by Niki Lenz
Miss Regina’s neck had gone a bit pink. Her trembling fingers held the lasagna as a sort of shield between her and Dad.
“Well, I’ll surely spread the word, Pastor. Glad to hear all is right and the two of you are doing okay.”
“We’re doing more than okay. Or at least…” He paused and searched my face. “Or at least we will be. Me and Grace, we’re a team. All we need is each other.”
We’re a team. Me and Dad. And he’d said we would be just fine, and he had never ever lied to me in all my eight years. He had crossed the room and hugged me so hard I felt all the doubt squeeze out of me. I’d believed him, with every cell in my body.
And now he was going on a romantic picnic with this very same casserole-pushing woman.
Bea smacked me in the arm, and I shook my head to bring myself back to the present. “They’re heading downstairs,” she said. I watched as Miss Regina slid her arm through my dad’s. Her face looked radiant with excitement. His looked a little bit green around the edges. Something told me this was not quite the outcome he’d hoped for, and I felt a smidge relieved.
Miss Regina chattered nonstop, and Dad smiled tensely and nodded. I bet he was wishing he was sitting on the couch with me, watching Jungle Survivor in our pajamas. That’s what he got for messing with the team.
“Come on, let’s go,” Bea said. We were supposed to walk home after the auction, ’cause no kids allowed for the date portion of the evening.
“Hey, you know what we should do?” I had to choose my words carefully or Bea would put up a fight. She narrowed her eyes at me, and I continued. “We could sneak down to the basement and just watch how the dates go. I mean, it will be hilarious. Everyone will be all nervous and weird around each other. We can hide somewhere and watch the whole thing like a terrible TV show.”
“Kids are not allowed. Plus, you’d be spying on your dad,” Bea said dryly.
I shrugged. “It could be fun?”
Bea looked thoughtful and then linked her arm through mine. “I don’t know how you always manage to talk me into these things, but I’ll admit, I want to see what happens when he unpacks that basket.”
“Me too. Come on,” I said.
We took the back set of stairs to the community room in the basement. A few of the lucky couples had already arrived and stood there awkwardly chitchatting while holding their baskets. Red-and-white-checked tablecloths were spread all over the floor, and shiny foil hearts hung from the ceiling. I spotted a beverage table in one corner, covered in a floor-length tablecloth. Bea and I snuck over and crawled underneath. It smelled like old gum under there, but there was a seam at the corner that gave us an excellent view of the room. As long as our targets got a spot close to the drinks, we’d be able to see everything. Well, one of us would. We had to take turns peering out the crack.
The rest of the couples slowly filled the community room, and I was the first to spy Dad and his date. Miss Regina had to be at least fifty, but she kept her hair dyed a yellowy blond. She wore stylish clothes, and I don’t think I’d ever seen her without super-high heels. But she always had lipstick on her teeth, and she smelled like an old couch. I suspected she kept hard candy in her purse.
Luckily for us, they took a spot not too far from the beverage table. Unluckily for us, every time someone came up to get a glass of iced tea, our view got blocked.
As a pair of corduroy pants finally moved away from the drinks, I got my first glimpse of Dad. He clutched the basket tightly, a hopeful grin on his goofy face. I started to feel kind of bad about the shenanigans that were about to unfold. But then I remembered that fierce hug Dad had given me all those years ago, and how he’d promised we were a complete set, just the two of us, and I felt my guilt trade places with anger. What had changed? What had made him go from “My daughter and I have everything we need” to “Why, yes, Miss Regina, I would like to share my peanut butter and jelly with you.” It made no sense.
Somebody turned on a CD of classical music, I guess to give the place a more romantic vibe, but it also made it impossible to hear what people were saying. I let Bea have a turn as lookout as I hugged my knees to my chest under the table.
Bea pressed her eyeball to the sneaky spy seam. “Your dad is unpacking the food. His face is the color of oatmeal. That doesn’t seem healthy. I can’t hear him. Oh, he’s pulling out the chili.”
I giggled into my hand and Bea swatted at me. “He’s desperately searching for his peanut butter and jelly.”
“Instead he will find baked beans. And prunes. And asparagus.”
“You’re wicked, you know that? You basically packed fart juice.”
I scooted over to the crack. “Lemme have a turn. I’ll be able to tell when my plan starts to work.”
We swapped places and Bea lay on her back. “Remind me not to let you ever pack a romantic picnic basket for me. Like ever. In fact, I don’t even want you cooking for me.”
“Trust me, no one wants that. My chili might actually kill someone.”
The person who’d been getting a drink finally returned to their spot and I had my first clear view of Dad and Miss Regina. She sat very straight and proper, her knees off to one side and her skirt spread around her like a cupcake wrapper.
Dad sat as far as possible from her on the blanket, crisscross applesauce so he could lean away if he needed to. He’d placed the basket in the middle and had all my goodies spread out around them. The widow nibbled on corn on the cob, which I hoped would get disgustingly stuck between her teeth. Dad scooped chili out of the thermos onto the paper plates I’d packed.
Here’s the thing about my dad. He can’t resist the things he knows are bad news. Every single time he eats this stuff, he spends the rest of the night being miserable, but he can never say no. I saw the concern etched on his face as he ate a spoonful of the spicy chili and then tried to answer a question with his mouth full. Not a good look.
“What’s happening? Are they kissing?”
“Ew. No. Dad’s stuffing his face with ammunition, so he’ll soon be prepared to fire at will.”
“You have a dark gift,” Bea said.
Miss Regina was now trying to eat the spaghetti I packed extra ladylike. But there comes a point in every spaghetti-eating experience when one simply must slurp. And don’t believe the cartoons. Nobody wants to share the slobbery other end of the noodle with you, Lady and the Tramp–style. Dad cringed when she slurped the noodle and the saucy end came up and hit her in the eye.
Bea took her turn as spy and watched for a few minutes while I kicked back. She reported, “Well, I’d say Miss Regina is officially unkissable. She’s got sauce all over her face and corn in her teeth, and since we added lots of extra onions and garlic to that spaghetti, I’m guessing her breath is nasty.” We high-fived.
The next time I got a clear look at them, Dad had finished his food, but he’d also switched positions on the blanket. He leaned on his elbows, away from Miss Regina, presumably to let his stomach stretch out. I was glad to see he hadn’t unbuttoned his pants, like he often did at home when his gut bulged full of gas. His date talked and laughed and attempted to get him to join in, but he stayed very quiet. At least his mouth did.
“Your poor dad. I know we’re trying to protect Team Gravy, but it stinks to have to hurt him in the process.”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “I know. I do feel a teeny bit guilty. But Dad has always said that me and him are just fine the way we are. So why does he all of a sudden wanna add someone else to the mix?”
“All right, my turn, then. Move over.” Bea pressed her eye to the crack in the tablecloth and gasped.
“Oh my gosh. People are actually moving away from him. There’s an invisible cloud of farts surrounding him now, and people are glaring at him and scooting away.”
I smiled and lay with my hands behind my head like a pillow. “Exact
ly how I planned it.”
The music stopped and the crowd turned to pantsuit-wearing Miss Donna, who made some sort of announcement about how much money they’d raised for the Missions Committee. In a moment of silence, a loud and disgusting noise ripped from the general direction of Dad’s blanket.
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my gosh, was that what I think it was?” I whispered.
Everyone stayed dead silent, and then I heard my dad’s voice say, “Um, excuse me.”
Bea and I laughed so hard, I’m pretty sure the whole beverage table shook. We tried to be quiet, but she kept snorting. The other couples resumed their conversations, and I nudged Bea to check on the date again.
“Your dad is gone!”
I glanced at my watch. “Right on time. He’ll be in the bathroom for a while now. What’s she doing?”
“Packing up the rest of the ammunition. She looks…disappointed.”
“Good. Disappointed is good. Best to shatter expectations right off the bat, don’t you think?”
“Well, I sure don’t think she’s going to be paying hundreds of dollars to go out with the guy again.”
Bea pressed closer to the crack. “Wait, your dad is back! He just gave her a handshake. A handshake. This has to go down in history as one of the worst dates ever.”
“Then my work here is done.”
I thought I would only beat Dad home by a few minutes, since I walked and he drove, but it was a few hours before he came in the door. I wondered if he’d been helping to clean up after the event, or if he’d just been in the bathroom that whole time.
I turned off the TV as soon as he walked in. I half expected him to come sit next to me, give me a big hug, and tell me he’d been wrong to try this whole dating thing. But he didn’t do that.
He dropped the picnic basket on the coffee table and then he stared at me, eyebrows raised.
I shifted and hugged a throw pillow, wishing I could hide underneath it. He didn’t exactly look mad, just…baffled?
“I packed sandwiches. And chips. And cookies. That was what I packed. I remember putting those items in this basket. Please explain to me why when I sat down to dinner I had…other items.”
I gulped. I had to think fast, or we could be in big trouble. “Bea and I thought you needed fancier food for your date. Sandwiches are so…elementary school. We thought you needed something…more special.” I looked right at him, right in his eyes, which were the exact same shade of blue as mine. And his face softened. He collapsed on the couch next to me and let out a huge sigh. “Oh. I wondered if that was what happened. I mean, you wouldn’t…”
He trailed off, and my eyes flicked all around the room, landing everywhere but on his face.
“It’s just that…I know you aren’t loving my going on dates. And for a second I wondered if you had maybe…”
I could see Dad struggling for the words. He didn’t want to say “packed disgusting things on purpose to ruin my date,” because if I had actually been trying to help like I’d led him to believe, then that would be downright rude.
“And what about that bio? Long walks in the cow patties? I definitely do not remember writing that.” Dad shook his head.
“Oh, that. I thought it was funny. Did you not think it was funny?” I laughed nervously.
“I guess,” he said, shutting his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “You and me…we’re still a team, right? You want me to be happy and you wouldn’t try to…embarrass me in my place of employment. Right?” He searched my face, and I tried to make it look as angelic as possible.
“Of course we’re still a team.” Silently I added, No thanks to you.
Dad rubbed at the back of his neck. “You and Bea have clearly never been on a romantic picnic. As a general rule, people try to avoid foods that make you look disgusting when you eat them.”
His stomach made a gurgly sound, and he flinched.
I nodded and said, “Ohhh,” like I had just learned some new and valuable information. I perked up. “But the passion fruit I packed had to be good, right? Because passion is like romantic and stuff.”
Dad tilted his head and squinted at the ceiling. “First of all, I had no idea that was what that was. And maybe you didn’t notice this, but the seeds look exactly like snot. I gagged when I tried to eat one.”
I had noticed. Which is why the passion fruit made it into the basket. “It was still in the fridge from our get-one-of-everything game at the grocery store. I had to Google what it was.”
I paused for a second and then asked, “Other than that…how was your date with Miss Regina? Are you two going out now?”
I clenched the pillow extra hard and silently repeated, Say no say no say no, like a prayer in my head.
Dad snorted. “No. It didn’t go very well, to be honest.”
I hoped with all my heart that he’d learned his lesson. Dating was too hard. Not only did it have major potential for awkwardness and humiliation, but it also had the power to give you paint-peeling gas. So why did I have a sudden desire to spill the beans and confess everything I’d been up to? The guilt and secrets felt like a wedge between Dad and me.
He shook his head, like he was shaking off the night’s terrible events. “It was just a fundraiser. And at least I didn’t go on the record as getting the lowest bid. That would have been hard on the old ego.”
“I would have bid on you, Dad,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I think you’re worth all the money in the world.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his smile. “Thanks, Giblet. I feel the same way about you.”
I looked down at my hands, wondering if he would say the same thing if he knew all that I had done.
* * *
The next night I headed to Bea’s for dinner. Usually I just walk right in, but since things were so different in her family lately, I felt like I should probably ring the doorbell. I stood there shivering on the porch, jamming the button about four times. There were noises inside the house. Some clanging, people yelling, some music or the TV on way too loud. Bea wasn’t kidding when she said her new life was a circus!
Finally, the door swung open and Bea’s mom stood there, looking frazzled but smiling. “Grace!” she said. “How nice to see you!”
She didn’t seem like she was expecting me, and I clenched my fingers behind my back. “Um…hi, Mrs. Morrison. Bea invited me for dinner,” I said.
She smacked herself in the forehead. “Dinner! My goodness! I’d completely forgotten. I wonder if I have anything thawed….” She started to wander toward the kitchen, but she left the door open behind her, so I assumed I was welcome inside.
The living room looked like a bomb had gone off. Books, toys, and teeny-tiny clothes were strewn all over the place. A sock puppet danced on the TV, singing about colors with way too much enthusiasm. There were little orange fishy crackers lined up on the hardwood floor that crunched when I accidentally stepped on them.
Bea came out of the back hallway carrying a squirming, curly-headed boy who looked like he belonged in a toilet paper commercial. The kind of toilet paper that’s made of clouds and is soft enough for an angel’s booty. Except this kid had a wicked grin on his face.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Bea said. “Maybe between the two of us we can keep the little monster out of trouble. Grace, meet Julian. Julian, this is my bestie, Grace.”
I took in Bea’s sagging shoulders and glassy eyes. She was clearly in distress.
After my mom died, Bea would leave little notes in my mailbox every day with knock-knock jokes or cartoons. And then when Dad started allowing visitors again, she came over every day. Sometimes we didn’t even talk; she would just sit beside me or play her guitar. She was there for me when my whole world had fallen apart. So now it was my turn to be there for her. I reached over and took the sticky todd
ler out of her arms.
Bea brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “Just today he’s eaten BoBo’s dog food, smeared pudding on the wall, and set the world’s record for most times out of bed during a nap.”
“Um…where’s your dad?” I asked, bouncing Julian on my hip.
“Diaper run. You know they go through like five of those things a day? Personally, I think Dad just volunteers so he can get away from all the noise.”
Bea’s mom yelled something from the kitchen, but it sounded like her head was in a cabinet, so we went in there to see what she wanted.
“Does Grace like tuna casserole?” Mrs. Morrison called from the pantry.
“Yes! Anything is fine!” I said, even though to be real honest, tuna casserole tastes like fishy snot.
Julian started crying at that moment, so maybe he wasn’t excited about tuna casserole either. Bea scrunched her face up at him, reaching over to tickle him under his chin. “What’s wrong now?”
He wiped a tiny fist across his already slippery nose and then grabbed a handful of Bea’s hair and yanked. She howled. They glared at each other. So this was what it looked like to have your family rearranged. No thank you.
“Mom!” Bea called, rubbing at her scalp with her free hand. “Can you take him for a while so I can hang out with Grace?”
Mrs. Morrison emerged from the pantry with her arms full of ingredients. “Can you two watch him while I throw some dinner together? He’s hungry—that’s why he’s mad. Give him a snack and we’ll eat in thirty.”
Bea muttered something under her breath about how she’d been watching him all day, and I followed her back into the living room. She found a crumpled bag of fishy crackers, gave me a handful, ate a few herself, and dumped the rest on the coffee table, next to where I sat Julian down on the floor. He grabbed a fistful and instantly got two hundred percent happier.