“Did it work when you tried to explain to her what you were upset about? Were you able to work it out?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I see your point. Sometimes I think you and I are so much alike that your mother can’t handle the things in you that are like me. Maybe that’s one of the problems.”
“Maybe.” I crawl farther into the quilt. “But it’s awful when she won’t listen to me.”
“Did you listen to her?” my father asks.
“I tried . . . but not about Duane.”
“That’s a big but. Duane’s going to be her husband . . . your stepfather,” he says. “How do you think she feels when you say awful things about him? Wouldn’t you feel terrible if I refused to give Dave a chance when he arrived on the scene—even though it was hard for me to see you with someone else?”
“That’s different,” I say.
“All I ask is that you think about the situation. No matter what, Duane is going to be in your life.”
“You wouldn’t like him either,” I say.
My father thinks about that for a minute. “You may be right . . . but I’m going to have to learn to deal with him too. He and I may have to talk about what the three of you plan for the time you stay with your mother . . . . Divorce and remarriage means having more people in your life. There’s no way around it.”
“It’s not always easy though,” Mindy says.
Rosie says, “I’ll second that.”
“I realize that,” my father says. “Phoebe, just think about it. Your mother is marrying Duane. How you act now is going to affect what it’s like later. You have some control of that.”
“Does that mean I have to lie and pretend?” I make a face.
“What do you think?” my father asks.
It’s quiet for a while. I can hear the wood burning.
Finally I say, “I have to learn how to handle this new situation so that it works out well for me . . . as well as it can without it being what I really want. That’s it, isn’t it?”
He smiles.
“It’s not easy,” I say.
“I know.” He hugs me. “But I have faith in you.”
I’m glad he does. I’m not so sure I do.
I say, “Thanks. I feel better now. I’ll think about it.”
We sit quietly.
Finally I say, “Look. I really do feel better now. I’m even hungry.”
“Good.” Mindy starts to get up. “Let’s get the dinner on the table.”
“Not so fast.” Rosie grabs her sleeve.
Mindy sits down.
Rosie continues, as if she’s interrogating them, like in the old war movies. “You will be so kind as to tell us exactly what has been going on behind our backs. We want names, dates, and other pertinent information. We have ways to make you talk, you know.”
I join in. “Rosie, should we stick bamboo shoots under their fingernails . . . or drip water on their heads . . . or use the dreaded tickle torture?”
“The tickle torture it is.” She jumps on my father, and I grab Mindy from behind.
Neither of our parents can stand being tickled.
We really get them.
Soon we’re all rolling all over the floor laughing.
When we calm down, I say, “Come on now, tell us. When we called, how come you were both here and planning to be here till all hours and now are still together several days later? Tell us. We’re allowed to see R-rated movies. We can handle this.”
My father and Mindy are smiling at each other.
He begins. “Mindy and I have been going out since the first time we met.”
“How come you never told us? I feel betrayed.” I let him know.
“We decided to wait and see if it was serious.” Mindy puts her hand in my father’s. “If it didn’t work out, we didn’t want to tell either of you.”
“Why not?” Rosie asks.
“Neither of us wanted either of you to feel uncomfortable in each other’s home. We know what good friends you are, and we didn’t want to do anything that would cause you to take sides or be upset.” Rosie and I look at each other.
“Now we know it is serious,” my father breaks in. “That we care about each other and it’s time for you to know, to be part of our relationship. That’s why we asked you to come back early to discuss it. We plan to keep going out. We know that will affect both of you.”
“We had no idea that Phoebe’s mother was going to announce her marriage and the move,” Mindy says. “We wouldn’t have hit you with all of this at once. It’s almost too much.”
I nod, then say, “So what’s the deal? Are we going to all live together? Are we going to have a baby brother or sister?”
“Bite your tongue,” Mindy says. “No more babies.”
“Not for me either. I’m happy with the child I have. And with Rosie too,” my father says.
“Thanks.” I hug him. “Just don’t love Rosie more than me.”
“Sibling rivalry already,” Rosie says. “It’s just what we’re studying in Family Living class.”
“Don’t rush us. We’re just going out, getting to know each other,” Mindy says.
“So how do you both feel?”
There’s quiet as Rosie and I think about it.
I say, “Does this mean you’re going steady? I approve.”
“Me too,” Rosie says.
We talk some more.
With my mother there’s no talk. With my father sometimes it seems like there’s almost too much.
When we get up to have dinner, Mindy and my father hug and kiss each other. I realize that over the whole weekend, I never saw Duane and my mother show any real affection, other than calling each other “dear” and “honey.”
Finally we sit down to have our second turkey dinner of the weekend.
The phone rings.
It’s Dave. He asks if I’d like to go out and make out with him.
I like a guy who knows his own mind.
“I’d love to.” I giggle. “But we’ve got company, Rosie and Mindy.”
He laughs. “Well, they can watch.”
I say, “I don’t think that’s a family activity.” As I say it I think of how easy it is to think of us as a family.
He says, “I would really just like to see you. Do you think we can arrange that?”
I ask my father if Dave can come over after dinner.
After checking with Mindy and Rosie, he says, “Invite the Boy Scout over. He can join us for dinner.”
CHAPTER 25
I’m going to the wedding.
Dad thought I should go.
So did Mindy.
And Rosie.
And Dave.
Even I think I should go. After all, how many times will I get the chance to go to my own mother’s wedding? . . . I hope only once.
I still think Duane’s a drip, but he does care about my mother and makes her happy. That counts for something.
He’s even letting me redecorate the room that will be mine when I visit. I won’t have to use the furniture from our old apartment. He did cringe, though, when I put the I ♥ WOODSTOCK sticker on the door, but he didn’t say anything.
Dave promised to be my date. I think that the main reason he’s going along is to make sure that I don’t throw poisoned rice at the bridal couple.
I’ve even decided not to send Duane and my mother the sympathy card I bought. I’ll pick out a wedding card. It’s not easy though to find one that says HAPPY WEDDING, MOM AND PLASTIC POP.
I know that when I go to the wedding, I’m going to think of my father and how he’s doing back in Woodstock. I bet it’s not easy for him, especially since his own mother’s going to the wedding. Sometimes I not only dislike Grandmother Brooks, I also don’t understand her—or my mother for inviting her.
I’ve decided to keep riding the Divorce Express even though I’m not sure it’s going to work out. My mother and I sat down and made a deal to come only every other weekend so that I can go
out with Dave and be with the rest of my friends.
I don’t feel entrapped anymore, with no place to go. I have both of my parents’ places . . . and I’m learning to have my own place in the world.
I’ve learned something else too. If you take the letters in the word DIVORCES and rearrange them, they spell DISCOVER.
Text copyright © 1985 by Paula Danziger
CHAPTER 1
If a Prince Charming or a Prince Semi-Charming came up to my door and said, “Rosie Wilson, you are the most beautiful, individualistic fourteen-year-old in the universe,” I certainly wouldn’t slam the door in his face.
There’s something even more important to me than that, though. What I really want more than anything is to be part of a family, all living happily under one roof.
My parents divorced soon after I was born, a fact that I have tried not to take personally.
I used to beg my mother for a baby brother or sister.
She’d say, “Bite your tongue.”
For a long time, I thought that was how babies were made.
By the time I found out how babies were really born, I had permanent tooth marks on my tongue.
My mother—Mindy—and I get along really well, which is good because we live together in Woodstock, New York.
Until recently I used to ride a bus that is nicknamed the Divorce Express. Almost every weekend I would go down to Greenwich Village, this really great area of New York City, to see my father. Then he and his second wife and her two kids moved to California. Actually, I was glad that his wife and her two kids went. I’m just sorry that my father left with them.
So it’s not as if I’m an orphan or anything. I do have a family . . . just not one that’s living all together, in the same place.
It’s all changing now. I’m finally going to get my wish. In one week I’ll be part of a family. My mother and my best friend’s father have fallen in love and are going to live together. Mindy and Jim. Phoebe. Me.
Once before, Mindy and I lived with someone, Andy. It didn’t work out for them, for us.
This time I hope it does.
I want this to start out with “ . . . and they lived happily ever after” and get even better.
CHAPTER 2
The Donners’ dog just ate the pet of the month, and I’ve called Phoebe to come right over.
The Donners are the people I baby-sit for. They have one three-year-old kid, Donny, whom Phoebe and I refer to privately as the Little Nerdlet.
They also have a dog, Aardvark. Aardvark is the one who just ate the pet of the month.
The Donners joined this club that sends some little pet to kids each month. Last month it was a goldfish. It died in two days. The Little Nerdlet and I held a burial at sea, actually down the toilet.
So today the new pet arrived. I took the package out of the mailbox and brought it inside. The Little Nerdlet had to go to the bathroom. I went with him. He likes company while he’s sitting there.
Aardvark got the package off the table, and by the time I came back the paper was shredded all over.
From the torn feeding instructions and the little pieces of shell, it seems obvious that the pet of the month was once a turtle.
As I wait for Phoebe to arrive at the Donner house, I think of something my father always says about life: “Rosie, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.”
In Phoebe’s and my lives, I guess, it’s an aardvark-eat-turtle world.
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