I had no problem picking out Mom’s Mother’s Day gift, which is the latest novel by her favorite author. So why is it taking me forever to pick out a card? Maybe it’s because there are way too many to choose from. There are Mother, Mom, Mommy, Step-mother, Just-Like-a-Mother cards. Some are funny, some are cute, some are clever, some are sappy, some are sentimental, but none of them seem to be just right.
But it’s always been like that. So why is it that so many of the messages are giving me this, I don’t know, uneasy feeling? I mean, they’re your basic stuff about Mom being loving, caring, nurturing, etc. Totally positive stuff. Yet there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that just doesn’t stop.
I see a card with really pretty pink roses on it and start to pick it up, but someone walking down the aisle headed toward the porcelain figurine collections distracts me. I glance over and see that it’s Claire. The nagging feeling in my brain escalates. Why would seeing Claire do that to my gray matter? I mean, she’s the girl who is going to be handing over Brent to me.
Maybe my brain is just overwhelmed by too many choices. Yeah, I bet that’s it. I pick up the pretty pink rose card and read it.
You’re really a great Mom…
…I’m glad you’re mine!
Perfect! I buy the card and walk home, my mind free and clear of any nagging doubts of whatever was happening up there in the cerebral reaches.
At two o’clock Colt and his father come to pick me up. Colt, of course, is his usual protective, big-brother self, coming to the door to get me and giving me a hand getting into the truck. I have to say, I could really get used to that kind of gentlemanly treatment all the time, but I suppose if he really were my brother he’d tease and torment me instead.
Ms. Bianco pulls into the parking lot just as we get there. She looks so unteacher-like with her hair down in a long braid and wearing capris and a halter-top instead of the expensive-looking suits she wears at school. Her giganto engagement ring glitters in the bright sunlight. She smiles and waves as Mr. Strand parks his truck close to the door, so I guess she didn’t suffer any permanent harm from last night’s production of Macbeth.
“Hi,” Ms. Bianco says cheerily. “Beautiful day isn’t it?” Is it my imagination, or does she bat her eyelashes at Colt’s father? Or maybe she has something in her eye. Or maybe outside of school she’s one of those women who flirt just for fun. If that’s the case, I hope it’s okay with her fiancé.
At any rate, Mr. Strand says, “Sure is a nice day,” in a totally friendly-only way.
Ms. Bianco lets us in and follows us to the stage. “I can help carry stuff.”
“Thanks,” says Mr. Strand. “The caldron weighs a lot, so Colt and I will lug that. You and Becca can grab the chair and the goblet.”
“Will do,” says Ms. Bianco, all perky. Wow, as a teacher she’s always hair up, high heels and strictly business. It’s interesting to see this other side of her.
“Funny how I always get the heavy-labor jobs.” Colt grins and winks at me.
“We females are better at taking care of the fragile items, anyway,” I say.
“That’s right.” Ms. Bianco smoothes her hair as she gives Mr. Stand a sunny smile. “Including fragile egos—not that either of you gentleman has a fragile ego.”
Mr. Strand laughs. Colt gives me this look that seems to say what’s with Ms. Bianco today.
This is getting too weird for me. I grab the goblet and one arm of the throne. “Um, Ms. Bianco, I’m, uh, ready.”
She grabs the other arm. “Let’s go!”
We follow Colt and Mr. Strand as they haul the caldron out to the pickup and set it down. They take the chair and goblet and load them. The four of us together lift the caldron into the truck, just so no one will “sprain anything,” as Mr. Strand puts it.
Ms. Bianco waits until we’re all in the pickup, then gives us a big smile and a wave before she hops into her car. We head to the church, unload the throne and goblet and put them in the shed with a key that Colt’s aunt gave him. They must have seen us coming at Frank’s Fish and Chips, because when we pull into the parking lot a couple members of the staff come out, applaud our arrival and help us unload the caldron.
“Thanks for letting us borrow it,” I say.
“Thank you for all the publicity,” says Assistant Manager Fred (according to his name tag). “Almost everyone who’s been to the store today has mentioned Macbeth and the ‘role’ our caldron played in it! That show was really something. People will be talking about it for a long time!” Fred gives us a friendly chuckle.
“Thanks,” Colt and I both say. I think Colt is trying not to laugh. I know I am.
On the way home I say, “Maybe the play is going to be one of those things that people laugh about in a good way.”
“Judging by Fred, I think they already are,” Colt says.
At my house he insists on walking me to the door, even though it is broad daylight. It occurs to me that maybe he does it because his father is in the truck. Maybe if Colt were old enough to drive himself he’d just drop me off. Whatever. It’s still nice the way he waits until I’m inside before he heads back to the pickup.
* * *
On Monday morning the school is buzzing about Macbeth and all the screw-ups, but already kind of treating it like a long-ago event that everyone remembers with a sort of fond amusement. Duke doesn’t mention a word about it, however. He focuses on “Control Freaks and How to Recognize Them.” I bet he would know.
By lunch the topic of conversation has started to move from Macbeth to prom. As she spears a Tater Tot, Tanya says, “It’s less than two weeks away! We need to get dresses. Let’s go Victoria’s Vintage tomorrow right after school.”
That works for everyone, so less than thirty hours later we are hopping a bus down to the University District. Victoria’s Vintage is in an old red building tucked between a sushi bar and an outdoor apparel store. Finals at the university are next week, so everyone must be studying, because it’s not too crowded in the store.
A salesclerk with her nose in book looks up when we enter. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for prom dresses,” Tanya says.
“Well, we have real vintage dresses,” the salesclerk says, “but some of them can be pretty expensive, especially the designer gowns.”
I guess our faces fall en masse, because the salesclerk quickly adds, “But we also have a nice selection of gently-used prom dresses. Let me show you.”
She leads us to a room in the back and gestures to four racks. “There are the gently used prom dresses.” She points to two curtained dressing stalls. “You can change over there.” The words are barely out of her mouth before Tanya and Randi start pawing through the gowns. “Just yell if you need any help.”
Tanya and Randi both pull a bunch of dresses from the racks and practically dive into the dressing stalls. Nina and I pick our way through the gowns a bit more selectively. After about half an hour Nina, Tanya and I are standing in front of the mirrors showing off our choices.
Nina’s wearing a satiny, ashes-of-roses pink strapless, very delicate and romantic. Tanya sports a classic silky brown gown with a clean shape that is very flattering. She teams it with a sparkly bracelet and tiara she found in a jewelry display. I’m feeling elegant in my beautiful champagne-colored dress with spaghetti straps, a softly shirred bustline, and an empire waist that falls in gentle folds to the floor.
As we all ooh and ahh over each other’s dresses and the amazingly low prices, I know we are all waiting and wondering what we’ll see when Randi steps out of the dressing room. If she were still going to meet up with Justin, I’d guess that she’d wear something super sexy. But for Kurt? I’m thinking maybe something simple and fun.
“Ta da!” Randi flings open the curtain and strides towards us with that model-on-runway kind of walk and spins around before she stops. She’s wearing a ruby red dress with a halter-top that ties at the back of her neck and a not-too-plunging neckline. It’s very glam, but not the kind of wild dress that she might have chosen with Justin in mind. “Well?”
We all applaud and nod our approval. Randi beams. I am so glad she is not doing the before-the-prom thing with Justin.
We all change back into our clothes, make our purchases and congratulate ourselves all the way home on what great bargains we found.
At home I show Mom my dress. She loves it. As I put it away up in my bedroom, I daydream about prom and dancing with Brent. Funny, I don’t feel quite as excited as I would have been at one time, but then now there are no doubts, no wondering. I know I’ll see Brent at prom and I know that I’ll dance with him. I know Claire is going to break up with Brent and clear the path for me. So while I am happy, it’s just natural that I’m not all hyper and heart jolting around in my heart about it.
Isn’t it?