, and teaching him to like it is hopeless.
Lucky for me, Joci’s mother agrees to take us even though we’re in the middle of exams. Looking at dresses is fun, and her mom is even more patient than my mom was while we try on a million dresses in four different stores. I buy a cool dress, turquoise with black lace over it, not too long, strapless. I’m thrilled and relieved to find one that fits me well. I show it to Dad when I get home, although he wouldn’t know if it was in style in the 1800s or now. He has major fashion disabilities.
It’s hard to imagine having our predance prep at our house with only Dad there, so on the night of the dance, Joci, Clare, and I have dinner and get dressed at Clare’s house. We pass around Joci’s curling iron and I manage to burn the tip of my ear. Clare’s lucky that her wavy hair looks good without a curling iron. I’m wearing my mom’s black high-heeled sandals, even though they’re too big. As we practice our dance moves, my feet are sliding around, which causes me to lurch and sends the three of us into hysterical laughter. The three of us have been getting along pretty well these days. Once in a while, Joci seems jealous of the special bond I have with Clare, but there’s not much I can do about that.
When we arrive at the dance, Clare’s mom has to sign us in at the desk. We hang out in the hall for a while before going into the gym, with all the girls checking out one another’s dresses and makeup. Lots of ooh-la-lahs. Nicole looks especially beautiful in her dress.
It’s completely dark inside the gym, except for some strobe lights. The organizers have tried extra hard to transform the gym into a ballroom with tons of shimmery fabric and balloons everywhere. Just like at the last Aloha Dance, there’s not a lot of actual dancing going on. A few kids dance slow dances, the ones who are “going out,” and there is a group of kids dancing dirty during some songs, but mostly it’s groups of girls dancing and screaming and talking in the halls and bathroom, and boys either jumping up and down in front of the speakers or swarming the food tables. I sure hope they remembered to use their supersize deodorants for tonight. This gym is already maxed out on stinky sweat. Mr. Spinolli is guarding one door with his blue cheese breath, and Mr. Maroni, the principal, is at the other. I don’t get close enough to him to diagnose his breath.
“Sorry, girls, the doors have to stay closed.”
Even in our strapless dresses, we are boiling and desperate for fresh air. I’m sweating through the fabric on the back of my dress, hoping it doesn’t show. Alex says hi to me a few times, every time we happen to be near each other. Shock of shocks, he is not wearing his orange shirt. He’s looking hot in a blue-brown-and-white checked shirt and the same khakis as all of the other boys. I’ll bet he wishes he was wearing shorts
like he usually does.
Toward the end of the dance, when kids are actually dancing, we’re next to each other in the sweaty crowd. He’s doing some scuba dance move, with his nose plugged and his arm going up and down. He practically knocks me over with his scuba arm and then we both start laughing. I can’t stop myself from looking over at him and he looks right at me and smiles. My heart is totally pounding. I don’t want the dance to end even though my feet are killing me from sliding around in Mom’s shoes.
I’m trying to send ESP vibes to the DJ to get him to play “You and Me” by Lifehouse, but instead he starts playing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond and announces it will be the last song of the night. Which moron chose that song? Kids start jumping up and down in protest.
Alex moves a few feet closer and then looks behind him. Now what? What’s he looking at? Should I move closer, too? As he turns back around, we make eye contact and I melt, moving forward until we’re almost touching. Then he gently touches my bare shoulder with his hand. His hand is warm and sweaty, and he looks really nervous. I’m sure I do, too. Then he starts leaning over. His nose bumps my ear as he says, “What a lame song,” and I realize that I’m taller than he is. While I’m telling myself how stupid it was to wear high heels, he’s leaning over again, but not toward my ear. This time, he kisses me on the lips. I can’t believe this is happening.
The kiss isn’t exactly like the ones you see in the movies. It’s more like an awkward move that you’re trying to copy from some instructional video called How to be a Great Kisser in Ten Days or Less. But so what. It’s pretty great and I am beyond happy. All I can do is smile. I smile for the rest of the night. When Joci, Clare, and I get back to Clare’s house, our three cell phones are swamped with text messages asking about the kiss.
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