by Judy Blume
We’re going to have fourteen to dinner. Everyone is family except for Carla, Mom’s best friend from college, and her little girl, Katie, who is eight. Carla is a widow. Her husband was killed while he was crossing the street. Some guy in a van plowed into him. The guy didn’t even have a driver’s license. Katie was only a baby at the time. She never got to know her father. Mom says some people have more than their fair share of trouble. But Carla has a very good job. She produces a news show for NBC.
I asked Mom if I could make place cards this year because everyone always stands around at Thanksgiving waiting to be told where to sit. And while they’re waiting the food gets cold. Mom said place cards sounded like a good idea. I made them out of purple colored paper. I drew a flower on each one and tried to keep my letters from going uphill when I printed the names.
Then I made a seating chart, like the one Mrs. Remo used the first week of school, before she’d memorized our names. I put myself between Dad and Katie. I put Bruce next to Cousin Howard. I would never sit next to Howard. He’s seventeen and disgusting. He burps after every mouthful. Then he tells us that in some countries burping is considered a great compliment to the cook. If you don’t burp, Howard says, you’re a very rude guest. Howard also lets it out the other end. I asked him at our Passover seder, last spring, if that’s also considered a compliment in some countries. He just laughed. I’m so glad I don’t have a brother like him.
Mom says he’s just going through a phase and that in a few years he’ll be just like his brother, Stanley, who goes to college. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Stanley is such a bore!
On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I couldn’t concentrate in school. I kept thinking that in a few hours I would see Dad again. I pictured him in my mind. He’s tall and thin, with a bony face. His eyes are grayish-blue and he wears aviator glasses. He’s got a dimple in his chin, like Bruce. When he’s very tired his shoulders slump. He’ll probably be very tan from all that California sunshine, I thought. And he’ll have presents for all of us—sweatshirts for Bruce and me, saying something about California, and for Mom, perfume and a lacy nightgown.
I was glad we had only half a day of school. During the last hour we had an all-school Thanksgiving assembly, which made the time go even faster. The chorus sang, the dancers danced and the symphonic band played. This was my debut as a percussionist. I got to play cymbals twice and chimes once. I made a mistake on chimes. But Ms. Lopez, the music teacher, gave me a reassuring look, as if my mistake hadn’t mattered at all.
Aunt Denise picked me up after school. I always help her bake the pies for Thanksgiving dinner. She says she wishes she had a daughter like me. I don’t blame her. Imagine someone as nice as Aunt Denise being stuck with sons like Howard and Stanley!
While the pies were baking Aunt Denise and I cleaned up the kitchen. “Has your mom been talking to you?” she asked, as she handed me the green mixing bowl to dry.
“About what?” I asked.
“You know,” Aunt Denise said, “things …”
“Oh, things,” I said. “Yeah … Mom bought me a book.”
“A book?”
“Yeah … Love and Sex in Plain Language.”
“Sex?”
“Yes, isn’t that what you meant?”
Aunt Denise hesitated. “Sort of …”
“I’m home!” I called, when Aunt Denise dropped me off at five. I wanted to change before Dad got here. He’s renting a car at Kennedy Airport and driving up to Connecticut.
“I’m upstairs …” Mom called back. I went to her room. She had just stepped out of the shower and was wrapped in a big striped towel.
“What a day,” she said, holding her head, “I have a headache this big …” She took a bottle of aspirin from her cabinet and gulped down two of them with water. “I’ve made reservations at Onion Alley for you and Bruce and Dad … at seven.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m going over to Denise’s to help with the stuffing and the sweet potato pudding.”
“But, Mom … this is Dad’s first night home.”
“I know, honey … but we’ve talked it over and he understands.”
“But, Mom …” I began again. Then I remembered that they would be alone later. “Oh, I get it,” I said, giving Mom a sly look.
“Really, Steph …” Mom said.
Dad
It was a nippy night and I shivered in my sweater as I waited outside for Dad. To keep warm I jumped in the leaves on our front lawn. I was glad it was already dark. I wouldn’t want anyone to see me fooling around that way.
A car drove slowly down our street. I brushed myself off and watched, wondering if it could be Dad. It passed our house, stopped, then backed up, parking right in front. The door opened and Dad got out. I ran toward him. “Dad!” He hugged me and held me close. It felt so good to smell his special smell again, a combination of aftershave, butterscotch Life Savers and something else … something that’s just him. He was wearing his same old brown suede jacket. It felt soft and familiar against my cheek.
When we were inside the house I noticed the bald spot on the back of his head had grown, or maybe it was just the way the wind had blown his hair. Also, he had no tan. I asked him about that right away.
He said, “I’m working long hours. I don’t have time to sit in the sun.”
He did look worn out. It’s not good for him to be away from us, I thought. He probably has no one to cheer him up after a hard day at work.
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?” Dad said, laughing.
“What?”
“You were staring,” he said again.
“I was?”
“Yes … so now it’s my turn.” He looked me over carefully. I don’t know why but I suddenly felt shy. I guess it’s because I’m a different person now, different than when Dad left. I hadn’t even started seventh grade then. Now, I’m almost a teenager. Dad ruffled my hair.
“It’s growing,” I said, self-consciously, as I touched it. “It should be long again by spring.”
“It looks fine the way it is,” Dad said.
Bruce came racing down the stairs. Dad picked him up and swung him around. Then they kind of nuzzled and swatted each other’s arms the way they do to show affection. “You look so big,” Dad told Bruce.
“I haven’t grown at all,” Bruce said. “Not an inch.”
“Well, you could have fooled me.”
Mom came downstairs right behind Bruce. She and Dad hugged, but just for a minute. “How are you, Row?” Dad asked.
“I’m okay,” Mom said.
You could tell they didn’t want to get started in front of us.
I was right about the sweatshirts. Dad brought one for me that said Los Angeles, City of Angels and one for Bruce that said Los Angeles Dodgers. I don’t know what he brought for Mom.
Dad had never even seen my new room so I grabbed him by the hand and led him upstairs.
“Look at all these posters,” Dad said. “How come that one is on the ceiling?” He strained his neck to get a better view of Benjamin Moore.
“That one is special,” I said. “You have to lie on the bed to really see him.”
“Maybe later,” Dad said.
He didn’t seem surprised that just the three of us were going out to dinner. I guess he and Mom had worked out the details over the phone. We got to sit in a booth at Onion Alley. I ordered a calzone but I didn’t eat much because Bruce and I talked non-stop through dinner. I told Dad all about Alison and how she used to live in Malibu, which she says isn’t that far from Marina Del Rey, where Dad has his apartment. I told him about how she’s lost her skills in math but that Rachel is going to help her get them back. I told him how well Alison and I get along and how much fun she is.
“It sounds as if you and Alison are best friends,” Dad said, picking at his veal.
“I’m best friends with Rachel and Alison,” I told him.
&
nbsp; “Two best friends?” Dad asked.
“Two are better than one,” I told him.
“Two best friends means she’s never off the phone,” Bruce said. “She just about lives in the pantry.”
“The pantry?” Dad looked confused.
“That’s where she hides with the phone,” Bruce explained.
“If I had my own phone in my own room I wouldn’t have to lock myself up in the pantry for privacy. At Crazy Eddie’s you can get one for just $19.95. That’s what I’d really like for my birthday.”
“I don’t think it’s a question of how much a phone costs,” Dad said. “I think it’s more the idea of it.”
“But you’ll think about it, won’t you?” I asked. “For my thirteenth birthday?”
“I’ll discuss it with Mom.”
I’ll discuss it with Mom is Dad’s version of We’ll see.
When Bruce started telling Dad about his computer teacher my mind drifted. It would be great to have my own phone. I’d get a pink one with a really long cord so I could carry it from my desk to my night table. And I’d get a name number so my friends could just dial 662-STPH, the way you can dial 662-PIES when you want to order a pizza.
“So what do you think, Steph?” Dad asked.
“What?”
“She wasn’t listening,” Bruce said. “Her mind was someplace else.”
“I was talking about our weekend plans,” Dad said, “about staying at a hotel in the city. I thought we’d get out early to see the windows on Fifth Avenue. You know how crowded it gets over Thanksgiving. Then we could head up to the Museum of Natural History … and maybe to the Metropolitan … see a play on Saturday night …”
“That sounds great!” I said. “I didn’t know we were going to the city for the weekend.”
“That’s because you were busy daydreaming,” Bruce said.
“I wasn’t daydreaming,” I told him. “I was thinking.”
“That’s enough!” Dad said. “All that matters is that we have a good time together. And that means no fighting.”
“We hardly ever fight anymore,” Bruce told Dad.
“Well, that’s good news,” Dad said.
I wished I could call Rachel and Alison that minute and tell them about our plans, but Alison had already left for Sadie Wishnik’s and Rachel had gone to her aunt’s house, in New Hampshire.
As soon as we got home Bruce ran for the bathroom. Dr. Klaff says he has a small bladder. So if he drinks a lot he has to pee a lot. And he had two glasses of water plus a Coke at dinner. Dad says when he was a kid he had the same problem.
“See you tomorrow,” Dad said, kissing my cheek.
“What do you mean, tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’m driving down to the city now. I’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning.”
“You’ve got a meeting on Thanksgiving morning?”
“Yes,” Dad said, “a breakfast meeting. It’s the only time we could get together. But I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
“What about Mom?” I asked.
“What about her?”
“She’s going to be so disappointed. You two haven’t seen each other since summer.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“She knows about my meeting,” Dad said. “And she’s going to be busy with Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Not that busy!”
“Don’t worry about it … okay?” Dad kissed me again, this time on top of my head. “I’ll be here tomorrow by two, at the latest.”
Bruce had a nightmare that night. I heard him calling for Mom. I heard Mom padding down the hall to his room. I heard her talking softly to him. I guess I must have fallen right back asleep because when I opened my eyes again it was morning and I could smell the turkey roasting.
T-Day
Dad drove Carla and Katie up from the city. They got here before two, just as Dad had promised. Carla is tall and thin with wispy blonde hair. She wears suede and leather clothes, even in summer, and silver jewelry.
“Stephanie … look at you!” she said. Her voice was breathy, making her sound as if she’d just run around the block. “Aren’t you something!” When she hugged me I could smell her perfume. Then she reached into her bag for a Kleenex and blew her nose. Mom says Carla developed allergies right after her husband died. She sneezes all year round.
“Can I help in the kitchen?” Carla asked Mom.
“Everything’s ready,” Mom said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “except me.”
“I’ll keep you company while you get dressed,” Carla said.
“Will you watch the turkey, Steve?” Mom asked. “It needs basting every fifteen minutes.”
“No problem,” Dad said.
“Come on,” Bruce said, grabbing Dad’s hand and dragging him toward the den. “The game’s on …”
Katie stood watching as everyone went off in different directions. She’s small for eight, with chubby pink cheeks. She reminds me of a Cabbage Patch Kid. “You want to see my room?” I asked her.
“Sure.”
We went upstairs. “This is nice,” Katie said, looking around. “I like your posters. How come that one’s on the ceiling?”
“That’s my boyfriend,” I told her.
“What’s his name?”
“Benjamin.”
“That’s a nice name. How old is he?”
“Seventeen.”
“That’s really old. Are you going steady?”
“Yes, but my family doesn’t know so don’t say anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
I took a deck of cards out of my desk drawer. “I’ll teach you to play Spit.”
“I already know how.”
“You do?” That surprised me because I had never heard of the game until Alison taught me. “You want to play?” I asked her.
“Sure,” she said.
Katie was really fast. She beat me twice before the rest of our guests arrived. They all came at once.
Aunt Robin and her live-in, Scott, brought their poodle, Enchilada. Gran Lola calls Enchilada her granddog. Aunt Robin and Scott are investment bankers. Their hobby is money. That’s all they ever talk about. So they were extremely interested when I told Gran Lola and Papa Jack about my three stocks and how I came to choose them. “I picked Jiffy Lube because I liked the name, Revlon because Mom uses their makeup and Reebok because everybody wants to wear their shoes. So far I’m doing all right.”
Uncle Richard, who is married to Aunt Denise, said that from his experience with the stock market, my reasons for choosing Revlon, Jiffy Lube and Reebok seemed as good as any.
At four we sat down to dinner. Everyone oohed and aahed as Mom carried in the turkey and set it in front of Dad. Then she took her seat at the opposite end of the table.
“Breast or leg?” Dad asked each of us as he carved the turkey.
“Breast!” Bruce called out and he and Katie started laughing.
“Oh, to be ten again,” Cousin Stanley said, sighing, as if he were ninety years old instead of nineteen.
Papa Jack took his ulcer medicine before he ate anything.
After the main course Howard burped three times. “An excellent meal,” he said, patting his middle.
During dessert a piece of pumpkin pie fell to the floor. Enchilada gobbled it up. I don’t know if anyone besides me noticed. But a few minutes later Enchilada threw up on Bruce’s shoe. Bruce took it personally. “These are my only shoes,” he said. “What am I supposed to wear to school on Monday? If I wear these all the kids will hold their noses and say, Yuck … barf!”
“Take them off and put them in the laundry room,” Mom said. When Bruce didn’t move she added, “Hurry up!”
Aunt Robin took Enchilada outside, just in case, while Scott cleaned up under the table. “You’d be better off with a baby,” Gran Lola said, when Aunt Robin came back. “A baby isn’t any more trouble than that dog.”
“B
abies grow up,” Aunt Robin said, looking at Howard.
Howard burped.
Papa Jack took some more ulcer medicine.
By eight, our company had left, including Carla and Katie, who drove back to the city with Aunt Robin and Scott. Suddenly the house seemed very quiet. The four of us cleared the table. Then Mom loaded the dishwasher and Dad scrubbed the pots and pans, while I wrapped the leftovers. I guess Mom and Dad were too tired to talk.
When I finished I went upstairs to change because I’d dropped a blob of cranberry sauce on my shirt. While I was in my room Dad poked his head in and said, “If you hurry and pack we can still get down to the city tonight.”
“I didn’t know we were going tonight.”
“Yes.”
“But Mom has to work in the morning, doesn’t she?”
“Stephanie,” Dad said, “sit down.”
There are times when you know you’re going to hear something that you don’t want to hear. Something that you’ve kept yourself from thinking. I sat on the edge of my bed, chewing on the insides of my cheeks.
Dad paced the room. Finally he sat beside me. “I know you’ve guessed by now …”
“Guessed what?”
“About Mom and me … about our separation.”
“What separation?”
“This separation,” Dad said, sounding impatient. “About how we’re living apart for a while.”
“No!”
“I thought you knew,” Dad said, shaking his head.
“What am I supposed to be … some kind of mind-reader?”
“But all those questions last night …” Dad said.
“What about them?”
Dad stood up. “Wait here …”
He went into the hall and called, “Row … would you come upstairs for a minute?”
I looked at Benjamin Moore. I forced myself to concentrate on him. If he were really my boyfriend I’d be getting ready to go out with him now. Probably we’d go to a movie first, then to Arcudi’s for a pizza. While we were eating, Jeremy Dragon would come in with some of his friends and say, Hey, Macbeth … how’s it going? Then I’d introduce him to Benjamin and he’d be really impressed, not just because Benjamin is so cute but because he’s seventeen. Later, Jeremy would take me aside and ask for my phone number. I’d say, Just dial 662-STPH.