By the end of our first week in the trailer, I’m pretty sure I won’t have to go to Alateen. There are no more noisy parties. None of the men come over with cases of beer. It’s just me, Mom, and the dog. It can’t be too exciting to watch us, but that’s what the lady who lives in the pig house does. She must spend all day sitting at her window.
Friday morning, I’m just coming back from walking the dog when she comes out onto her deck. I’d have expected her to be plump and pink, but she’s skinny and everything about her looks gray. Her hair is tightly permed and reminds me of steel wool pads. Her face is wrinkled and ashen. She’s clutching at the gray cardigan that she’s wearing over what I think is her nightgown. She’s smoking a cigarette.
“So is it party time again?” she asks.
I look behind me, wondering if there’s someone else around who she might be talking to. There isn’t. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it’s the weekend. Does that mean you’ll be having another party?”
“It wasn’t really a party. It was just the people who helped us move.”
“Humph! And I suppose you’re going to tell me they stayed for coffee. Don’t bother even trying that one. I saw the empties your mother was trying to sneak out the next morning.”
“I don’t think we’re expecting any company this weekend.”
“Good!” She stubs her cigarette out in a small ceramic pig ashtray and stomps back into her trailer without saying good-bye.
My mom drives me over to Dad’s on Saturday morning. She’s planning to stay awhile to do some cleaning. When we get to the house, we see the real estate lady’s car in the driveway.
“Oh, darn it,” says Mom. “She must be showing the place to someone. We probably shouldn’t go in.”
“Want me to check?” I ask.
“Okay.”
I get out of the car and let myself in through the front door. I can hear voices coming from the kitchen. It sounds like it’s just Amy and Dad.
“Dad?” I call.
They’re sitting at the table, drinking Starbucks coffee.
“Who bought the coffee?” I ask.
“Me,” answers Amy. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, the tall is expensive, but Dad says you can get the same thing from McDonald’s or A&W for a whole lot less.”
“I prefer Starbucks,” says Amy.
“Can Mom come in and clean?” I ask Dad.
“Sure, that will be great.”
“Your ex comes in to clean the house?” Amy asks.
“She thinks it will show better if it’s kept up right,” says Dad. “It’s not like I’m leaving my dirty clothes on the floor or anything like that, but Kate notices things I don’t. She sort of has an eye for detail.”
He’s still explaining, but I go to the front door and motion to Mom that it’s okay to come in.
Mom has brought the vacuum from our place and she’s carrying it as she walks into the kitchen. When she sees Amy and Dad sitting there together, she looks kind of shocked, probably because of the Starbucks coffee.
“I thought you were showing someone through the house,” she says.
“Oh no,” says Amy. “This is more of a social visit.”
“How nice. And will the noise of the vacuum bother you?”
“I told Amy I’ll be wanting to buy a smaller house once this place sells,” Dad says. “She just dropped by with a few listings she thought I might be interested in.”
“I really should be going anyway,” Amy says. She stands up and starts toward the door. She’s wearing a camel-colored suit with a short slim skirt and really high-heeled shoes. She has very nice legs. She stops for a minute right next to Mom. Mom is wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with a stretched-out neck. Her hair is in a ponytail. She has no makeup on. Her face is shiny, and the freckles across her nose really show.
Amy looks down at her. “We haven’t had an offer yet, but I was telling Harold, a couple has asked to come back for a second look this afternoon. That’s always promising.”
She wiggles her fingers good-bye at Mom. Then Dad walks her to the door.
Mom drops the vacuum hose and attachment with a thud and stomps off to get a bucket and rag from the laundry room.
“Why don’t you and Lucy go out for awhile?” she says when Dad comes back into the kitchen. “I’ll be through here in about two hours.” She’s already scrubbing away at the smeary ceramic top of the stove.
“Well, that doesn’t seem right …” Dad starts to say.
“Look, I’d rather work alone. Do you mind?”
Dad and I go. We drive down to the beach at White Rock. We hang out there for awhile and do some grocery shopping. By the time we get back, Mom’s left. We barely have time to unload our groceries and make ourselves sandwiches before we have to leave again. Amy’s bringing those people back to look at the house for a second time. She doesn’t like us to be there. She says it works better if the buyers have some privacy. This time, while we’re kicked out, we go to look at some of the places Amy’s given Dad listings for.
That evening, Dad and I watch Up in the Air. It’s supposed to be a funny movie – and it is, in a way – but then it takes this twist and the ending is kind of sad. I don’t think it cheers Dad up much. It’s over about ten-thirty and we both head upstairs to bed at the same time. I get into my pj’s and am in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, when I hear Dad.
“What the heck? Gross!” He’s in the en suite bathroom. He’s been brushing his teeth too. Now he’s rinsing his mouth out with water. He spits into the sink and holds his toothbrush out for me to see. It looks normal. “Have you been using this toothbrush to clean things?”
“Of course not. I never clean anything.”
“It tastes like that cleanser stuff.”
“Sometimes Mom uses an old toothbrush to clean around the taps or to do the hinges on the toilet seat lid.”
“Yuck!” he screams. He grabs the mouthwash and chugs it straight from the bottle. “But it was in the holder where I always keep it. It’s in perfectly good shape. There’s no way she could have thought …”
“Well, maybe it fell in the toilet or something, so she thought she might as well use it to clean.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Well, no, but you were wondering.”
“And if it fell in the toilet and she used it to clean around the hinges of the seat, why would she put it back in the holder where I always keep it?”
I shrug.
“A person would have to be crazy to do something like that,” he says.
“Or mad.” Mom’s not crazy, but it’s pretty easy to imagine her being mad.
“She seemed funny from the minute she walked in today. Did she say anything? Why would she be mad at me?”
“Maybe about the coffee,” I answer. “What do you mean, ‘about the coffee’? She didn’t even have any coffee.”
“But you and Amy were drinking Starbucks.”
“So?”
“Well, you said so yourself, it’s more expensive.”
“I didn’t buy it. Amy brought it with her.”
“I know, but did you tell Amy that she should have bought it at McDonald’s?”
“No, I guess not,” he says. “Do you think she’s jealous?”
“Amy?”
“No, your mom.”
“I don’t know. I think if she’s mad, it’s probably about the coffee.”
“I bet she’s jealous.” He’s starting to smile. I can tell he likes the idea.
He searches in the back of one of the vanity drawers and finds a new toothbrush that’s still in its packaging.
I leave him brushing his teeth. He’s in a much better mood.
When Dad drops me off at home on Sunday night, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, doing the crossword puzzle. She’s nowhere near finished, but when I come in, she pushes it to one side. I pick it up and have a look. I don’t really expect to be able to help. She and Dad are the ones who like doing these things.
“Five across is adagio,” I say. The clue says, “Slow time in music.”
She looks surprised. She checks the puzzle. It fits. “Since when did you know about music?” she asks.
“I only know that because Dad was doing the same puzzle at his house. He had me look the answer up on the Internet.”
They always used to do The New York Times crossword together on Sundays.
Mom fills in the word and puts the puzzle away half-done. Dad didn’t finish it either.
I tell Mom about the houses we saw. They were older than our house, and the neighborhoods weren’t so upscale, but some were nice enough. Sort of like the street Siobhan lives on. “When our house sells and you’re looking for another place to buy, maybe we could drive around Siobhan’s subdivision,” I tell Mom. I figure, if we are going to be a bit poor, it would be nice if I lived near Siobhan and we could be poor together.
“I’m not sure that I’m going to be buying another house right away,” Mom says.
“Why not?” I ask. “Like you said yourself, this place is kind of depressing.”
“Well, it’s not my dream home, but it will do for awhile.”
“But once you get your share of the money from the house, why would you want to stay here?”
“I might go back to school. If I do that, it will mean quitting my job.”
I just about fall off my chair. “But why?” I ask. “You already have your grade twelve. You even took those extra bookkeeping courses. You have the perfect job!”
“Do you know that I’ve worked at that convent for almost half my life?”
She’s exaggerating. It can’t be any more than ten years. And the way she always calls it “the convent” makes it sound like it’s just her and a bunch of nuns. It’s not that way at all. The sisters at Cenacle Heights run a retreat center. They have workshops and days of reflection. Lots of church groups meet there. They even have school classes visit sometimes, like mine did when we were getting ready for confirmation.
Grandma and Sister Margaret Mary are friends, so sometimes we just go up there for tea. It’s a really nice place: quiet and holy. The gardens are very peaceful. And it’s not like Mom is making up beds and washing toilets anymore. That was her first job there, but after she and Dad got married, she took some bookkeeping courses, so now she works in the office. Most people would kill for a job like hers.
“Does Grandma know about this idea of yours?”
“I’m not telling her till I know for sure that I’m going,” she says. “I might not even get in.”
“Get in where?” I cannot see my mother going to university. What kind of a job would she get when she graduated? I can just imagine someone with her temper being a teacher or a nurse.
“I’ve applied to BCIT,” she says.
That’s the B.C. Institute of Technology. I think they offer computer courses there. She’s never shown much interest in the computer. It’s Dad and I who hog it most of the time.
“I’ve applied for their course in interior design.”
“To be like an interior decorator?”
She nods.
“You don’t need to take a course. You know how to do that already.”
“But if I could take that course, I’d end up with the credentials that I need to do that for a job. I’d be a professional.”
“Like the ones you see on the decorating channel?”
“Yeah, sort of like them.”
It doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “You’d be good at that.”
She gives a happy smile like I’ve said something wonderful. “I’m so glad you think so. I haven’t told anyone because I thought you’d all laugh at me.”
“Who did you think would laugh?”
“Well, not laugh exactly, but think I was stupid and try to talk me out of it.”
“Who’d do that?”
“I thought you would, and Grandma and your dad.”
“You never even told Dad?”
“No. Can’t you just imagine the state it would send him into? It would totally destroy his precious budget.”
“He’s good at budgets,” I say. “Maybe he could have done a new one.”
She just shrugs.
What I don’t understand is, what all this has to do with us having to stay here. I know right now it’s all we can afford, but I was counting on moving back to Surrey once our big house sold. I can’t stand this place much longer. The trailer I’m getting used to; it’s the school scene that sucks. The work is easy and there are a couple of teachers I really like, but I always have Brandy, that weird girl with the blue and black hair, “accidentally” bumping me or making snotty comments. Harbie and Kuldeep are nice, but we aren’t really friends. It’s more like they’re just being polite.
“But we’ll be getting thousands of dollars when the house sale goes through. Going to school won’t cost that much, will it?” I ask.
“It’s not cheap. The fees are about four thousand dollars a year, but the big thing is that I’ll have to quit my job. I won’t be able to get a mortgage if I’m not working.”
“How long is the course?”
“Two years. Can’t you just see your dad going for that? He’d want me to wait till you finished college.”
Waiting doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Better for me than trying to stay clear of Brandy for two years. In the meantime, we could buy a new house and Mom could practice being an interior decorator by designing another really sensational bedroom for me. If we got one of those older houses, she could do up the rec room in the basement so I’d have someplace super fancy to entertain Siobhan and my other friends, if I had any. I might even get to be popular. I don’t tell her what I’m thinking. Like she says, maybe she won’t even get in to BCIT.