Sunday. My eighteenth birthday.
The first thing I did after rolling out of bed was call the jail.
“I want to schedule a visit,” I told the man on the phone.
“Your name?”
“Tera Waters.”
“And the inmate’s name?”
“Tim Waters. Timothy.”
I heard him typing. “I don’t have you down here as an approved visitor.”
“Are you sure?” It shouldn’t be this hard to see my dad, I thought. “I just turned eighteen today. Maybe the computer isn’t letting you see my name?”
“It shouldn’t matter. How do you spell your last name?”
I spelled it out for him, heard more computer keys clacking.
“You sure you’re calling the right jail? This is the Samuel L. Mast facility. Maybe he got transferred somewhere else.”
“No, I have the right jail. I’ll just . . .” I bit back my frustration. “I don’t know. Thank you.”
I hung up and tried to think. Today was Sunday. Charlotte Gross wouldn’t be working. I called her anyway, got her voice mail.
“Uh, hi. It’s Tera Waters. I turned eighteen today, so I just called the jail to make sure it was okay for me to visit my dad, and they said I wasn’t even in their system, so I was wondering how that could be and what I should do. Did Dad not put me on the visitors’ list? Call me when you get a chance. Thanks.”
I closed my phone and looked at the clock on my nightstand. I’d been planning to paint before I had to go to work, but now I was too worried. Why wasn’t I on the list? Did Dad not want to see me? Did he blame me for everything that had happened?
• • •
I got off work at six, which left me enough time to shower and get ready for my birthday date with Joey. As I rode the bus home, I realized I hadn’t told Mom that I wouldn’t be home tonight. She’d been gone all day yesterday, filling out job applications, and by the time I’d gotten off work, she was asleep. She was still asleep this morning when I left for Papa Geppetto’s, so I would have to tell her about my date as soon as I got home.
It was already dark by the time the bus dropped me off near the house. Charlotte Gross hadn’t returned my call, so I had no idea what was going on with the jail not letting me visit. I tried to push the worry from my mind. Joey would be picking me up soon.
I came in through the kitchen, surprised to hear “New Year’s Day” blasting from a CD player on the counter. My mom’s favorite song.
She didn’t hear me come in. She had her back to me, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. I almost didn’t recognize her. She wore dress pants and a nice blouse. Her hair was in a French braid.
I laid my purse on the counter. “Mom?”
Her shoulders jerked and she almost dropped her wooden spoon. She turned, and for a second I thought she wanted to hug me. Instead she reached behind me to turn down the CD player.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m baking you a cake.” Her smile looked pasted on. “Did you forget it’s your birthday?”
“No.” I gripped my elbows. “But I thought you forgot.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
“Mom, this is nice and everything, but I’m going out.” I bit my lip, seeing the way her face fell. “With Joey.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Sorry. I should have told you earlier.”
She laid down the spoon, then changed her mind and picked it up again. Her elbow jabbed the air as she whipped the batter. A few seconds of that and she’d be worn out.
“We have an electric mixer.”
“I like doing it this way.”
“Do you need help?”
“Why would I need help? This is my job.”
“Oh.” I made myself smile. “So any luck with the job hunting?”
“Please don’t ask me that. I’ll let you know if I find something.”
I turned to go, but her voice stopped me. “Why don’t you stay home tonight? Birthdays should be family time.”
I was shaking my head before she got the words out. “No, Mom.”
The spoon banged against the sides of the bowl. “He can have dinner with us. I got a pizza. DiGiorno. We can eat on the couch and watch a movie.”
“Joey’s taking me to dinner. He made a reservation and everything.” I had no idea whether he’d made a reservation, but it sounded good.
She stopped stirring and bit her lip.
“Maybe next time, okay?”
She nodded.
“Thanks for making me a cake. Thanks for remembering.”
I left her standing by the oven, staring at the empty cake box with watery eyes. It was hard to feel sorry for her, but I did. A little.
An hour later—showered, dressed, and sprayed with Viva La Juicy—I had time to kill before Joey came, so I kept busy by cleaning up Mom’s baking mess. I was careful not to splash water on my outfit, a black miniskirt and black tights. On top I wore a gray-blue sweater that Ian had once told me looked good on me.
Mom watched me from the kitchen table. The unfrosted cake sat on a plate in front of her. “You look nice,” she said.
High praise coming from her. She wouldn’t be saying that if she could see underneath. Not a red bra this time, but lacy black.
Mom turned the cake plate around and around, examining the crooked layers.
“It smells good,” I offered.
She sighed through her nose. “I forgot the candles.”
“Next year.” I shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the drawer.
“When’s he getting here?”
“Eight or eight-thirty.”
“Can’t he pick a time and stick to it?”
I held back a sigh. “Things have changed since you dated.”
“I doubt that.” She pinched off a piece of cake. “I know how guys operate. I married—”
Headlights cut across the kitchen. She froze, her fingers halfway to her mouth.
I grabbed my purse off the counter. “That’s him.”
“He’s not coming in?”
“I said I’d meet him outside.”
I stiffened, waiting for her tirade, but all she said was, “Can’t say as I blame you.”
Was that an apology? I looked at her sharply, my hand on the doorknob. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. So not an apology. More of her feeling sorry for herself.
I was halfway out the door when she called after me. “Happy birthday, Tera.”
I pretended not to hear and hurried up the driveway. Joey was waiting.
• • •
Joey wore faded jeans and a gray t-shirt with My Chemical Romance on the front. Gorgeous as usual. His eyes traveled the length of my body as I slid into the car.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You ever hear this?” He turned up the volume on his stereo as he backed out of the driveway.
I listened, but it was too loud to make sense of. “I don’t think so,” I yelled.
“Civil Twilight,” he yelled back. “They’re from South Africa, but they’re white.” He turned the volume down. Still loud, but bearable. “So you like them?”
“Yeah, they’re good.”
“Sadie was right then.”
“She said I’d like it?”
“She said chicks dug it. Do me a favor, okay?” He steered with his knees and reached behind him to grab a handful of CDs. He piled them in my lap. “Listen to these and tell me what you think.”
I sifted through them. They were all home-burned and labeled in sloppy capital letters. I didn’t recognize any of the names except My Chemical Romance, because it was on his t-shirt.
“And I almost forgot.” He reached behind him again and came back with a red rose wrapped in crinkly plastic. “Happy birthday.”
I caught my breath. No one had ever given me a flower, let alone a red rose. For homecoming and prom, kids at school could buy each other carnations and have them delivered to homeroom. Some girls got dozens and carried them around all day. I never got one, but I knew what the colors meant. Everyone knew. Yellow meant friendship. Pink meant someone liked you. But red . . . Red meant someone loved you.
Not that I thought Joey loved me or anything. But I knew he liked me. He’d said it himself.
“Wow,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He pushed Eject on the CD player. When the disc popped out, he handed it to me, along with an empty plastic case that looked like he’d dropped it a few times. “Can you put this in your purse?”
I lay the flower in my lap so I could fit the disc into its broken case. “So where are we going?” Somewhere downtown, maybe? That’s where all the nice restaurants were.
“Red Robin.” He rubbed his stomach. “They have those huge-ass burgers.”
So not somewhere that required a reservation. Prickles stung my eyes. I stared at the flower in my lap, wilting already. Two of the petals lay in my lap.
He glanced over. “You hungry?”
“I think so.” I poked the fallen petals. Still velvety soft. Still good. I closed my eyes, waited for the sting of tears to fade. Then I opened my billfold and stuck the petals inside. Things could be good and not perfect. The world wasn’t perfect.
The thought came again, the one I’d been pushing down. Did he ask me out because I’d promised him sex? Did it matter? He wanted to be with me. And he liked me. That much I knew for sure. So what if Red Robin wasn’t fancy? Any restaurant where I got to sit down and order from a menu sounded good. Maybe they did something special for people’s birthdays. Maybe that’s why he wanted to bring the CD.
“So do they play music there?” I asked.
He squinted at the road. “I think so. Why?”
“I never heard of a restaurant playing people’s personal CDs.”
He laughed. “The music’s not for dinner.”
“Oh.”
“It’s for later. You know . . .” He squinted as he lit a cigarette. “For dessert.”
• • •
I sat in the booth across from Joey and scanned the menu. The Parmesan-crusted snapper looked good, but it cost way more than the burgers. Girls at school talked about ordering the most expensive thing on the menu when a boy took them out, like they were entitled or something. I never understood that. The last thing I wanted was for Joey to think I was mooching off him.
He looked up from his menu and smiled at me. “Get anything you want.”
I smiled back. Maybe he’d read my mind.
A gray-haired waitress came to our table and rattled off the specials like a robot. I glanced at her nametag. Carol. Joey pointed to a huge bacon cheeseburger on the menu. “Give me the Pig-Out Tavern Double.” Beside it was a big red star with white letters. Only $9.95! “That comes with all-you-can-eat fries?”
“You have to finish what you have before I bring more.” Carol wrote on her pad as she talked. “And what about you?”
“Um.” It took me a second to realize she was talking to me. “I’ll have the teriyaki chicken sandwich.” It cost less than the burger, and the red star next to it said, Low in Fat!
“And to drink?”
“Just water.”
Joey searched the menu. “The Cokes have free refills?”
“Free refills on pop and coffee.”
“Give me a Coke, then.” He pointed to a section at the bottom of the menu. “And how does this free birthday meal work? Do we have to tell you when we order that it’s her birthday?”
For a second, I didn’t understand what he was asking. Not until Carol rolled her eyes to me. She sounded annoyed, like I was trying to pull one over on her. “To get the free meal, you have to have a valid ID saying today’s your birthday.”
“Oh.” Heat pulsed in my cheeks. “Okay.” I opened my purse, started digging around. Stupid! Here I was worried about mooching, but he wasn’t even paying for my meal.
I found my billfold and opened it. A loose rose petal fell into my lap like a letter from the sky: He brought you a rose! You’re not a cheap date!
But I was, apparently. He probably picked up the rose while paying for his cigarettes at the gas station. I brushed the petal to the floor and handed over my license.
Carol squinted at it.
“So her meal’s free?” Joey asked.
“Anything under ten bucks.” She handed back my license, her voice softening. “You still got two bucks,” she told me. “You can get a pop instead of water.”
“That’s okay.” I lowered my head, knowing the hurt had settled on my face.
Carol took our menus and hurried off. Joey leaned across the booth. “You think I’m cheap, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, shrugged. “Free is free.”
“You’re disappointed.”
“No.”
“Just so you know? I’m trying to save up. I found this apartment I need to put a deposit on.” He leaned back in the booth. “For my dad and me.”
I glanced up. So he was supporting his dad?
“The bank foreclosed on our house after Mom went to prison. My uncle’s letting us use his address so Child Protective Services doesn’t think I’m homeless. But we’re not really living there. You’ve seen where we’re staying.”
The storage room in his uncle’s bar. I thought about taking his hand, to let him know how bad I felt. But maybe he’d see that as too touchy-feely. “That sucks,” I said.
“So that’s why I’m trying to save money.”
“Can’t your dad work?”
Joey barked a laugh. “You’ve seen him, right? He’s no better than my mom. The only difference is he hasn’t shot anyone yet.”
I swallowed. What do you say to something like that?
He leaned closer, took my hand, looked me in the eye. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice, but this was the best I could do.”
“It’s fine.” He didn’t need to apologize. “It’s great.”
Carol came back, laying down little napkins for our drinks. I liked how the straws were already in them with a bit of wrapper on top to keep them sanitary. I liked that my water came with a lemon wedge even though I hadn’t asked for one.
While Joey drained half his Coke, I squeezed the lemon into my water and watched the seeds sink to the bottom. I thought about the red rose sitting in Joey’s car, the CD of mood music in my purse. He was trying to make things special for me.
“What?” Joey asked. “Why are you smiling?”
“Was I?” I took a sip of my lemon-flavored water. “I guess you caught me.”