“Yes,” I said.
“The truth is, Ruby, I’ve been having a kind of hard year,” she said. She looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to us. “I was pregnant,” she said, “but now I’m not.” Franny’s eyes began to tear, and she looked like a glum goldfish.
I did not know what to say. My mom says when you do not know what to say, you can either say “I don’t know what to say” or you can say “I’m sorry” or you can say nothing and offer a “comforting gesture.” I put my hand on her hand.
“Thank you for not saying ‘It wasn’t meant to be’ or ‘You can always try again,’ ” Franny said.
“I wouldn’t say those things,” I said.
“I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a child, so why am I so sad?” Franny said.
“I don’t know,” I said. But then I did know. “Because the things we don’t have are sadder than the things we have. Because the things we don’t have exist in our imaginations, where they are perfect.” I knew this because it was how I felt about Mariano Donatello.
“Yes,” she said, “I think that’s it, Ruby. You’re very wise.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“How did you get so wise?”
“Books,” I said. “And I spend a lot of time with my mom.”
“Don’t tell your mom about what we talked about,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “Which part?”
“The thing that exists in my imagination,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t want her to know. I’d just rather tell her myself.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“Never mind,” she said. “Tell her if you want. I don’t care.”
“Mrs. West,” someone called. “Wes needs you.”
“Good-bye, Ruby,” she said.
“I’ll give Mom your regards,” I said.
I went back to my book. I only read about five pages, and then the debate started.
The debate was very boring for a while, and I was deciding whether it would be rude to read my book. I had already heard the questions, so I knew what she would say before she said it, most of the time. Toward the end, it got a little more exciting, because it was clear that Wes West hadn’t practiced as much as Mom. He kept stumbling over his words, and no one was clapping after he talked, and sometimes people were even booing, and he was very awkward. I could tell he was getting frustrated because at one point, he said, “I’m just worried this town is going in the wrong direction!” And then I saw him say something under his breath. I was too far away to hear what he had said, but somehow the movement of his lips looked familiar to me. It was a word with THREE SYLLABLES.
1st syllable: open mouth
2nd syllable: tighter pursed lips, teeth on lips
3rd syllable: open mouth, same as the first
My mom mouthed, “Franny.” Again, I was reading her lips. But even from a distance, “Franny” made sense because Franny is Wes West’s wife, of course.
In the car on the way back, I asked my mom what Wes West had mouthed to her when they were onstage. She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
And I said, “The thing you replied ‘Franny’ to.”
She said, “I don’t remember. I think I was asking if Franny had come to the debate.”
That didn’t make sense to me. Why would she ask that onstage in the middle of a debate?
When I was lying in bed, I made my mouth move like Wes West’s had to try to figure out what he had said. UH-BEE-UH. IH-BEE-THUH. OH-TEE-OH. UH-PEE-UH. It seemed so close to me.
I couldn’t sleep so I thought about my mom saying “Franny” instead.
And that made me think about the time Mom and I went with Franny to go wedding dress shopping in New York City.
And that made me think of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
And that made me think of this weird thing that happened there. This old couple came up to my mom and said, “You look like that girl, Aviva Grossman.”
And I always remembered that name, because “Grossman” is a funny last name. I remember that I was glad it wasn’t my last name, because things are bad enough for me at school already.
And just like that, I knew that Wes had said, “UH-VEE-VUH.”
I got out of bed and I googled “Aviva Grossman.”
Here’s what you need to know about “Aviva Grossman”:
She is this dumb girl who had an affair with a married congressman. She kept a “blog” and she became a BIG JOKE in Florida.
“Aviva Grossman” was fatter than my mom and younger than my mom and her hair was curlier than my mom’s.
But really, she looked exactly like my mom.
“Aviva Grossman” was my “mom.”
I went to the bathroom and I threw up.
“Mom” knocked on the door, but I told her to go away. I said, “I think I have the flu. You shouldn’t come in, because you can’t get sick right now.”
She said, “That’s very thoughtful of you, Ruby. But I think I’ll risk it.” She put her hand on the door, and I locked it.
I said, “SERIOUSLY, YOU CAN’T GET SICK! I’m okay. I’m already done throwing up. I just want to wash my face and go to sleep.”
And the next day, I told her I needed to stay home from school, and she let me because she isn’t paying much attention to anything but the election these days. After the debate, Mrs. Morgan said Mom is probably going to win in a landslide.
It’s been five days since the debate, and I’ve been avoiding her. It isn’t that hard because she is always busy, lying to everyone.
That’s why I don’t think my mom should speak to your class. She is not a good role model. She is a BIG liar and a disgrace.
Your Pen Pal,
Ruby
P.S. I guess my last name is “Grossman.”
To: “Fatima” [email protected]
From: “Ruby”
[email protected]
Date: October 18
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program
Dear Fatima,
Thank you for being so understanding about the Skype chat. It’s nice of you to say that we should “reschedule” but I don’t know why you would want to, considering the type of person my mom is.
I haven’t confronted my mom yet. I’m reading everything I can about “Aviva Grossman” first. I don’t want her to be able to tell any more lies.
“Grossman” is a pretty good name for her because she is so “gross.” She did “gross” things with the congressman, who was so old, like forty, and she wrote about them on her blog. The blog is called “Just Another Congressional Intern’s Blog.” Even though she never used his name or her own name, of course people were going to figure it out. Even a sixth grader knows that!
For instance, I’m not going to mention any names, but I know EXACTLY who started the “RUBY YOUNG IS A LOOZER SPAZZ” account. The only reason I don’t turn her in is because it’s better for her just to be scared that she might be found out. Something I have learned about bullies is that it’s good for them to have something to focus on, and that stupid account is good for that, too. Instead of putting ketchup in my hair, or locking me out of the bathroom, or putting dog poop in my locker, they can just post some dumb thing on Instagram, and it satisfies their “making Ruby’s life miserable” urge. My point is, it was actually WORSE for me before the Instagram account.
I started thinking about “Mariano Donatello.”
I know English is not your first language . . . But “Mariano Donatello” DOES NOT sound like a real person’s name.
It sounds like
1. A Ninja Turtle
2. A Character in a Storybook
3. A Porno Actor
4. A Made-Up Name
And duh, my mom is such a liar. Of course, she lied about “Mariano Donatello.” And I was, like, “I’m Italian!”—what an idiot!
And if she lied about “Mariano Donatello,” then she must have had a reason.
And the reason must be because Congressman Aaron Levin is my REAL FATHER.
I googled “Congressman Aaron Levin,” and although he is old, he looks like me. He has greenish eyes and curly hair, and I have green eyes and curly hair.
I wonder if he knows about me.
Your Meaning Twin,
Ruby
P.S. I would rather have the last name LEVIN than GROSSMAN.
P.P.S. I know you’re right, and I need to talk to my mom about all of this . . . I am going to do it soon.
To: “Fatima” [email protected]
From: “Ruby”
[email protected]
Date: October 24
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program
Dear Fatima,
Right after I e-mailed you, I had a big fight with my mom. I told her that I know everything, that I know she’s a liar and a slut, and she didn’t cry and then she did, and it was awful.
I said, “You can’t lie to me anymore. I need to know who my father is.”
She said, “It’s Mariano Donatello.”
I said, “How dumb do you think I am?”
She said, “I wanted you to have a nice story.”
I said, “I want the truth.”
She said, “The truth is, it was a one-night stand.”
I said, “I don’t know what that is.”
She said, “It’s a person you sleep with for one night and never see again.”
I said, “That is disgusting, and I don’t believe you. I know it’s Congressman Aaron Levin. You wrote about the ‘dirty things’ you did with him. He has curly hair and greenish eyes, and I have curly hair and green eyes.”
She said, “Lots of people have those, and it’s not him. If you found the blog, you’ll know. I never had the kind of sex with him that leads to having a baby.”
I said, “That is SOOOOO disgusting, and you lie to everyone, and you’re a criminal.”
She said, “Ruby, baby, I—”
I interrupted her. “Don’t ‘Ruby baby’ me.”
“Ruby, I am not a criminal. I committed no legal crimes. Moral ones? Yes. But legal ones? No. Where I was from, I was a laughingstock, and my family was so ashamed, and no one would hire me. And anyone who hadn’t heard of me could google me and find out everything. You know how permanent Google is. Have you ever heard of a book called The Scarlet Letter, Ruby?”
I said, “I don’t want to talk about books, Aviva.”
She said, “It’s relevant. It’s about this woman named Hester, and she commits adultery.”
I said, “I don’t know what that is!”
She said, “ ‘Adultery’ is what I did. Basically, it’s what I did. It’s having sex with someone you aren’t married to. She commits adultery and the town votes to make her wear a scarlet ‘A’ on her dress so everyone will always know what she did. Being in a scandal that people can google is like that, only a million times worse.”
She said, “So I legally changed my name, and I moved far away, and I built a life for us. And I’ve tried to be a good person, and I’ve tried to be a good mom to you. I did what I had to do, Ruby.”
We were both crying. I said, “Our name isn’t even Young.”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s the name I gave us.”
She held out her arms for me to hug her, but I didn’t want to hug her.
“How can you let people vote for you?” I said. “Don’t they deserve to know who they’re voting for?”
She :(ed, but I didn’t even care! “No,” she said. “It’s my business.”
I said, “What if they find out?”
She said, “I’ll deal with it then. But if they find out, I will tell them the truth. And the truth is, I was young and I made mistakes.”
I said, “Why did you have to go and try to be mayor? It seems so stupid for a person who has so many secrets.”
“I don’t know, Ruby,” she said. “I do know, but it won’t make sense to you until you’re older.”
I yelled, “F**K OFF, AVIVA!” I’m very sorry for the curse, Fatima. I know FAW-PUH-PUH says we should try not to “use vulgarities.” I am NOT sorry for telling my Mom to “F**K OFF” because it is so rude to (1) lie for thirteen years and (2) then tell a person she’ll understand when she’s “older.” I ran into my room and I slammed the door. I slammed the door so hard, it knocked my lamp off the nightstand. My lamp looks like a porcupine, and it has a ceramic body and gold quills, and Mrs. Morgan gave it to me for my eleventh birthday. It broke into about one hundred pieces. That is an estimate.
Mom opened my door, and she said, “Oh no, not Charlie!”
I said, “It’s just a lamp.” But my stupid lip was quivering. I’m probably getting too old for it, but it was the best lamp. Mrs. Morgan ordered it especially for me online because porcupines are my favorite animal. It is UH-MAY-ZING that you can find out your mom is the Olympic Champion of Slutty Liars and still have any leftover feelings for your porcupine lamp.
The thing is, I do not have many friends:
1. My mom
2. Mrs. Morgan
3. Mr. Allison
4. Ms. Reacher
5. You
6. Charlie the Porcupine Lamp
It’s not like Charlie was high on the list, but still . . .
I went to sleep without brushing my teeth or taking off my clothes. I did not have to turn off my lamp, because it was already broken.
In the morning, Mom was gone. She had to go to a campaign breakfast. She left me a note: “I’m sorry.” The note was under Charlie’s foot—she must have spent hours gluing him back together. It annoyed me. It did not make me feel 1 percent more like forgiving her.
You break a lamp. You go to Target and you buy another lamp. I have $3,949.98 and I can buy a new porcupine lamp anytime I want.
Your Pen Pal,
Ruby
To: “Fatima” [email protected]
From: “Ruby”
[email protected]
Date: October 25
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program
Dear Fatima,
I know you are trying to be helpful, but you honestly have no idea what you are talking about.
I am honestly pretty surprised that you’re defending her. No offense, but don’t Muslim women get “stoned to death” for doing what my mom did?
I am not “slut-shaming” my mom, though you have to admit what she did was pretty “slutty.” Maybe I did not explain “slut-shaming” well before. “Slut-shaming” is “when you call a woman a ‘slut’ just because she had ‘sex.’ ” I don’t think it is “slut-shaming” if the person is actually a “slut.”
She is a liar.
She is committing “voter fraud” and “daughter fraud.” “Voter fraud” is “lying to the voters” but it can also be “rigging an election.” “Daughter fraud” is “lying to your daughter.”
—Ruby
P.S. I think we should take a break from our pen pal relationship. It is okay with me if you want to get a different pen pal.
To: “Fatima” [email protected]
From: “Ruby”
[email protected]
Date: October 26
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program
Dear Fatima,
I’m sorry about my last e-mail. I was mad at my mom and I took it out on you. There is NO WAY I want you to get another pen pal. You’re the best pen pal, and you’re the only person I can talk to.
I had to do a campaign event with my mom yesterday. It was the Allison Springs Businesswomen’s Associ
ation Mother-Daughter Leadership Luncheon so there was no way I could get out of it. I told my mom I didn’t want to go, because I am no longer supporting her candidacy. She asked me to please come because it would be “awkward” if I didn’t.
I told my mom I would go but that I wasn’t going to put on a dress for her or for anyone else. I wore my plaid pants and a T-shirt that Mrs. Morgan gave me that said, ASK ME ABOUT MY FEMINIST AGENDA. This T-shirt is a joke, but it’s hard to explain, and honestly, I’m not even sure that it’s all that funny of a joke.
Mom didn’t argue about my outfit. She said, “You look cool.”
I said, “It was what I was sleeping in.”
The luncheon was in the ballroom of a Holiday Inn, and it was like a crappy wedding basically. Delilah Stuart from my class was there, and she pretended to be nice to me, because adults were around.
Delilah Stuart said, “Nice T-shirt.”
I said, “Thank you.” She said “nice” but she meant the opposite. Delilah Stuart is the worst.
Delilah Stuart said, “What’s it supposed to mean?”
I gave her EYES OF DRAGON FIRE. I said, “It means that I am a girl and a human and I care about women’s rights. You can borrow it sometime if you want.”
My mom was busy, and I sat down at the long banquet table, and I ate a dinner roll. The dinner roll was hard but I still ate it. I tore it apart with my teeth and imagined it was Delilah Stuart’s face. Mom gave a speech, and I periodically rolled my eyes, but I tried not to make it too obvious. But come on! She kept saying dumb politician words like “honesty” and “integrity.”
After the speeches were over, I went to the bathroom, and when I left, Mrs. Morgan was waiting for me. “Ruby Young, what is wrong? You seem sour as curdled milk today.”
“I’m tired,” I said. I DID NOT want to lie to Mrs. Morgan. That was the crappy thing about having a liar for a mother. It was turning me into a liar, too.
Mrs. Morgan petted me on the head, like I was a dog. She said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I said, “There isn’t anything to talk about.”
Mrs. Morgan said, “Campaigns can be hard.”
I said, “It’s a dumb little mayor’s race, in a dumb little town. It’s not president. What difference does it make who wins?”
Young Jane Young Page 12