Daphne sat cross-legged in the recliner with her green spiral notebook in her lap. She’d started out doing some overdue homework for Ms. Manbeck, which had turned into a big doodle session, which had then turned into a series of dress sketches. Wedding dresses, to be precise. For her wedding. To Luke.
Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be walking down the aisle anytime soon. She and Luke would first have to finish high school and then college. Their love and the promise of a life together would spur them on through those long nights of studying and tough, penny-pinching times. Their dates would be economical yet romantic: Picnics in the park, where, while munching ramen noodle salad, they’d watch the children play and brainstorm what to name their own kids. Long walks during which they’d pick out houses they’d someday like to live in. Rented rom-coms or evenings when they simply read poetry to each other. Although they had years to go before their spring garden wedding with the string quartet and mermaid ice sculpture, there was no harm in being prepared with a good dress design, right?
For the past twenty-four hours, Daphne had been replaying their trip to the pharmacy like some mental high-def video clip. She was so happy that she had souvenirs of the fateful day. She’d carefully stowed her lucky penny in the hinged cut-glass box she’d gotten from Grandma on her sixth birthday. Now that her prom dress wasn’t a secret anymore, she’d taken it out of the closet and hung it on the back of their bedroom door, where she could see it anytime she wanted. Even her forehead still prickled where he’d kissed her.
Whenever Daphne recalled the pressure of Luke’s soft lips, a sizzling sensation rushed over her, like a sudden fever. This was true happiness. The kind that could only come from finding a lost part of you. From finally seeing things the way they were supposed to be. She’d spent the day at school smiling at everyone—including Ms. Manbeck. She’d helped creepy Buck Templeton when his notebook exploded, sending his science notes all over the 300 wing. She’d even forgiven her mean, nosy, know-it-all sister. Because when it came down to it, Daphne felt sorry for all those people who didn’t have what she had.
Sadly, she’d only seen Luke once and in passing, but those pillowy lips had curled into such a wide, beautiful grin that the tingles had practically paralyzed her. It was all she could do to lift her left hand in a feeble wave. She’d been hoping he’d ask her to prom, but that was all they’d glimpsed of each other—especially since she’d finally gone by the diner after school to fill out an application and make her mom happy. There was still time, though. In fact, he’d probably call her tonight.
“Girls, which do you think looks better on me? This blue blouse? Or the white one?”
Daphne stopped drawing her embroidered cap sleeves and glanced up. Her mother stood in the middle of the room looking like a statue of Justice. From each hand dangled a shirt on a hanger, and she took turns lifting one to look it over while simultaneously lowering the other.
Frankly, Daphne hated both options. One was dark blue and frumpy. The other was so ten years ago, with its wide collar and elbow-length sleeves.
“What’s it for?” Gabby asked, leaning sideways from her seat in the dining room to get a better view.
“There’s a job opening at the office. I wasn’t going to apply for it since it means taking on some evenings and weekends, but now I think I should. It’s a real step up moneywise. Probably not enough for us to stay here, but at least we could find someplace decent.”
“Do you think you’ll get the job?” Daphne asked. Maybe they could find a three-bedroom rental and she wouldn’t have to share with Crabby Gabby anymore. Maybe they could get a better cell phone plan. Maybe she and Luke could rent a limo for prom.
Her mom’s lips clamped together tightly, as if she was trying to prevent something from escaping her mouth. After a couple of seconds she shook her head. “No. I think Rick will get it.”
“Who’s Rick?”
“One of the other assistants. Young guy just a year or two out of business school. You might have heard me talk about him.”
“Wait.” Gabby strode across the room toward them, her features bunched into a scowl. “If he’s just out of business school, there’s no way he’s been working there longer than you.”
“He hasn’t. He’s been there about two years.”
“And you’ve been there four. You should have the advantage. You should get the job.”
“That’s not how it works, unfortunately.”
“It’s because he’s a man, right?” Gabby went on, her hands resting in fists against her hips. “He’s a man and your boss is a man and they all just look out for each other. Who cares about the women? If they need help, they should just get a man, right?”
Mom smiled and nodded. “Something like that.”
“Is Rick a jerk?” Daphne asked.
“Well …” Mom tilted her head, her eyes swiveling up toward the water stain on the ceiling. “He’s the type of man who’s always pulling out your chair for you at lunch meetings, or rushing to hold open the door.”
Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Ooh, I can’t stand that stuff! Like we’re too weak to do those things on our own.” She pressed the back of a hand to her forehead and said in a thick Southern belle–type accent, “My, my! A glass door? How on earth will I ever manage it?”
Gabby and their mom hooted with laughter. Daphne felt embarrassed by them.
“God! You guys!” she exclaimed. “You sound like you hate men.”
“We’re just talking about Mom’s job. You wouldn’t understand.” Gabby was using that bossy voice that Daphne despised. The one that implied that Gabby was the other parent now that Dad was gone, and Daphne was somehow four years old again.
“It sounds like you’re blaming guys for everything that goes wrong,” Daphne said. “You can’t blame Dad for this one, so you’re going off on some guy you haven’t even met.”
She tried to imagine this Rick person. For some reason, she pictured him as handsome. And likeable. He was probably the kind of guy who laughed a lot and gave people compliments and stopped at Mrs. Johnson’s for a box of doughnuts to bring with him to meetings. Maybe that was why he’d probably get the job. If Daphne were a boss, she’d want to work alongside someone like that, not someone who never joked around and always looked as if they were sucking on an extrasour lemon drop.
Of course she was rooting for her mom, and she really hoped she got the promotion. But she kind of had to admit that she liked this Rick guy. Or at least, her version of him.
“Don’t worry, Daphne. We’re only being silly,” Mom said. “I’m just hoping I do well in the interview.”
“You should wear the navy blouse,” Gabby said. Again, the certainty in her tone bothered Daphne. It was true Gabby was smarter about most things, but fashion was not one of them. She only wore jeans and T-shirts—or that hideous red polyester theater uniform. Nothing else.
“Really? This one?” Mrs. Rivera raised the navy shirt and studied it.
Daphne hung over the back of the couch. “Mom, do you still have that sort of wine-colored blouse? The one with the ruffles up and down the front?”
“I think I know the one you’re talking about. Yes, it’s still around. Why?”
“You should wear that. It goes good with your skin. Makes you look young and soft. It’s pretty.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a date. She doesn’t want to look pretty. She wants to look professional.”
Daphne glared back at her. “Why is pretty not professional? I mean, if she looks good and feels good, won’t she do better in the interview?”
“I still say the blue.”
“The wine one!”
“Girls, please don’t fight. I appreciate the feedback, but I’ll take it from here.”
Daphne scowled. She’d probably wear the blue one and look all washed-out. No one ever listened to Daphne. Now Rick would get the job and get to take home more money to his perfect wife in their perfect house. Maybe they’d even trade up to a
bigger place and have perfect kids and live happily ever after. Together forever. All because of a tacky blue top.
“Mom?” Daphne called out as her mother headed back to her room with the clothes.
She paused and looked back. “What, hon?”
“Next time you have a meeting at work … you should bring a box of Mrs. Johnson’s doughnuts with you to share. It would be nice.”
Gabby swirled the spoon inside the cast-iron skillet, making sure each piece of onion got equally coated by the oil. They were starting to get that perfect glassy look. Just another minute of sautéing and she could add the pork (already browned and waiting on a plate), some diced tomatoes, and the paste of crushed garlic and cumin seed she’d mashed in the big stone molcajete. Her mom had gone to see Sue Sandborne, a woman who ran a salon out of her home, in the hopes that a haircut and color touch-up might give her an edge over Rick the Wonder Guy at work. So it was up to Gabby to cover dinner.
Not that she minded. Cooking was more of an escape than a chore. All the chopping and stirring relaxed her, and the smells brought back fond memories.
Grandma Rivera had taught her this recipe for came guisada the year before she died. Gabby was about eleven, and she and Daphne had gone to stay with her for most of the summer. Little did Gabby know at the time that her parents were already having huge problems, which was part of the reason why they’d shuttled the girls off to Grandma’s old cottage in Victoria.
Gabby had loved those cooking sessions. The peppery smells permeating the tiny kitchen. The clouds of flour stirred up by Grandma’s bony hands as she made tortillas. Even the sweat and calluses and burn blisters. It all made her feel important and empowered. And it made her feel closer to Grandma.
Of course, Grandma had tried to teach Daphne, too, but at age eight the girl had had the attention span of a caffeinated hummingbird, so she was quickly dismissed. Instead, Grandma lavished her with several home-sewn dresses made of bright pastels and covered with piping and bows. So while Gabby pounded meat, kneaded masa, and sliced vegetables until her hands were dotted with tiny stab wounds, Daphne spent the summer twirling about in her new clothes.
She still thought of Grandma whenever she cooked, and missed her terribly. She’d never really gotten to know her mom’s mom, who had died when Gabby was three. Grandma Rivera, however, had been a strong, stable force in her life. When Gabby was little, she’d been scared of the short, round woman, who was always rushing around with various kitchen utensils, barking out orders in Spanish, hugging her too tightly, and poking her cheeks with her fingertips. But later she identified with her grandmother’s bossy, methodical nature. It pleased her to know she came from hardy female stock.
The onions were now perfect, and she was just about to add the meat when the phone started ringing.
“Daphne, can you get that?”
“I’m busy,” came her sister’s muffled voice.
“I’m busy too! I’m cooking!”
“I’m in the bathroom! Besides, it’s probably for you!”
Gabby let out an exasperated grunt, threw down the spoon, and headed for the nearby phone. Daphne was right: the caller ID display showed Mule’s number. This only made her angrier.
In a huff, she picked up the receiver and said, “I’m quitting.”
“Uhh …” came Mule’s tenor voice. “What? Your job?”
“No. I’m quitting my life. I’m changing my name to Rosario and moving to Paraguay.”
He let out a staticky sigh. “What’s happened now?”
“The usual. My sister.”
“Ah. You’re still mad about the dress?”
“Among other things.” Gabby returned to the stove and added the meat with her free hand, enjoying the angry hiss it made as it hit the heated pan. “Did I tell you she spent all that money on that dress and … get this … she hasn’t even been asked to prom yet!”
“She will be. Probably by more than one guy.”
Gabby stifled her annoyance by sucking in her cheeks. She didn’t want logical, state-the-obvious Mule right now. She wanted loyal Mule. Devoted-sidekick Mule. Yes-to-whatever-you-say Mule. “Don’t you get it?” she said, pouring in the tomatoes, which didn’t sizzle nearly as much as the pork had. “I don’t care if she gets asked or not. I care about her refusing to help out and getting away with it all the time.”
“Mmm,” Mule went. It was a halfhearted attempt at sounding sympathetic. That was all she was going to get? One lousy consonant? “Much as I’d love to hear you moan for the next half hour, I actually have to keep this short. I just called to let you know I can’t come by and study today. Mom got called in to work a late shift, so I’m cooking and looking after Dad.”
“How’s he doing?” Gabby asked, remembering to be an understanding friend.
“All right. Still watching talk shows all day. Now he’s convinced that he was a neglectful father who didn’t say ‘I love you’ enough to me. So he’s saying it, like, all the time. When I bring him food, or help him with his exercises, or even when I’m just walking past his room. Today I was in the living room and I sneezed and he yelled ‘I love you’ from the bedroom.”
“Really? That’s kinda …”
“High on the weird scale, I know.”
“I was going to say sweet. But yeah. It’s weird, too. He’s still got my dad beat, though.” She got a sudden image of her dad driving away with his leftover ribs while Mom dropped the bomb about moving. That reminded her of something she’d been meaning to ask. “Hey, Mule, is your neighbor still trying to rent out that garage apartment?”
“Uh-uh. Tiny Lewis is living there now.”
“Mrs. Lewis?” Gabby exclaimed, remembering their fourth-grade teacher.
“Yeah, apparently she left Mr. Lewis. Caught him fooling around with some caterer from Elgin.”
Come to think of it, Gabby hadn’t been seeing the two of them at the cinema on their Friday date nights. That must be why. Poor Mrs. Lewis. She had been one of Gabby’s better teachers. Men!
“Still no luck finding a new place?” Mule asked.
“Nope. It’s turning out to be harder than we thought it would be. And unless you count trees, there isn’t a whole lot of living space in Barton. We’re running out of time.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for something, okay? There are lots of trees around here. Affordable ones, too. But the squirrels have an insane neighborhood watch program.”
“Ha, ha.”
There was some muffled talking on his end. Gabby could hear Mule’s father saying something, followed by Mule making shushing sounds. “Hey, Gab. I really gotta go. Dad’s hungry and he wants me to watch some game show with him.”
“And he loves you.”
“Shut up.”
“Hi, Gabriella!” came Mr. Randolph’s voice from afar.
“Tell your dad I said hi.”
“Sure thing. Bye.”
Daphne emerged from the bathroom just as Gabby was replacing the receiver on its base. Her hair was in a towel turban, and green gooey stuff was all over her face.
“Was that Mule?” she asked.
Gabby bit her tongue. It was such a stupid question, considering no other living creature with the ability to use a phone ever called her. “Yeah,” she replied. “He’s going to help us look for a place.”
“That’s nice.” Daphne pushed herself onto the countertop and started swinging her legs in tiny circles. “He’s really nice.”
“Yes, he is,” Gabby replied distractedly. The mixture was starting a slow simmer.
“And he’s totally in love with you, you know.”
Gabby let out a snorting sound. “Please! You see love everywhere. You think our oak trees are in love.”
“They’re growing toward each other,” Daphne said, sounding defensive. “And stop changing the subject. Mule is in love with you. You have to know that. Right?”
“Whatever.”
Gabby knew he probably was, in some muted, dawdling, totally Mule
-like way. Except that Daphne meant the love of fairy tales and Kleenex-soaking romance movies. She didn’t understand that two people could be completely committed and rational at the same time.
“You know, he’s been cuter lately,” Daphne said.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Gabby lied.
“Of course, he’s still weird. But maybe he’ll grow out of that, too. And at least he’s smart, so he could end up rich.”
“Your priorities are shallow and warped.”
“So come on, tell me.” Daphne nudged her with her left foot. “Don’t you love him?”
“Give me a break. Not everyone is as hung up on stuff like that as you are.”
“You’re not answering the question. Do you love him?”
“Come off it. You’re seriously obsessed, you know that? You’re like a love addict.”
“Still not an answer.”
It was clear Daphne wasn’t going to drop the topic. Gabby pretended the mixture on the stove was in dire need of more salt, buying her time to formulate a reply. She was used to people making assumptions about her and Mule. Everyone at school thought they were an item. Lila at work always referred to him as Gabby’s husband.
Obviously, Gabby cared about the guy. And yeah, maybe they would end up together. In a way it made sense. She could never see them getting schmaltzy and starry-eyed, though. Unlike other people their age, she and Mule were sane. Besides, as important as Mule was to her, he didn’t exactly electrify her. Gabby was never going to tattoo his name into her skin or crawl across a desert in search of him. Plus, the thought of kissing the guy didn’t so much excite her as it did confuse her—and weird her out a little. She knew it wouldn’t be awful, but she wasn’t sure it would feel entirely right.
At the same time, she couldn’t imagine him not being in her life. After all, he could very well be the only male creature on the planet willing to put up with her. One day, far in the future, she would probably acknowledge this and the two of them would settle down. He was a great guy—loyal, smart, sweet—and he would make a great boyfriend/husband/whatever. But right now, she couldn’t take the chance. So-called love almost never turned out well, especially at their age. And if she lost Mule’s friendship, she’d have no one.
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