by Carole Lazar
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“She’s spending the night at Gina’s.”
This is just too much! “She was out with Gina last night. She spent almost all day with her today.”
“Gina’s not going to be at her apartment. She’s at Ian’s. Your mom says she needs some time alone.”
“But what about us?” I look around the kitchen. It’s after five o’clock, but there’s no sign of dinner. “Did she leave something for us to heat up?”
“No,” says Dad. He starts looking through the cupboards. “You must be hungry.”
“I am.”
“Do you feel like peanut butter sandwiches?” he asks.
“Do we have any bananas?”
“No.”
Mom hasn’t gone grocery shopping either.
He opens the fridge and we stand there together, looking into it.
“You must know how to cook something,” I say. “You were single a long time before you married Mom. How did you look after yourself before?”
Suddenly he looks a bit happier, like I’ve given him an idea.
“You’re right,” he says. He grabs the phone book and finds the restaurant section. Then he slides it across the counter so I can see it too. Some of the ads include menus.
“See anything you’d like?” he asks.
“How about Italian?” I say.
We choose a restaurant that is not too far away and delivers. We look over their ad and decide on ribs, spaghetti, and Caesar salad. He phones in the order.
While we wait, Dad sits down at the computer and I watch TV.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. Dinner is served.
We help ourselves from the takeout cartons. The food’s not bad. I finish all of mine, but Dad hardly eats at all.
“It’s not as good as homemade, is it?” I ask. “Don’t you like it?”
He acts a bit startled. We haven’t been talking, and it’s as if he’s been daydreaming. “Oh, no,” he says. “It’s fine. I’m just not very hungry.”
He scrapes all the leftover food from his plate into the garbage, and I load the dishwasher. He wanders to the window and looks into the backyard. Then he picks up the newspaper that’s still on the table from this morning. He gets the scissors and a pen from the kitchen drawer and clips out The New York Times crossword. He puts the scissors back and sits down to do the puzzle. He fills in a few spaces. Then he leaves everything on the table and goes to the living room and picks up a book he’s been reading. He spends maybe five minutes with the book and then puts that down too. He picks up the remote control and starts channel surfing. There’s not much on TV except news.
“Why don’t we go over to Grandma and Granddad’s?” I suggest. I’m thinking that Grandma would at least play cards with me.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Dad says.
“Why not?”
“They’ll want to know where your mom is, and I don’t feel like explaining.”
I’d do the explaining, I think to myself. I don’t have a problem with that. I’m very close to my grandmother. When I was born, Grandma quit her job to stay home and look after me while Mom finished school. We lived with Grandma and Granddad until I was six. I still stay with her after school every day until my mom and dad get home from work.
My dad likes Grandma too. I think she sort of arranged for him to marry Mom. When I was five, my granddad was the financial chairman of the parish council. It was up to him to arrange the annual audit of the parish’s books. He contacted the bank, and they referred him to an accountant named Harold Jensen. Harold was twenty-six, he was single, and he was Catholic. As Grandma says, “The Lord provides.”
Granddad brought Harold home for dinner. Mom says that Granddad did the dishes for the first time in his life that night. Grandma forgot her rules about me being Mom’s responsibility and insisted on putting me to bed. She wouldn’t even let Mom help, and Mom was left to entertain Harold. She was furious. (My mother is often furious. Grandma says she’s a true O’Connor. Mom’s got Granddad’s Irish temper.) Mom says she felt like she was being offered on a platter. When she says this, Dad replies that she was the best part of dinner. He must have talked her out of her bad mood because the rest is history. I was the flower girl at their wedding. I love looking at the pictures from that day. I had this poufed white dress and a little veil held in place by a comb with pink satin roses attached to it. I looked just darling.
I sit down with Dad and we stare at the TV screen. A hockey game is on. Neither of us is in to sports, but we’re just too lazy to change the channel.
“What would you think of going to mass this evening?” he asks.
“Why would we do that?”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing Father Tony. You might like it. He says the music at the Saturday night service is pretty lively. A lot of the young people go to that mass.”
“Did you hear what he said to me when I got out of the car? About the Lucy-dog?”
“Yeah, he thought it was funny that Gina’s dog looks so much like you. What’s her name?”
“I just call her Dog.”
“Well, want to go to mass?”
“I guess,” I answer. It’s not like I’ll have to speak to Father Tony, and I suppose it will be at least as interesting as sitting here, watching Dad fidget. It will give me a chance to pray for my mom too. She needs it.
It feels funny going to church at the wrong time on the wrong day, but once we’re inside, it’s about the same. I ask for fifty cents from my dad and light some candles in the rack in front of the statue of Our Lady. Then I pray. I ask Jesus to speak to Mom’s heart and remind her to look to Mary, who is the model of what every woman should be. You wouldn’t see Mary running off to pilates classes or leaving Jesus and Joseph just because she wanted time to herself.
Praying makes me feel much better. When I get back to the pew where my dad is sitting, the choir is setting up. It’s nothing like the one on Sunday morning, where old ladies sing along to a very slow and tired-sounding organ. Tonight there are guitars, a flute, and drums, and most of the singers and players are in their teens. It’s a much livelier performance. When mass is over, Father Tony stands in the vestibule, shaking hands with people. Dad goes up and says something to him, but I pretend I’m reading the notices on the bulletin board and then sneak past while Father Tony’s talking to someone else.
If you go to mass Saturday night, you don’t have to go Sunday. It would be the same Bible readings and the same talk anyway. I sleep in late the next morning because no one comes to wake me up and because the house is so quiet. It’s way too quiet. I call Grandma as soon as I get up, and she says she’ll pick me up for lunch. I stay at her place all afternoon. We drink about a million pots of tea and talk about Mom. Grandma’s as confused as I am about all of this. I mean, maybe Mom didn’t have much fun as a teenager, but she has a good life now. We have a beautiful house in sort of a snobby neighborhood. She has the perfect job, working with all those nice old nuns at the convent. We’re all healthy. True, she and Dad haven’t been able to have babies, but like Grandma says, they’re lucky enough to have me, even if I did come along early. What more could she want?
“A life!” Mom replies when I ask her later.
She’s home alone when Granddad drops me off. I find her up in her room. She’s folding clothes.
“But you can’t go backward,” I say. “You can’t be sixteen again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, Grandma says you’re probably feeling like you never had a childhood. You know, like you missed out on being a normal teenager.”
“That’s what the two of you figured out, is it? I suppose you spent all afternoon talking about how to deal with me, like I’m some sort of problem child.”
That’s kind of true.
“I’m not worried about what I missed when I was sixteen. I’m miserable about what I’m missing now. I feel like I’ve been buried aliv
e.”
“You’re depressed.”
She stops what she’s doing for a second and looks at me. “Then you do understand.”
“Sure, it’s probably just some kind of a chemical imbalance. There are pills for that.”
Mom glares at me. Her lips disappear completely. This is not a good sign, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Depression’s pretty common. Lana from my math class takes an antidepressant. She says she feels much better.”
Mom spins around and walks over to her closet. She pulls down a suitcase. “Pills,” she mutters. “She wants me to take pills.”
“What are you doing?” I ask. That’s a stupid question, I realize. I can see exactly what she’s doing. She’s putting folded clothes into the suitcase. “Where are you going?”
She sits down on her bed and looks at me. “I don’t know how to explain this to you … how to help you understand …”
“I understand just fine. You want to divorce Dad and start going to nightclubs like Gina does. You don’t care about me and Dad at all.”
“Of course I care about you!”
She reaches out to put her arms around me, but I twist away and run into my room. I throw myself down face-first on my bed. I’m crying, but it’s mostly because I’m mad. She doesn’t follow me. When I calm down, I sit up and take a good look around.
I happen to have the coolest bedroom in the world. Mom and Dad worked on it for weeks. It’s all totally color coordinated in apple green and sky blue. Mom got decorator baskets for my odds and ends, and Dad cut out round pieces of corkboard for the wall above my desk. They are painted in the exact shades of the pattern on my bedspread and curtains. I have lots of cushions and a funky lamp Mom made. Dad built all the shelves and the study nook.
I suppose she expects me to leave all this behind and sleep on a couch or something. Gina’s apartment is really tiny.
Mom comes into my room. She doesn’t say anything; she just puts an empty suitcase on my bed, opens it, and starts toward my closet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.
“I’m getting you enough clothes to last the week.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not going anywhere.”
She stops and just stands there in front of the closet with her back to me. Finally, she turns around. “Who’ll drive you to school?” she asks. “Who’ll make your breakfast and pack your lunch?”
“Well, if you cared, you’d stay and there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m not staying, Lucy, so we better pack up some things for you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. We’ll manage somehow. I’m sure Grandma will help out.”
Her shoulders sag. She closes the empty suitcase and takes it back to her room.
I don’t follow her. I lie face-down on my bed and act like I’m crying. I’m thinking maybe this will make her change her mind. I’m wrong.
I hear a door close downstairs. I run down to check, and by the time I get to the kitchen, I hear her car start up. I go through to the living room and watch her drive away. Then I go upstairs, throw myself across the bed, and start really crying.
It’s six o’clock before my dad comes home. He’s surprised to see me.
“I thought your mom was taking you with her,” he says.
“She was going to, but I didn’t want to go.”
He puts a very small bag of groceries down on the kitchen island. “I was just going to make hot dogs for dinner.”
“Hot dogs will be fine.”
While Dad gets them ready, I imagine Mom eating all alone. She’s probably already starting to feel sorry she left. “I bet she won’t last more than a day or two,” I say.
I think Dad knows what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t answer. He’s busy grabbing the pan of hot dog buns from out of the oven. There’s a lot of smoke, and the buns are all burned on top. He tosses them in the garbage and gets four more out of the pack on the counter. He turns the temperature down and tries again.
Mom calls the next night at about eight.
“Did you and your dad go out for dinner tonight?” she asks.
“No, I ate at Grandma’s. Dad’s making himself a sandwich.”
“I called an hour ago and there was no answer. When did you get home?”
“About ten minutes ago. Some people take their responsibilities seriously, you know. Dad had to work late.”
Dad works horrible hours every April because that’s when he has to do income tax returns for all his clients. It is his busiest time of year.
“I hope Grandma and Granddad don’t mind you staying so late. Did they say anything about it?”
“No, why would they? Grandma probably appreciated the company. Granddad was in a rotten mood and just went back down to his den in the basement as soon as he finished dinner. If I hadn’t been there, Grandma would have been sitting by herself all evening.”
My mother gets her bad temper from Granddad O’Connor. He doesn’t yell as much as she does, but that’s probably because he’s more mature. Even so, you can tell right away if he is mad about something. A lot of people would call him a grouch, but Grandma says we should always try to see the image of Jesus in people. With Granddad, it’s not easy. Mostly when he is grumpy, I just ignore him.
“Dad’s eating a ham and cheese sandwich,” I tell Mom. “That’s what he packed for his lunch too. He doesn’t even put lettuce in them. He hasn’t eaten a single vegetable all day.”
“Well, check the crisper and see if there are some baby carrots left. If you can’t find any of those, get him a couple of pickles. You take care. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
And she does call. She calls at the same time every evening, but she never says she’s sorry she left or that she’s going to come home.
At school, my friend Mariah tells Siobhan and me that Mom’s supposed to have access visits. Mariah’s parents have been separated for years. She lives with her mom, but she has to visit her dad every second weekend. She says that’s always how it’s done.
Thursday night, I ask my dad if he and Mom have discussed access.
“You can see your mom whenever you want,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to do it. You two should have a schedule. Like if I live with you, Mom should get to have me weekends.”
“If you want to see your mom for the weekend, why don’t you call her?”
“I think we need to go to court about it. Mariah, a girl in my class whose parents are divorced, says her parents have a court order that sets out all the days she has to visit her dad.”
Dad doesn’t answer me. He just goes to find our phone book and starts flipping through it. Then he punches in a number and waits.
“Kate?” There’s a little pause. “Lucy has been checking out the rules for separated parents. We’re not doing it right.” He gives a little laugh.
It’s the first time all week I’ve seen him even smile.
“No,” he says, “for once I don’t think it was Grandma she consulted. It seems a girl in her class is the resident expert on the subject. She’s told Lucy I should be giving you access visits. Want to talk to Lucy?”
He hands me the phone.
“Would you like to come over after school tomorrow and stay the weekend?” Mom asks.
“Would you pick me up from Grandma’s?”
“You were with me once when I stopped by Gina’s,” she says. “Remember where it is? It’s only two blocks from your school. You can walk. I’ll call Grandma and tell her she doesn’t have to pick you up.”
“But won’t you still be at work?”
“Just ring the manager. I’ll leave my key so she can let you in. Lucy will be so glad to see you. It’s a long day for her all by herself.”
“Lucy?”
“The dog.”
“I thought you said Gina was moving in with her boyfriend.”
“She did, but Ian’s building doesn’t allow pets. They’re looking
for something bigger anyway, but in the meantime, I said I’d look after Lucy.”
So Mom’s abandoned Dad and me, but she doesn’t mind looking after Gina’s dog. I bet that dog’s been eating better than Dad has. And I suppose she makes a fuss over her and takes her for walks. The dog’s probably had way more attention than I’ve had this past week. I’m about to tell her what I think about her caring more for a dog than for her own daughter, but she asks what I’d like for dinner tomorrow. I cave, and I ask for vegetarian lasagna. She says she’ll make a salad to go with it. She is very big on vegetables. This meal will make up for the last few days of Dad’s cooking. I don’t want to get that disease where your teeth fall out because you’ve had no vitamin C.
five
Once I start down the street toward Gina’s apartment the next day, I realize I didn’t need to write down her address when I was on the phone with Mom. It’s the only apartment building on the block. When I get to the door, I ring the manager’s suite, and when a lady says hello through the intercom, I tell her who I am. She tells me to come to suite 101 and she buzzes me in.
As I approach her suite, I can see her standing in her hallway through her open front door. I’m glad I get to see her from a distance first. If I’d had to knock on her door for her to answer, I’d have been there with my nose at the height of her belt buckle. She’s that tall. Big boned too. I look up at her and give a polite smile.
She is grinning at me like it’s all she can do to keep from laughing. “Well, I guess I can hand the key over without demanding any ID from you. Aren’t you the image of your mother?”
I am not the image of my mother. I have stick-straight, blondish, reddish, brownish hair. My mom has curly auburn hair. Grandma says it would be tidier if she wore it short, but Dad likes it the way it is, kind of wild and longish. “I don’t think we look that much alike,” I say.
“Well, look at the size of you,” the manager says.
I feel like saying, “And look at the size of you!” but she’d probably tell my mom and then I’d get in trouble. My mother is five-feet tall. I’m still hoping I’ll catch up with her someday. We’re both kind of skinny too, except Mom has nice boobs. I’m also hoping I’ll catch up with her there.