Lost in Seattle (The Miss Apple Pants series, #2)

by Charlotte Roth

  “I will be there between five thirty and six. Take care,” I wrote back to Stella. I looked at my own little words and couldn’t help smiling. There it was—the written proof; I was slowly turning into Mom. Next thing I knew, I would be making little heart-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the ride.

  Frank unplugged

  Mom and Dad both popped their heads in the kitchen. “Morning,” I said without looking up. “I made you guys coffee. It was a lot of work,” I joked. It wasn’t really a joke. I really did have a hard time making it. First, I had almost puked right into the coffee can. Then, with the first smell of freshly brewed coffee, I had almost puked for the second time. But after a ten-minute coffee break in the pantry, eating half a bag of Cheerios right out of the box, it seemed like things had settled down a little.

  “What’s up? I mean, you are up before...” Dad squinted at the microwave.

  “Seven,” I helped him out.

  “Just about to say that!”

  “Frank, you need glasses. Why can’t you just accept that you are getting old-”

  “-Old?” he interrupted, squinting even more at Mom standing over by the fridge.

  “I was about to say older. Not old.” She shook her head and poured him a cup. “Here, old man.” She handed the cup to him like one would a blind man.

  “Thanks, hon.” He scratched his head and plugged in the toaster and the radio simultaneously. Every single night he—a.k.a. Mister Environmental dude, a.k.a. Save-the-Tuna guy, a.k.a. Elvis—went around the entire house unplugging all the electrical appliances: the TV, the DVR, laptops, the coffeemaker, the toaster, everything. (A few times he had even unplugged the alarm clocks, which had proven not to be such a great idea.) He claimed it could save tons on common household energy usage if everyone did it, but I’m afraid we were pretty much the only ones doing it; I had never been in another house, besides ours and to a certain degree Grandma’s, where people woke up to an unplugged version of the house every morning.

  Dad’s environmentally correct toasted bread popped, and he tossed the slices on the plate. “Butter, please?” He looked at Mom with his best puppy eyes.

  “You know it’s not good for you,” she said judgmentally. “How about some light cream cheese?” she suggested instead.

  “Okay, okay. Whatever.”

  She grabbed the Laughing Cow from the fridge and tossed it over her shoulder. “Catch.”

  Dad caught it with one hand and put the whole box directly on top of the toast. “You know what?” he said as he walked backwards toward the living room—coffee in one hand, plate with toast and box of cream cheese in the other. “Nationwide is on!” he said “Qualifying, girls,” he added with excitement in his voice.

  Mom looked at me and shook her head. “You’re not going to work today, Frank?” she yelled in the direction of the living room.

  “Later,” he yelled back, “I have a phone meeting at two. That’s it. I need some time off.” Soon we heard the unmistakable sound of loud race cars.

  Mom rolled her eyes at me. “Yeah! Nationwide! Woot woot,” she said, minus the enthusiasm.

  “I know,” I scoffed. “I don’t get it. What’s so great about watching some cars going round and round and round in circles for four or five hours?”

  “Beats me.” She grabbed the box of Cheerios on the counter. “Want some more?”

  “Sure.”

  She grabbed the milk, a bowl, and a spoon and placed everything on the table right in front of me. “Here you go; mini bagels.” She kissed the top of my head. “I still can’t believe she’s not here anymore,” she whispered into my hair.

  I looked at the big heart made of Cheerios on the front of the box and nodded. “Have you ever noticed there’s a heart of Cheerios right there?” I pointed at the box.

  Mom wrapped her arms around me from the back and kissed me again. “No, but I see it now. You know, she’ll always be in our hearts.”

  “Even in the cereal,” I whispered and looked up at her.

  She nodded with her eyes half closed.

  “Mom, can I borrow your car early Monday morning?”

  “Stella?” she said like she already knew.

  I nodded.

  “Is she?”

  Again, I nodded. “Evergreen at seven. The seven was a seven AM. I guess I’ll have to leave around five then.”

  “Five in the morning? Ouch!” She let go of me and looked out into the pouring rain.

  It had rained—non-stop—for two days now. Half the driveway was covered in mud holes, and Mom’s attempt to plant a little herb garden in an old wooden barrel she had found behind the shed was looking more and more pathetic by the hour.

  “Oh, it sure looks wet,” she said, shivering. She tucked in her oversized shirt and pulled out a chair and sat down next to me.

  “I know you think it’s wrong,” I said, looking down into my bowl of Cheerios, “but I have to help her, Mom. I’m all she has right now.”

  Mom pushed herself back in her seat and looked at me with her arms crossed.

  “First of all,” she said in that lecturing tone, “Why do you say I think it’s wrong? Second, of course you need to help her. Haven’t you learned anything from what Dad and I have told you over and over again?”

  “Never use drugs, always wear a co-co-condom?” I tried.

  “That too,” she said not able to keep a straight face. “The other rule,” she said, still with her arms crossed.

  “Help where help is needed?” I tried again.

  “Exactly! And for the record, I don’t think it’s wrong. I wouldn’t do it, well, I did once, but I wouldn’t today if I had the choice. But then again, I’m forty, not fifteen, which makes it a hell of a lot easier for me to be politically correct about it. I mean, this girl’s even younger than you.” She uncrossed her arms and rested an elbow on the table.

  I nodded.

  “She can’t even tell her own mom and dad? He’s where?”

  “He was never there, I think.”

  “Exactly my point! Not exactly the best new baby support group, if you ask me.” She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee. “Still no coffee?” she said with her back to me.

  “Nope. Drunken noodles are back, but still no coffee. The smell is actually the worst,” I explained and faked a gag.

  She turned around and smiled. “So when did you say we were leaving?”

  “Mom, I would never ask you to do that. I mean, of all places.”

  “That’s exactly why you—the both of you—need me there. It’s no place for two teenage girls. We’re going together. I go with the car, the car goes with me.” She raised her eyebrows and nodded. Then she turned around and opened the fridge. “Now, how about some Sunday brunch?”

  “On a Friday?” I said like it was the most outrageous idea I had ever heard.

  “You heard him,” she said with her back to me, “Dad’s home till two and we’ve got bagels um... bacon... um... eggs... cheese... um... fruit?” She held up two black bananas and something that looked like it had once been a very small mango or a very big kiwi. “Well, I guess fruit’s out,” she said, wrinkling up her nose. She dropped the hazardous produce in the trash before she started to unload.

  That’s my mom, I thought to myself, looking at her butt sticking out of the fridge. She might not be the coolest Lorelei-speed-talking-skinny-jeans-wearing mom in the world, but she sure had the biggest Cheerios heart of them all. What other mom would practically demand to go to the hospital with a girl I hardly even knew myself?

  She turned around, looking at me through the holes of two raisin bagels. “What?” she said, smiling.

  I shook my head. Even though she was the most grounded and loving mom in the world, she sure looked like a mad woman – wearing Dad’s old, and way too big PJs, her crazy glued-on hair, unloading the fridge like she was on speed. She was on her fifth coffee, and a mission called The Famous Sunday Jensen Brunch.

  A new set of wings


  There she was—standing almost statue-like in the morning darkness. She was wearing a big sweatshirt, a big scarf, and mittens. It was a cold morning even for early October—apparently a real tricky month in Seattle. It can go from the low sixties to high eighties in a couple of hours, which makes it pretty much impossible to decide whether to go with your warm and fuzzy UGGs or a pair of flip flops.

  Stella had gone with the warm UGGs whereas Mom and I had just tossed on a pair of matching flip flops, but we were not the ones standing on the sidewalk at five thirty in the morning. Besides, as Mom said later, she would feel cold for a long time.

  When Stella realized that Mom was in the driver’s seat, she automatically took a step back and gave me a defensive look.

  Mom parked the car, and I jumped out and walked over next to Stella. “Hi there. The car’s here,” I said, trying not to make a big deal about the strange woman in the driver’s seat. “My mom kinda volunteered to drive,” I said, casually nodding in the direction of the car.

  “She did?” Stella said, glancing at Mom.

  “It’s cool,” I assured her as we started walking toward the car. I opened the door in the back and turned around and smiled. “Get in.”

  She got in the backseat, keeping a constant eye on the unfamiliar woman in the driver’s seat. As we started to drive, she moved to the edge of her seat and tapped me on the shoulder. “She volunteered?” she whispered in my right ear, the one furthest away from Mom.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, nodding my head. “This time it’s not an ambush,” I said out loud, looking at Stella in the mirror. It almost made her smile.

  “It’s true,” Mom said, trying to make eye contact with Stella in the rearview mirror. “I’m Abby, by the way. Ella’s mom.”

  “Hi.” Stella leaned all the way back in her seat, still not looking at Mom. “I’m Stella. But I guess you already knew that.”

  Mom nodded and looked at me.

  “You have the same curly hair,” Stella said very matter of fact.

  We both nodded. “Except Mom’s hair is a little rambunctious these days.” I turned around and smiled at Stella. “I call it the glued-on hair.”

  “I think it’s very pretty,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Mom turned around in her seat and faced Stella. “You know, Stella, everything is going to be all right. I’ve been there myself, you know. It’s not my first time.” Mom turned around again and took a deep breath.

  “You have?” Stella said, still looking at Mom’s glued-on hair. “It’s not?” she said, this time directed at me. I shook my head and looked at Mom.

  “No, Stella, I’ve become rather good at it. Nine times in total.” She adjusted the rearview mirror and looked at Stella.

  Had it really been that many? I guess it had, even though I only remembered a few.

  One time was that time where I had asked her whether the baby would have a sister to play with in heaven and she had started crying uncontrollably. I never asked her another question like that again. Another time, she had been so sick that she had been throwing up all the way home in the car. The car had smelled like puke for weeks, and I remember Dad and I driving all the way to school with all the windows down. In January.

  The last time, I had actually gone with her and Dad to the gynecologist’s office, and I clearly remember the look on her face when she returned to the waiting room. Even though there had been no visible tears, I could tell that she had been crying. She didn’t say a word. She just got down on her knees and hugged us both for a long time. When she finally spoke, she only said one single word: “wings.” By then, I kinda knew that “heartbeat” was a good thing and “wings” a bad thing, but I never really figured out the whole wings thing until later, when I read this poem about a little girl who had died and gone to heaven, “leaving on a set of beautiful wings.” It was always wings.

  “You have?” Stella said again, looking at Mom in the rearview mirror.

  Mom nodded. “Yes, and I know it’s really, really hard, but it will get better with time, trust me.”

  It did. Eventually Mom had learned not to trust her own body, she had explained to me. “My body says I’m pregnant when in theory I might not be.” I guess time and history had taught her to hope for the best but expect the worst. It was always wings.

  “But why? Why did you choose to—”

  “—I didn’t choose anything,” Mom interrupted a little too harshly.

  “Oh, I see.” Stella looked down and got out her phone from underneath her sweatshirt.

  Mom turned around in her seat, facing Stella. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she tried.

  “Whatever,” Stella said, trying to pretend she didn’t care. “I perfectly understand.” She slumped into the seat and looked down at her phone.

  Without warning and with a lot of tires screeching, Mom suddenly stopped the car and parked it right in front of a bus stop.

  “Mom!” I cried, automatically reaching for the door handle.

  Mom turned all the way in her seat and looked at Stella. “Listen Stella. I’m here because I want to help. I’m not judging anybody. I’ve had eight miscarriages and one abortion since Ella was born, and I, of all people, would know that this is not a walk in the park. It’s very, very real, and it’s a very tough decision to make—probably the toughest decision you’ll ever have to make, I hope. But I don’t think, and that goes for Ella here as well,” without looking at me, she pointed a finger at me and continued, “we don’t think we’re any better than you just because we’re not in that backseat with you, having to do what you need to do in an hour or so. We are here because want to help, okay?”

  Stella nodded and looked up at Mom, her eyes all glassy with unshed tears. “I’m just so scared. And I’m so cold.”

  “I know,” Mom said, trying to comfort her with her best mommy voice. “It’s only natural. C’mon, let’s get this over with, so you can start all over with your sweet sixteen. Ella told me it’s coming up next month?”

  Stella nodded and wiped her face with her mittens. “It is,” she cried and looked at the people standing by the bus stop, waiting for the bus to come. “It is, and Mom has promised to...”

  Suddenly the bus appeared from behind us, big and loud. “I know. I know,” Mom yelled as the impatient bus driver honked his horn for the fifth time. “God, he scared the shit out of me,” she said, looking in the mirror. “You all right, girls?”

  I nodded and looked at Stella. She nodded with tears in her eyes.

  “Okay, okay! We’re leaving,” Mom yelled out the window, waving at the bus driver. And as we drove off, I couldn’t help thinking that once again someone was leaving on a new set of beautiful wings.

  The Motley Crew

  When we finally arrived at the hospital, everything happened so fast. We parked on the upper level and rushed to the Surgical Center, Stella and Mom hand in hand. We checked in with the receptionist, a pale and petite woman who had mastered the use of her inside voice to perfection (I guess it’s not exactly a place to be loud and full of words but still, it was almost too quiet), and after a few signatures, another petite hospital whisperer showed us to a room down the hallway, where Stella was told to change into one of those gowns that opens in the back.

  Stella picked up the gown and started to undress with her back to us. “Could you please help me,” she suddenly cried. She turned around with tears in her eyes. “I can’t,” she said, looking down at her hands.

  “I know,” Mom said as she started to unbutton Stella’s blouse. “I should’ve told you not to wear anything with buttons or zippers. They don’t like places like this.” She smiled and caught a tear from Stella’s chin.

  “I...I... I’m just... just... just so cold,” Stella stuttered, clinching her teeth together.

  “I know.” Mom looked at me. “Go ask one of the mouse-speaking women for a few blankets.”

  “Sure.” I was about to open the door, when someone opened it from the outside. An
older nurse with gray hair and an ample bosom stood in the door with two blue blankets in her arms. “I thought you might need a few of these.”

  “Thanks.” Mom smiled at the nice nurse. “I guess you’re used to us, I mean, to this.”

  The nice nurse nodded and handed me the blankets. “Please, let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she said as she backed out the door and closed it behind her.

  “Here you go.” Mom grabbed the blankets from me and wrapped them around Stella.

  “It’s liiiike I can’t stop shaking,” Stella said, almost convulsing now.

  “It’s very normal,” Mom comforted her. “It’s because you’re nervous; your whole body is nervous,” she explained to her. Of course, she would know.

  Stella nodded and looked up at Mom with big tears leaking from her blue eyes. “Thanks,” she managed to say.

  Mom smiled. “Now sit!” she demanded, pointing at the chair next to the window.

  Stella did as she was told and closed her eyes.

  “Well, I think it’s almost time for us to leave.” Mom looked at me and nodded toward the door.

  “Okay,” I whispered, looking at Stella. I was about to pick up my flip flops from the floor when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” I said, opening the door.

  “Hi there.” This time the big-bosomed nurse was accompanied by a little short Chinese woman, wearing green hospital scrubs. I guess it had to be the doctor, the one actually performing the procedure.

  “I just came by to say hi before we start.” The doctor stepped in at walked over next to Stella. “You feel okay? Besides the shaking?” She smiled and placed a hand on top of Stella’s shoulder.