“So isn’t two of your favourite people dating a good thing?”
“I like Dean.”
“And you like Charity, so this is kind of perfect.”
Benji’s hands curl into fists and he presses them into the sides of his knees. It’s something he does when he’s frustrated or frightened. “I don’t like Dean the way I like Charity. I like Dean the way you like Michael.”
He says it so quietly, I wonder if I made it up. I’m about to say something when the meaning of his words sink in, and I am left with no words of my own to talk back. Outside people are laughing and chatting, and music drifts through the open windows. Suddenly, that world seems far away. I sit absolutely still in my salon chair, afraid to say anything, in case it’s the wrong thing to say.
I’ve never known a gay person before, or maybe I have and I didn’t realize it. I think about how Benji has never really had friends who weren’t girls, and how he loves chatting with Mattie about clothes. I think about how, for as long as I’ve known him, Benji has never admitted to having a crush. I think about how, in grade seven, Terry turned his life into a nightmare, and how much worse it must have felt for Benji knowing that, secretly, Terry was right about him.
“Does Dean know?”
“I don’t think so,” Benji says, then pulls his head into the neck of his shirt like a turtle. “I hope not. I’d be so embarrassed.”
“He should be flattered!” I say, trying to inject a little lightness into the conversation, which is getting heavier by the second. “You’re a catch!”
Benji doesn’t even smile. I want to touch him, bump his shoulder or give his hand a squeeze, but he’s practically withdrawn into his clothing, and I’m afraid that if I do touch him, he’ll jump right out of his skin.
“Dean is cute. Maybe a little too old for you, but I can see how you could have a crush on him.”
Benji sniffles, but doesn’t look up. I want him to look at me so he can see that things are okay. I’ve known Benji since we were seven years old. I am probably the person who knows the most about him. He’s definitely the person who knows the most about me: the good stuff and the bad. Knowing one more thing about him doesn’t change all the other stuff I know to be true. He’s still the same Benji, the one who doodles comic masterpieces all over his math book, prefers blue-raspberry slushies (like me), struggles with a stubborn cowlick at the top of his head and giggles into his hands when he’s excited. It doesn’t feel like anything has changed, more like something has clicked, like a piece I didn’t even know was missing has now been found. No matter what happens, we are still Benji and Clarissa. No crush, boy or girl, can change that.
“I’m glad you told me.”
More sniffling.
“Benji, will you please say something? Anything?”
He wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, like a little kid. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not,” I assure him. “I would never tell your secrets to anyone.”
Finally, he smiles. It’s a little baby smile, but it’s there. “I know.”
“Do you want to go back up?”
Benji takes a shaky breath. “Do you?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither.”
“Scooch.” Benji shuffles over, and I squeeze myself in the space he’s created and take his hand. After a moment I squeeze it, then he squeezes back. We do this back and forth a few times, each of us trying to squeeze before the other does, until Benji starts to giggle.
“Not so hard,” he says.
I’m not really a hugger, but I have an urge to squeeze him so hard for all those times he couldn’t share his secret, and for all the times to come that will be difficult. I want him to know that I love him and will be the Denise to his Annie, only with less makeup and better jokes. Sometimes you can say things with a hug that you can’t say with words. I squeeze Benji’s hand one final time until he yelps.
He pulls his hand away and shakes out the pain. “Break my hand, why don’t you,” he complains, but he’s smiling as he says it.
“I only squeeze as hard as I love,” I say, half-joking.
Benji grins. “That sounds like something Doug would say. Are they doing speeches?”
“They weren’t going to.”
“I bet they will. People demand speeches at weddings.”
“And when did you become such a wedding expert?”
“I am a wedding singer now.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course. That must be it.”
Benji and I grin at each other.
“Upstairs?” I ask.
Benji nods. “Upstairs.”
We struggle out of the chair, which is not supposed to accommodate two people, straighten our non-wedding finest and head back up to face everyone. Benji grasps my hand until we get to the kitchen door, then he lets go and heads back into the world. My hand is clammy and throbs a little bit from the squeezing war. Maybe Benji’s does, too. I hope that it does, and that when he sees Charity draped all over Dean, or Doug making googly eyes at my mother, or even me trying not to stare at my new, official boyfriend, Michael, he feels a similar throb in his own hand and is reminded that he is loved, too.
A GOOD DAY
Benji was right. People have gathered on the porch and are insisting that Mom and Doug make speeches. Benji catches my eye, raising his eyebrows slightly to give me his I-told-you-so look. I shrug, like I knew all the time this was happening.
Michael comes to stand beside me, and all the little hairs on the arm next to him zing to attention, while the butterflies in my stomach start swirling. I guess even when you’re official, you can still feel nervous.
Mom starts, “Thank you all for coming. I didn’t want to make a big fuss, but seeing you all here, I’m glad that Denise convinced me to have a little bit of a fuss.” People laugh and raise their glasses to Denise, who beams so big, my cheeks hurt just looking at her smile.
“I’ve been lucky in a lot of ways. I have a beautiful, smart daughter who challenges me to be a better person every day, and a friend who is as loyal as they come. I have this wonderful salon and all of you beautiful people who let me style your hair. I have my health—” Mom’s voice catches on that last word. She presses her hand to her chest, swallowing any tears she may have.
A tear springs to my eye, instead, and I wipe it away quickly. I’m thinking of the time she had breast cancer and how every day I thought she might die. She’s healthy now, but sometimes, when I watch her car pull away, or she calls to schedule a check-up with the doctor, I remember that at any time people can drop out of your life — and not just people who have been sick. Like Benji’s mom.
Mom has recovered and continues. “That’s more than many people have. Not so long ago, I would have said that I had enough. I certainly didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. But then I met you, Doug, and now I can’t imagine life without you. You are kind, gentle and forgiving, and I will go forward from this day doing what I can to deserve you.”
Doug has to clear his throat and wipe a man-tear from his eyes before he can speak. When he does, he takes Mom’s hands in his giant paws. All around them, other people are sniffling, too.
“Annie. I’m so much better with you. I can’t believe you agreed to share your life with me, and I swear I will be your partner in every possible way. I promise to love you and support you and your amazing daughter, Clarissa. You’re my family now, and my top priority. I promise to treat you with respect, let you take the first shower every morning, pick the radio station in the car and decide what movie to go to on date night. Clarissa, I want to thank you for trying so hard to keep me cool. You’re always telling me what’s lame and what’s not, and I appreciate it. I’m sorry to say this next bit may sound a bit lame to you, but sometimes even the lamest jokes have a bit of truth in them. A wise man once said that yesterday is history, but today is a gift. That is why it’s called the present.”
A few people chuckle. I am one of t
hem. Even when he’s serious, Doug can’t help but be a little goofy.
“Annie, you have given me the greatest gift by agreeing to marry me today. I promise you a lifetime of living in the present.”
Mom is smiling, even though her eyes are wet with tears, and when they hug each other everyone cheers. Despite the light feeling in my bones, I find my eyes are a little damp, too.
When I catch Denise she mimes wiping her eyes, rubs her fingers together in a gesture that means money, then points at me. So I lost the bet. It seems like a good one to lose. Besides, it’s nice to let Denise win once in a while. It can’t feel good to lose to someone half your age all the time.
***
The party goes late, and after the last guest is gone, we all come in — me, Mom and Doug, and Suzy, of course.
Suzy is locked in the kitchen for the night. As usual, she barks long after we’ve gone to bed. After a while, the barking becomes whining. She sounds so pitiful, I make my way to the kitchen, thinking enough is enough. Maybe if I give her a bone, or one of her disgusting, greasy little treats, she’ll calm down, and we can all get some sleep.
The minute she sees me, Suzy’s tail starts wagging a million miles an hour. She presses her face against the baby gate Doug set up to keep her in the kitchen, her little black nose poking through. Her sleeping pillow, which is giant and looks more like an inner tube than a dog bed, is lying unused in the middle of the kitchen. I step over the baby gate and sit on the floor next to her, cross-legged. Suzy launches herself into my lap and settles in, huffing into my pyjama pants. I’m not her favourite person, but I guess, in a crisis, even I will do.
“Shhh. You have to be quiet,” I whisper, petting the soft warm space between her floppy ears. I like the feeling of the wiggly, solid warmth of her in my lap. It makes me feel responsible and protective. Suzy isn’t picky — she’d be just as grateful to any stranger who offered her a bit of love. But right now she’s happy because of me. It makes me feel a little bit gooey on the inside.
Eventually, Suzy’s eyes droop, and she falls asleep, making funny little snoring noises. Very slowly, I pick her up and put her in the centre of her dog bed. She doesn’t open her eyes or wake up even a little. I wait for a minute, just to make sure she’s sound asleep and won’t feel abandoned again when I tiptoe off to bed. When I’m absolutely sure, I whisper, “See? You’re going to be just fine.”
TOMORROW
Dear Bill,
Mom gave me your email address, but I decided to write to you because my friend Mattie says that things mean more when they are written down on paper. She spends every summer writing letters, so I figure she would know. I’m sorry I surprised you at the Lilac Motel. I honestly thought you would be happy to see me. I was so determined to meet you that I didn’t think about what would happen after. I know now that my actions have changed your life forever, too. It must be weird to know you had a secret daughter all this time. At least I knew you existed.
I know that you must be mad at my mom because of the Jack thing, and because she kept me a secret from you. I was mad at her, too. But she is a very good mother, and I’m sure you did stupid things when you were younger, so I hope you can give her a break.
I thought maybe you would like to know a bit about me. My life has been good so far. Most of the time, it’s been very good. I am an okay student. I’ve never broken any bones or had any major surgery. I used to think I wanted to be an actress, but now I think I might like to try something else, like directing. I like the idea of being in charge. Plus, when you are an actress, you have to take any part you get, even the lame ones. My friend Charity is an actress, and she has some pretty bad stories about some of the commercials she’s done.
My best friend’s name is Benji. He lives next door and is the nicest person I know. His mother died when he was four, and his dad isn’t exactly the sensitive type, so things haven’t always been great for him. He used to be really shy, but now he’s into theatre. I know you don’t know him, so you can’t understand how crazy it is to watch him get up and sing in front of people. He even sang at Mom’s wedding.
Oh yeah. Mom got married, to the guy you almost punched at the tournament. He owns his own gym and has a dog and is cool with me writing you, even though a lot of men would probably be threatened by it. Doug isn’t threatened by anything. I’m trying to be more like that.
I also have a boyfriend, Michael. He plays baseball, like your nephew. That’s why I was at the tournament that day, to cheer Michael on, not to spy on you, though I did think that maybe we would run into each other. I’m sorry that ended badly, but if that didn’t happen, then I wouldn’t be writing this letter, so maybe it was a good thing.
I’ve been thinking about your offer, and whether or not I want you to be part of my life. I used to wonder what it would be like to have a dad, but since I’ve never had one, I didn’t feel like I was missing something. For now, maybe we could write each other sometimes. Real letters, not email. Maybe someday I’ll come to Vancouver, and we can have dinner and get to know each other in person. I’d like that. You can write back or not write back and either would be okay. I hope you won’t be offended when I say I don’t need you to feel happy or complete. Mostly I feel pretty lucky, but only on days that end in y.
Sorry, lame joke, but sometimes even the lamest jokes turn out to be true.
Sincerely,
Clarissa Louise Delaney.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This day would not have come without the support and hard work of many people. There are scenes in this book that I have wanted to write since Words That Start With B, but my characters were not ready to experience them yet. I am grateful to the Scholastic Canada team who have been so generous as to allow me three books for Clarissa and Benji to grow.
Special thanks to everyone who not only helped realize the world of these books, but helped an author realize a dream: Mom, Dad, Jacqui, Cathy Francis, Nina McCreath, Denise Anderson, Stella Grasso, Maral Maclagan, Diane Kerner, Jennifer MacKinnon, Anne Shone, Nikole Kritikos, Cali Hoffman, Sally Harding and Kallie George.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Vikki grew up in Woodstock, Ontario, where she spent most of her time reading, singing and figure skating. Vikki has loved books and stories and writing for as long as she can remember. In grade three, she wrote a short story called “The Loon,” based loosely on her experiences at Lake Dalrymple in Orillia. She also entered poetry contests in middle school, and even won a few! Most significantly, she won the “Time of Your Life” poetry contest sponsored by Global TV. Part of the prize package was an all-expenses-paid trip to Toronto, where Vikki met the stars of the TV show Ready or Not, filmed a promotional commercial, and saw the Who’s Tommy, live on stage — a big thrill for a musical theatre addict!
In grade eight, Vikki received permission to be exempt from all writing assignments to finish her first novel, The Haunting, a sweeping epic romance with ghosts, twins, reincarnation and a cottage, which she painstakingly typed on an old typewriter. In high school, theatre became her focus. Her first stage play, Naomi/Rivka, was produced in a festival of new works at Queen’s University.
While in university, she took a course called “writing for children” and re-discovered, after many years and a few detours, that writing for children is what she loves best. She decided to dedicate her life to children’s literature and was determined that someday she would make her mark and contribute to the impressive body of work that exists for young readers. She is now living that dream!
Her first novel, Words That Start With B, was shortlisted for the 2011 Libris Award’s Children’s Book of the Year, was a 2011 Best Books for Kids and Teens selection and a 2011 IODE Violet Downey Recommended Book. Its sequel, Love Is a Four-Letter Word, was released in the fall of 2011.
Vikki holds an MA in Children’s Literature from the University of British Columbia and a degree in drama from Queen’s University. Her scholarly work has been published in Knowing Their Place: Identity and S
pace in Children’s Literature (Cambridge Scholars Press).
Vikki now lives in Toronto and is an active member of the children’s book industry, reviewing books for CM Magazine and Canadian Children’s Book News as well as on her own blog, pipedreaming. She is a founding member of and resident playwright for Lock and Keynote Productions and the 2011 CBA Young Bookseller of the Year. Connect with her at www.vikkivansickle.wordpress.com, or on twitter @vikkivansickle.
OTHER BOOKS BY VIKKI VANSICKLE
Words That Start With B
Love Is a Four-Letter Word
Summer Days, Starry Nights (available Summer 2013)
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
VanSickle, Vikki, 1982-
Days that end in Y [electronic resource] / by Vikki VanSickle.
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-4431-2455-3
I. Title.
PS8643.A59D39 2013 jC813’.6 C2012-905510-7
Text copyright © 2013 by Vikki VanSickle.
Cover image © bodhihill.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read this e-book on-screen. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Scholastic Canada Ltd., 604 King Street West, Toronto, Ontario M5V 1E1, Canada.
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