by Carol Weston
I brushed my hair in front of the oval mirror my mom had looked into when she used to get ready for parties. Alexa stood behind me, trying on a pair of long, sparkly earrings that made her blue eyes look even bluer. I was wearing the pearl studs Abuelo had given Mom when she was a girl.
Kate came in and pronounced us both “stunning,” then said, “I just this minute got the cutest email. May I read it to you? It’s short.”
“Sure,” I said.
Alexa rolled her eyes and said, “Knock yourself out, Mom.”
Kate read: “Dear Kate, I’m going to a dance, and they always have really slow songs. Help!!! How do you dance with a boy? Please explain it step-by-step. And tell me what to do with my hands!!!”
“I have plenty of suggestions for her,” Alexa said and guffawed.
A few minutes later, Sam rang the doorbell, and Dad let him in. As I descended the staircase, Dad said, “Wow! You look beautiful.”
Sam did a double take. “You do.”
I smiled, too shy to say in front of Dad that Sam looked pretty great himself in his rented tux and bow tie. Dad had us pose for pictures, and I could tell Sam felt self-conscious putting his arm around me in front of him.
“Works even better without the lens cap,” I teased. Dad removed the piece of plastic. I was aware he sometimes worried that “Alexa’s attitude” was rubbing off on me, so I added, “With all due respect.” But even Dad must have known it was good that he and I were no longer treating each other as if we were made of glass.
Evan arrived, and Dad said, “How about a few group shots?” He followed us out into the cold, crisp evening, and we posed some more.
“That’s enough!” Alexa said. To me she added, “Your father is a stalker!”
“Have fun, kids,” Dad said and went back inside.
Alexa pointed up at Orion. “Welcome back!” she called to the bright constellation. “I love Orion!” she explained. “I miss him during the warm months. Just look at those shoulders!”
Evan rubbed her neck. “You’re making me jealous.”
“Oh, he’s got nothing on you.” They kissed.
Sam and I got in the back of Alexa’s car, and Alexa and Evan got in the front. “City kids have it so easy,” Alexa said, and she turned on the car. “No one even has to be the designated driver because no one drives to parties.” She handed Evan a cold bottle of bubbly that she must have hidden in the fridge. “Share nicely, children,” she said as she started the car. Evan took a swig and passed it to Sam, who drank some and passed it to me. I liked that he was offering, not pushing. And while I didn’t judge anyone for drinking, having spent so many months feeling wobbly, now that I was back on my feet, I liked feeling grounded and present. And like myself—my new self?—I shook my head and passed the bottle back.
“Alexa,” Sam said, “I can’t believe your mom’s pregnant.”
“I know. If the baby is throw-uppy or tantrum-y, forget it, I’m handing it straight to Sofia.”
“You do that,” I replied.
“You seem a lot older than when we first met,” Alexa said, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Back then, I was worried I was going to have to babysit you.” She glanced at Evan. “Crazy, isn’t it? That her dad jumped my mom?” She told Evan about how our parents met—or re-met—the night Kate’s car had died, but in her version, she made it sound as if Dad had gone and drained Kate’s car battery on purpose.
I leaned my head on Sam’s shoulder. I was glad Sam and Alexa and I had figured out how to be normal-ish with each other. For a second, I tried to picture Alexa and Sam going to this dance one year earlier. Then I decided it was wiser to stay in the moment.
• • •
I liked walking into the Snow Ball with Sam by my side. There were red poinsettias on the tables and white, silver, and blue helium balloon bouquets everywhere. Girls greeted each other: “You look amazing!” “Where’d you get that dress?” Guys ribbed each other: “Check out the penguin suit!” “Dude, you clean up nice.”
Girls took group shots of themselves, extending their arms, then hovering over each other to see how they came out. They said, “You have to send me that!” or “You have to delete that!” or “You have to post that!” or “You can’t post that!” Larger groups formed, and whoever volunteered to take a photo got handed extra cell phones.
Inside the ballroom, everyone rushed to claim tables. Sam, Alexa, Evan, and I saved seats, and some of Alexa and Amanda’s volleyball teammates joined us, looking totally different all dressed up. There were very few freshmen at the dance, but Gracie and another sophomore were at a nearby table. She looked great in a kelly-green dress with a sash of sequins, and we talked about our chorus concert coming up.
Zach was at a table with Zoe and the twins—hard to believe I’d ever had trouble telling them apart. We all waved a quick hi, but I was glad to be sitting next to Sam.
One of Alexa’s jock friends teased her, saying, “Only someone as in shape as Alexa could pull off a dress that tight!”
“I could pull it off,” Evan said, slowly lowering one of Alexa’s spaghetti straps.
Amanda examined my shoulder. “That’s actually a cool scar, Sofia. It’s like a little X.”
“X marks the spot,” Sam said and kissed it.
Nevada laughed, and I noticed that her date was a tall girl with beautiful caramel skin. Funny, I hadn’t realized Nevada was gay.
Dinner was chicken and rice, and dessert was, of course, a “snowball”: vanilla ice cream smothered in coconut and topped with chocolate sauce.
Afterward, everyone rushed to the dance floor, and for a short while, it was as if we were all one happy, unified group rather than splintered clusters of kids with knotty pasts and crossed histories.
I taught Sam a few twirls and jitterbug steps, moves I used to practice with Halsey friends. During a slow dance, he whispered, “I bought your birthday present.” We were swaying with the rhythm, and he was being careful not to crush my toes.
“You did?” I pulled back so I could look into his eyes, but then I missed the feel of his chest against my cheek, so I nestled closer.
“I think you’ll like it.” I loved being so near him, feeling his body next to mine. I loved his face too—sandy hair, pale lashes, sexy smile. I was taking in his every expression. Was this love? Right then, I felt I loved him, but in class or at my desk at home, I was less sure. Besides, I still didn’t want to say those three words quite yet. Love was dangerous. When you loved someone, you had so much to lose.
“Give me a hint,” I whispered.
“You have to wait a week to find out. But if you want,” he said playfully, “every time you kiss me, I’ll tell you what it isn’t.”
I kissed him. “It’s not a guitar.” I kissed him again. “It’s not a guinea pig.” I kissed him again. “It’s not a skipping stone.” I kissed him again, a longer kiss. “It’s not a red convertible, though I wish it were.” I gave him a ten-second kiss. “It’s not two tickets to Paris.”
I pressed myself into Sam, and I liked how lean and strong he was. I grasped his shoulders, and he looked down and smiled. I wanted to climb right inside him, to hold him as close as I could but still see him and revel in how hot he was, how sweet, how…in love with me?
The last time Kiki had asked for an update on my love life, I’d confessed that I didn’t know if I was in love or not. Kiki had nodded and admitted that, for once, she was not with anybody and that it felt “surprisingly okay.”
I was glad Sam and I were taking things slowly, neither of us pressuring the other. I hoped we’d have time to get closer on our own terms. Time to take our time.
• • •
“I told Grandma Pat about the grandbaby-to-be,” Dad said. “She’s beside herself.”
“Should I tell Abuelito before he gets here?”
“I t
hink we’d better.”
Abuelo was shocked but glad that I sounded happy. When I added that Dad and Kate would be getting married, he said, “Hombre, claro,” which I translated for Dad as a mix of “Of course,” and “I should hope so!”
Funny. The verb casar, “to marry,” comes from casa, “house.” But in this case, the house had come first.
• • •
Dad, Alexa, and I met at Tiffany & Co. on the corner of Fifth and Fifty-Seventh to do some stealth shopping. The entire store was decorated on the outside with a giant red ribbon and bow—and it looked like a Christmas present. We took the elevator to the second floor to look at diamond rings. A few couples were sipping champagne—apparently, if you spend enough money, Tiffany’s toasts you.
An elegant young woman dressed in black said, “May I help you?”
Dad said he wanted to buy a ring and explained, “I’m marrying this young lady’s mother.”
“Splendid,” she said and encouraged us to look at the rows of rings: some small, some big, some round, some square, some with single stones, some with many. “How much is this one?” Alexa asked, pointing to a large, pale-pink diamond.
“It’s extraordinary, isn’t it?” the woman began. “Prices vary depending on cut, color, and carats.”
“So, like, ten thousand dollars?” Alexa guessed.
“More like one hundred thousand dollars. It’s a unique piece. It just came in yesterday.”
Alexa’s eyes went wide, and the woman steered us to a different counter and showed Dad rows of shining diamonds on simple bands. “These are all classic. And very popular.”
Dad pointed to one and asked Alexa and me what we thought.
“Absolutely beautiful,” I said.
“Beats the scrunchie,” Alexa said.
“This is the one,” Dad said with confidence. He and the woman discussed the price, and then she rapped on the desk to summon someone to take Dad’s credit card. A third person put the ring in a black suede box and wrapped it with tissue and put it into a robin’s-egg-blue cardboard box. She tied the box with a red ribbon, explaining, “We use red during the holidays.”
Back in the elevator, Alexa suggested we stop at the fourth floor.
“Why?” I asked.
“To look at baby stuff,” she said. “Little rug rat is getting born with a silver spoon in his mouth, right? We should check out the spoons.”
• • •
“May I ask you a question?” I poked my head into Kate’s office. She was wearing purple sweatpants and one of Dad’s old sweaters. Alexa called it her “bag-lady look.”
“Of course. That’s just what these girls are doing.” Kate tilted her screen toward me so I could see three highlighted emails.
I begged my mom for a cell, and I got one, but I put a bottle of water in my bag, and the cap must not have been on right because the cell got all wet and died, and now I’m afraid my mom’s going to kill me.
What do you do when the only person who can make you stop crying is the person who made you cry?
Do you think teenagers are too young to experience love?
“What’d you tell the third girl?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“I said that what teens feel is real and can be incredibly intense but not to rush it. You know me—always trying to get kids to step into love instead of falling in.” She patted her growing belly and gave me an ironic smile. “How’s Sam?”
“Good.” We both knew Catlover would have said much more. “I wish I could help you with your mail. Kiki keeps asking me to ask if she can be an intern.”
“She does? Really? That could work.”
“Seriously?” I told her I’d show her Kiki’s column. I knew it was in my backpack somewhere.
“She’s coming to your concert, right? Maybe she and I can talk about it then.”
My concert. I felt a fresh rush of stage fright. Was I really going to sing in public again? What if I panicked? Or forgot the words? I hadn’t even told Dad or Kate or Alexa that I had a solo in Spanish. But I had been practicing in the shower whenever I had the house to myself.
“So, did you want to ask me something?” Kate asked.
“It’s about Christmas. Do you and Alexa ever put up a tree?”
“Every year! We get the biggest one we can squeeze into the living room. I go a little nuts, and then we keep it up for weeks and weeks. It’s a wonder our tree wasn’t up when your dad came by last February. Is that…okay?”
“Totally. But what are we waiting for? It’s December 15!”
“I thought you’d want to celebrate your birthday first.”
“Let’s celebrate everything.”
• • •
“I brought dumplings!” Kiki got off the train and handed Dad two yummy-smelling bags. “Mom says Vietnamese food is perfect for the holidays because people get tired of ham, turkey, and roast beef.”
“I wish Saigon Sun delivered to Armonk,” Dad said.
“It just did!” She laughed. As we drove home, Kiki talked about her new advice column and said she’d printed something funny she’d found called “Why Men Don’t Write Advice Columns.” She dug a crinkled piece of paper out of her pocket. “Ready? I’ll read it. Here goes: ‘Dear Larry, Please help. The other day, I went to work and my husband was watching TV. I’d driven less than a mile when my car made terrible noises and conked out. I walked back home and couldn’t believe it: my husband was in bed with another woman! He apologized like crazy, but I feel so betrayed! I don’t know what to do! Signed, Betsy.’ ‘Dear Betsy, When a car sputters and stalls after such a short distance, this indicates engine trouble. Have you checked the fuel line?’”
Dad laughed and said she should share that with Kate, so Kiki put the paper back in her pocket.
At the house, Kiki exclaimed over our tree, a Scotch pine, then looked out the window. “Wow! Deer!”
“Rudolph, Bambi, and buddies,” Alexa said.
“A lot of birds too!”
“I just dumped sunflower seeds in the feeder. Are you as bad at bird identification as Sofia? Or can you tell a nuthatch from a titmouse?”
“A titmouse?”
“See those two? That’s a pair of tufted titmice.”
“A pair of titmice?!”
“I wouldn’t lie about birds,” Alexa said.
“She wouldn’t,” I said. “She and her dad used to go on bird walks.” I was beginning to learn Baird family lore.
Kate came out of her office.
“Look at you!” Kiki said. “Omigod, you look great!”
Kate did a pirouette. “I feel great too. The second trimester is easier than the first.”
“Mom, if it kicks, do not ask Kiki to put her hand on your belly,” Alexa said. “That’s gross.”
“Are you kidding? I want to feel the kicks!” Kiki said.
“Let’s get the boxes,” Dad said, and we trooped down to the basement and brought up the Baird and Wolfe ornaments. “It’s time to deck the halls.”
“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Alexa said. “Decorating when it’s just Mom and me sucks. No offense, Mom.”
“Undecorating, just two people, is even worse,” I pointed out.
“True that,” Alexa said.
Kiki tested a string of lights, then started wrapping the tree. She also helped me hang the red-and-green paper chain I’d made with my mom back in first grade.
In one doorway, I taped our sprig of mistletoe; in another, I taped a golden bell with a pull chain that played “Jingle Bells.”
Alexa set up the crèche that Abuelo had carved. She asked where to put the cows, sheep, and donkey. I said, “Near the manger.”
“What about the wise guys?” Alexa asked, and Kiki laughed.
The cats went crazy. Pepper jumped in and out of all
the boxes, and Coco found her inner kitten and pawed repeatedly at a low ornament until it fell to the ground. Then she picked it up as if it were a dead mouse and dropped it at Alexa’s feet.
“A token of her cross-species affection?” Kiki asked.
“I love you too,” Alexa said, petting Coco. Coco lifted her butt in the air. “But take it easy, girl, or you’re gonna get a reputation.”
“Do you have presents to put under the tree?” Kiki asked.
“Lots!” Dad bounded upstairs and Kate went to the laundry room.
Dad came back with gifts but not the small Tiffany blue box. I wondered where he’d put it.
Kate returned with an armload of wrapped boxes, then called, “Kiki! Quick! Feel! Right here!”
Kiki ran over and put her hand on Kate’s belly.
“Little hellos from the future,” Kate said, beaming.
• • •
Decorating had taken my mind off the holiday concert, but now I was a bundle of nerves again. I did vocal exercises as I put on my black top, skirt, tights, and heels. Alexa drove me to school and reserved seats in the tenth row before going back to get everyone else.
I had told my family that our chorus would sing songs from around the world, including “O Tannenbaum” and “Il Est Né, le Divin Enfant.” What they didn’t know was that I’d be belting out the final verse of “Los Peces en el Río” all by myself. I’d been practicing whenever I was alone and planned to silently dedicate the song to my mom. I’d also been “visualizing success,” as Dr. G told us to do back at Halsey. But it was one thing to picture myself taking center stage and singing my heart out, another to actually do it.
I unwrapped a honey lozenge, joined the chorus backstage, and did warm-ups with Gracie. Soon, we could hear a crowd begin to arrive and settle into seats.
The butterflies in my stomach were colliding into each other, and a few minutes later, I was following the others onstage. The auditorium lights dimmed, the stage lights went up, and we began singing, first in English, then in German, then in French.
My cue was next. My heart was bonging in my chest, and I took deep breaths as I stepped forward and looked out. I tried to spot Dad, Kate, Alexa, Sam, and Kiki, but it was too dark—which was probably just as well.