Angry Lobster Pajamas

 

GRANDMA SISSY’S CAR was a funny old station  wagon, square-backed and sputtering. When they pulled it out of the garage, Odette saw that the windshield was dusty. She wondered when her grandmother had last driven. This was the first time Odette had been in a regular car since they’d left home and begun their trip in the Coach, and it felt kind of strange. Cramped, almost. With a shot of surprise, Odette realized that she actually missed their traveling home.

They headed down Main Street, waving at Gary as he walked toward the bakery to help Bea with the morning rush, and turned left onto Orcas Road. Then it was pretty much a straight drive down the island to the ferry station, not very far at all. The sun filled the sky.

Maybe because it was an early ferry, the dock wasn’t very crowded. Dad pulled the car up as close as he could to the ticket booth. “Do you see him?” he asked.

Odette shook her head. She didn’t see Harris anywhere—until she did. “There.” She pointed. It was Harris, absolutely, walking with his back to her, but with his left shoulder just a bit higher than his right, his fuzzy hair all tall in the middle.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dad asked, grinning.

Odette opened the car door and stumble-fell right onto the pavement. She scraped both of her palms but stood up and ran toward Harris without even looking at her hands, swiping them across the legs of her—oh, no—her pajamas. She was still wearing her angry lobster pajamas. And no wonder she tripped: she was wearing her candy striped slipper socks, the ones with the moccasin bottoms.

In a flash, Odette considered turning back to the car. There was still time—Harris hadn’t seen her, so she could get away without him knowing she’d tracked him down, without him seeing her ridiculous pajamas.

But then she remembered what her dad had said, about chances, and she remembered Grandma Sissy’s words, too—Better to feel foolish now than to feel sorry later—and before she could talk herself out of it, Odette cupped her mouth with her hands and yelled, “Harris!”

He stopped. He turned and lifted his hand to shade his eyes, scanning the dock. Then he saw her. He smiled.

Odette half jogged, half walked, to close the distance between them. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said back.

“I wasn’t ditching you or avoiding your calls,” Odette blurted. “But we went kayaking and then Rex saw these seals and he wanted Mom to take a picture and now our one family cell phone is at the bottom of the ocean.”

Harris’s eyebrows went up. “Wow,” he said.

“I mean—” Odette had a terrible thought. “That is, if you even called me. If you did, I didn’t get your calls, obviously. If you didn’t . . .” She wasn’t sure how to finish this sentence.

“No, I did,” said Harris. “I did call. A few times, actually.” His smile was kind of shy. “I’m glad to hear you didn’t get them. I was starting to worry you were avoiding me.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. My dad drove me.” Odette pointed out her dad, still sitting in the car.

Harris waved at him. Dad waved back.

“Anyway,” said Odette, “I’m sorry we couldn’t go on that walk. That’s all. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“That’s really cool that you drove all the way down here, early and everything, to find me,” Harris said. “It’s, like, from a movie or something.”

“Yeah,” said Odette, but unlike people in the movies, she had no idea what to do next. She saw Harris’s mom a little ways ahead, waiting for him. “Anyway,” she said again, “maybe we could still call each other and stuff, I mean, when I get another phone.”

“Cool,” said Harris. He dug a receipt out of his pocket and found a pen in his backpack and scribbled down his number. Odette folded the receipt twice and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Then it was time to say goodbye, and Harris looked as nervous as she felt. Odette kind of wanted to kiss him, but both his mom and her dad were watching and she wasn’t really sure how to kiss, anyway, at least not the boyfriend kind of kissing.

So instead she lurched forward awkwardly and gave him a quick hug, a squeeze with a double back pat, and then let go.

Harris smiled bigger and said, “It was really nice meeting you, Odette.” Then he waved and turned away, catching up with his mom.

Odette knew she was blushing, but she didn’t care. And she felt totally silly in her ridiculous lobster pajamas. But Dad and Grandma Sissy were right. She was really glad she’d come.

Back at the bakery she told her story over and over again, first to Bea, who was behind the counter in the kitchen—“Good for you, hon,” Bea said—and then upstairs to Mom and Rex, who were just finishing up the puzzle (it was an old European castle), and finally to Grandma Sissy when she took in the tray.

“He looked totally shocked to see me,” Odette told her. “But happy, too.”

“I’m so proud of you, my darling,” said Grandma Sissy. Her breathing seemed like it hurt her today, like each breath cost her something, but her smile was sincere. “Did you know,” Grandma Sissy said, and Odette had to lean in close to hear all her words, “that I was there when you were born?”

“Yes,” said Odette. “Mom told me.” Her dad had been away on business, and there should have been plenty of time for him to get home before the due date, but Odette’s mom’s water had broken and her contractions started and Dad hadn’t been able to make it all the way from New York in time.

“It was my good luck that I was visiting your mom,” Grandma Sissy said. “I was there in the room with her and the midwife when you came into the world. I remember it perfectly. Your dark little head. Your red squished-up face. And when you opened your eyes . . .” Sissy shook her head. “It was like looking in the mirror and seeing my very own soul. Me, your mother, you. Maybe one day you’ll have a daughter, hmm? And maybe she’ll have the same eyes too.”

Grandma Sissy looked like she was going to say more, but then she closed her eyes. “I think I’ll sleep a little,” she said, and then, “I’m proud of you, my darling.”