The Stepmom Shake-Up

by Niki Lenz

  Dad left me Apology Biscuits and Gravy every morning for the next few days. I wasn’t even mad at him for standing me up, but I could tell he felt awful about it. I was just happy that Saturday we were knocking the Truman Library off our presidential bucket list, and that meant junk food and car tunes. Maybe I’d even have a chance to talk to Dad about Miss O’Connor.

  He groaned when I clicked his light on, but I managed to get him up and dressed and ready to go within thirty minutes, with the help of a full pot of coffee. We stopped for breakfast sandwiches before we got out on the highway and then we were in full-out road trip mode.

  I flipped through the radio stations, while Dad set the GPS at the first stoplight out of town. “Two hours and fourteen minutes to Independence,” he said when he’d entered the address.

  I bounced on my seat. “This will be awesome.” More than two hours of Team Gravy time. We couldn’t wait to see the exhibit “Saving the White House, Truman’s Extreme Makeover.” Harry Truman had massively overhauled the White House after a piano fell through the second floor.

  To make the drive go by faster, Dad and I played a game of US Presidential Trivia. I had a battered book of questions and answers we’d used for this very game on many occasions, but we still managed to trip each other up once in a while.

  “Who is the only president to be elected in two nonconsecutive terms?” I asked, taking a long sip of my Dr Pepper.

  “Who is Grover Cleveland?” Dad answered. He wiggled his eyebrows at me, because for some reason he found the name Grover hilarious.

  “Correct, but I’m deducting points for answering the question in the form of a question. This isn’t Jeopardy!”

  “Boo. Bad form. Give me another one.”

  “Okay. What three presidents have died on the Fourth of July?”

  “A three-part question. I like it. Okay, the first one was John Adams. I know that.”

  “Correct.”

  “Thomas Jefferson.”

  “Correct.”

  “And…are you getting hungry? Should we stop for lunch?”

  “Dad! We just ate breakfast! You don’t know it, do you?”

  “I know it! I’m just teasing you. I totally know it.”

  “Well?”

  “Bill Clinton?”

  “BEEEEEP.” I made a loud buzzer noise, and Dad pretended to swerve the car in shock. “I am pretty sure Clinton is still alive.”

  “Are you sure? Let me see the book.”

  We laughed and I told him the correct answer, which was James Monroe.

  “Who cares about death dates anyway? Did you know that Calvin Coolidge was born on the Fourth of July?”

  “Yes, I knew that. You know who else would’ve? Miss O’Connor.” I was careful not to look over at him.

  Dad glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, she probably would have. But would she know that Teddy Roosevelt was blind in one eye from a boxing injury?”

  “Yeah, I’m guessing she would. She loves this stuff.”

  I tried to read the expression on Dad’s face, but it stayed strangely unreadable.

  “You really like Miss O’Connor, huh? She’s a pretty good teacher?”

  I flipped through my book. This was it. Time to give him the hard sell.

  “She’s more than my teacher, isn’t she? I mean, you don’t call or text just any old teacher with a sewing emergency. Or a muffin crisis.”

  “I guess we do depend on her a lot. She’s a good old gal.” Dad didn’t take his eyes off the road. A good old gal? That sounds like something you’d say about your grandma! Not exactly the reaction I hoped for.

  “I wonder why she never got married,” I said, trying again.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to. It’s not a life goal for everyone.”

  “It is for you.”

  “Hey now…” He glanced over at me.

  I sighed. Dad was lonely and it was time for him to find someone. But it had to be the right someone.

  “But I don’t think that’s why Miss O’Connor never got married. I mean, I think she would get married…if she met the perfect person.”

  “Well, so would I. If I met the perfect person.”

  Like a person who loves history trivia and fixing up old cars and has a healthy disdain for the youth pastor? That kind of perfect?

  Dad’s fingers bounced on the steering wheel. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “What?” My heart skipped a beat. Maybe he’d read my mind. Maybe he’d decided to ask Miss O’Connor out at last!

  “I’ve been seeing a bit more of Gretchen. Remember Gretchen?” He turned to face me, smiling crookedly.

  My face fell. “Gretchen from the Seniors and Seniors banquet? Gretchen the boring auditor? Gretchen who put frogs in your backpack and stole your paper route money?”

  “Now, that’s not a flattering description, but yes. You liked her, right?”

  I stared out the window. I wanted Dad to be happy. And Gretchen was…fine.

  I shrugged. “She’s okay. What do you mean you’ve been seeing more of her?”

  “She has a client close to the town square, a block from the church, and we’ve met up for lunch a few times this month.”

  “A few times?” Dad’s going out on dates while I go to school? My mouth went dry and I felt betrayed. “What about Miss O’Connor?”

  He looked confused. “What about her?”

  “You should ask her out. She’s, like, your best friend.”

  Dad’s face softened. “Yes, she is. But that’s kind of the reason I can’t go asking her out. It would make things weird. Plus, she’s your teacher—”

  “That doesn’t bother me,” I interrupted.

  “Well, it doesn’t help make things less awkward.” Dad’s face softened. “There was a moment…last summer. We were toasting marshmallows at the church’s bonfire night. She said she felt terrible about impaling the marshmallows and then roasting them over a fire. She did these high-pitched voices….I dunno, it made me laugh. She always makes me laugh…and I thought maybe she and I…”

  Bingo! Bonfire night again! Dad had felt it too!

  “I thought there was something. But then I remembered she is a member of my church and your teacher and I see her all over town, so if things went wrong…I just don’t want to mess up what me and you and Olivia have. Okay?”

  We drove in silence for the last hundred miles. I thought about how complicated this whole dating thing was. Grown-ups needed to come up with a new system.

  When we pulled into the parking lot at the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library and Museum, Dad and I sat in the truck for a few more minutes. Finally, he turned to me. “It’s fine, isn’t it? Me dating Gretchen? I hoped you’d be okay with it.”

  “Gretchen’s all right, Dad,” I said, stowing the trivia book. “She’s just no Miss O’Connor.”

  Dad ruffled my hair, like I hate. “You don’t get to pick who I date, Giblet. Unless we can make a deal: You can select my dates if I can choose yours. In five years, when you’re allowed to date.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No deal.”

  “Come on. I’d pick strapping young lads. Sammy Franklin has been volunteering at church a lot this year.”

  “Ugh. The glue-eater? No.”

  “Fine, then let me choose my own dates. M’kay?”

  “If you insist,” I said. “Now let’s go learn about old Give ’em Heck Harry.” I stepped out of the car and stretched my legs, taking in the long white building sitting up on the hill.

  Dad might be dating Gretchen, but I wasn’t about to give up on Miss O’Connor. I liked her, and I liked how happy Dad was when she was around. He just needed to see her in a different light. Maybe by bonfire light.

  “Everything looks fin
e under here. Tell me the noise your dad’s truck was making again?” Miss O’Connor’s voice was muffled by the truck’s hood.

  I pretended to thoughtfully inspect the ceiling of the garage. “Um, I think he said a clunking? Or maybe a chugging?”

  Miss O’Connor reappeared, a grease streak on her nose. “A chugging? It’s a diesel engine. It’s supposed to chug.”

  I shrugged. “Hmm. I guess you’ll have to talk to him about it. He’ll be home soon. Would you like to come inside for some hot cocoa?” It was chilly in the garage, even though the sun shone brightly outside. Miss O’Connor smiled.

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  The truth was, my dad’s truck was fine. The extra truth was that Bea and I had concocted another plan to try to get Miss O’Connor and Dad together. The secret was in the s’mores. Both Dad and Miss O’Connor had mentioned the church bonfire night and the connection they’d felt. If we could just re-create that melty marshmallow goodness, maybe they would both confess how they were feeling.

  Miss O’Connor followed me inside, and I ushered her into the downstairs bathroom. “You have some grease on your face. You might wanna clean up a bit.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  “I’m gonna just go fix your hot cocoa,” I said, but instead I went to check on Bea and Dad. She had told him she had some questions about the Bible, and that had pretty much kept him out of my way for the last hour. Long enough to get Miss O’Connor over here and set everything up.

  I heard Bea ask Dad, “So that Zacchaeus. I hear he was a wee little man….Do you think that was literal or figurative?” I stuck my head in the kitchen and gave Bea a thumbs-up and she looked relieved. “Uh, never mind, Pastor Davy. I think you’ve done a wonderful job of explaining stuff to me today.”

  “Anytime, Bea. I love to sit down with a young person and talk through all their questions. I think it’s great that you take your faith so seriously.” Bea’s ears turned bright red as Dad stood up and stretched. “Hey,” he said, his voice taking on that mischievous tone. “What’s the different between Jesus and a pizza?”

  Bea looked helpless. “Probably a lot of things?”

  “Jesus can’t be topped.” Dad cracked up and repeated “Can’t be topped!” to himself.

  “Hilarious, Dad. Why don’t you make us some hot cocoa?” I said, grabbing Bea by the arm and leading her out of the kitchen toward the living room.

  “You got it,” Dad called, and then I heard him repeat, “Can’t be topped!”

  The living room glowed warmly. I’d turned the lights off and lit candles all around. Logs were stacked in the hearth, just waiting for fire. I’d scattered pillows and cozy blankets on the floor near the fireplace and placed a huge tray piled high with all the s’mores fixings in the center.

  “Last thing,” Bea whispered. She pressed Play on her iPad and soft classical guitar music came through the Bluetooth speaker. We grinned and high-fived, because this just had to work.

  “I’ll go get Miss O’Connor,” I said. “Get my dad to light the fire, and then stall him.”

  Bea groaned. “I’ve already asked him to explain the entire Book of Deuteronomy. I don’t know if I can listen to him anymore.”

  I patted her arm. “You’re doing great, friend. Thanks for helping me.”

  “Only because this is very sweet, and I can’t see you getting in trouble for lighting a few candles and setting out some snacks.”

  “Exactly. Now to make sparks fly.”

  I knocked on the bathroom door, and Miss O’Connor’s voice sounded thin and wispy.

  “Are you okay in there?” I asked through the door.

  “Mm-hmm. I just have a headache. I was looking for some aspirin.”

  “Look behind the mirror, in the medicine cabinet,” I said.

  A few seconds later, the door opened, and Miss O’Connor emerged. The grease was gone from her nose, and her face looked pink and pretty, like she’d splashed it with cold water.

  “The hot cocoa is in the living room,” I said, bouncing on my heels.

  “Oh, Grace. That sounds so nice, but I think I might head home now.”

  “No!” I said, so briskly that Miss O’Connor jumped.

  “I just mean…we want to say thank you for coming over to take a look at Dad’s truck. That was really nice of you. You earned this hot cocoa.”

  I took her hand and led her into the candlelit living room. Dad stood by the hearth with two mugs of cocoa, and Bea held the third.

  “Olivia!” Dad said, his face breaking into a wide grin. “I didn’t even know you were here!”

  Miss O’Connor looked confused, but then she noticed the candles, the fire roaring in the fireplace, and the s’mores fixings on the tray.

  She glanced at me. “Grace mentioned you’d heard your truck make a funny sound, so I came to check it out.” Miss O’Connor’s voice had a dreamy sound to it, like she was about to fall asleep. Maybe that’s what people sound like when they fall in love?

  Dad took a few steps toward her still holding the steaming mug of cocoa. “I…don’t actually know what to say. I just came into the living room, and it was all candles and mood music. I promise I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Dad!” I whispered through gritted teeth. “I think what you meant to say is ‘Thank you for coming over here on a Saturday to look at my old junker truck.’ ”

  He gave me a stern look, but there was a sparkle behind his eye. He was going to pretend to be mad about this, but I could tell he wasn’t. He and Miss O’Connor were in a serious eyeball lock. They both had dreamy, dizzy looks on their faces. Miss O’Connor was even swaying a little bit to the music, like she wanted to dance.

  “Grace is right. Thank you for coming to look at my truck. Did you find anything wrong with it?” Dad asked.

  “No, everything looked perfectly fine,” Miss O’Connor answered.

  “That’s odd,” Dad said, cocking his head at me. “At least you didn’t cut my brake lines,” he muttered, loud enough for only me to hear.

  But then he looked around the room, and back at Miss O’Connor.

  “This sort of reminds me of—” Dad started.

  “—bonfire night, last summer,” Miss O’Connor finished. Her eyes looked glassy, but she had a big smile on her face.

  Yes. Exactly! This was totally going to work. These two had just needed a little push in the direction of s’mores, and by the end of the night they would be planning their next date.

  “There’s a cozy fire over there, and marshmallows that need toasting. I think me and Bea will just leave you two alone.”

  Miss O’Connor took two steps toward us, and at first I thought maybe she’d give me and Dad a hug. Instead, her hands flew to her mouth, but it was too late. She barfed all over both of us.

  I’d never seen Bea leave our house in such a hurry. “I don’t do puke” was the last thing she said before she sped out the door. Me and Dad helped Miss O’Connor to the couch. She kept repeating, “I’m so sorry. I’m soooo sorry. I ruined s’mores night….”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. Is there someone we can call for you? Your parents or a special friend?” Dad’s face went red, like he couldn’t even say the word boyfriend.

  Miss O’Connor’s face blanched pasty white, despite her rosy glow earlier, which I realized was probably a fever. I got her a wet washcloth, and she held it to her head. “No. There isn’t anyone to call.”

  Dad sprang into action. “I’ll get everything cleaned up. Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket? How about some tea?”

  Miss O’Connor smiled weakly, but her eyes never left his face. “Tea sounds wonderful, thanks.”

  Dad started cleaning up the puke with a damp towel, and I ran into the kitchen to help get things ready.
Why did this have to happen? Why did Miss O’Connor have to get sick? Just when it seemed like everything was falling into place, she went and puked on his shoes. Things were getting desperate.

  Dad joined me in the kitchen and fumbled around, looking first for a clean mug, and then for the tea bags. While he did that, I found a wooden tray Mom used to bring me toast and tea when I was sick. I spread a red-checked napkin over it and added a small cup of water with a few daffodils from the windowsill. It was just starting to show signs of spring outside, and I’d cut the blooms yesterday to brighten up the kitchen. I wanted everything to be perfect for Miss O’Connor, so onto the tray they went.

  Dad turned around, gripping the hot tea, and eyed the tray skeptically. “What’s all that for?”

  I groaned. “Dad, come on. Just try to be nice.”

  “What do you mean, ‘try to be nice’? I am nice. I’m always nice. I mean, I’m letting the lady lie on my couch after she puked all over me….”

  “Let’s try to forget all about that. Think about right before she puked. Were you catching any feelings?”

  “Grace, I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve already told you, I’m dating Gretchen. I know you like Olivia better.” He chuckled. “Re-creating bonfire night was a sly move.”

  My heart sank. He’d figured out my entire plan…and laughed at it like it was babyish.

  “You know you can’t make grown-ups fall in love by having them share a milkshake or toast a marshmallow, don’t you?”

  “I never said anything about falling in love. I just thought maybe you could see each other differently.”

  Dad picked up the tray, to which I’d added two slices of toast on a flowered plate, and walked two steps toward our recovering barfer.

  “Olivia and I are just friends. Getting us to eat s’mores won’t change that, Grace.” His voice softened. “It was a thoughtful thing you did. You went to a lot of trouble to set all this up. I’m just telling you, it won’t work.” He turned on his heels and walked to the living room.