On Monday I had one of those days where nothing went my way. My hair was extra static-y, I broke out above my lip, which looked like a cold sore, and everybody at school seemed surprised I was going to be on the Ingénue show. Not just surprised, but shocked. I overheard Yasmin say it was probably because “I was so tall and painfully tiny.” Jerk. Plus, I failed a math quiz and had to play dodge ball in gym, but at least my dad was coming to visit.
****
After school, I got off the bus deep in thought about Colin and As the Days Roll On.
“Hey Kiddo!”
I looked up and saw my dad standing in the driveway. As he hugged me, I breathed in his cologne, and it was like we were never apart. Dad was surprised my bedroom was so bright, but he said he liked it. He asked why I chose this color when I always bugged him about having a blue room in my old bedroom back in Chicago. I shrugged and said Mom and I painted it, but I wasn’t crazy about it.
“You did a nice job,” he said. “But let me know if you want to change it to blue. I’ll help.”
He looked at the school pictures I had on my dresser of Tori and Ericka. I had put them in little heart-shaped frames last year. He asked me about “the soccer player,” and I said Tori was fine. He hadn’t met Ericka before. Lucky man. I showed him the second place certificate I got from the Michigan Young Pens contest, and he was excited to hear about my trip.
“A ton of girls didn’t make it. My friend Devon got cut, and she’s beautiful. I almost backed out at the last minute, but then I got chosen,” I said.
“The judges had excellent taste,” he said. “I’m excited for you, kiddo.”
Dad said he wanted to read some of the stuff I had written lately. I ended up letting him read a story I had started in math class. He was still reading when Mom came home from work. Dad gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she said we were going to have an early dinner. Dad offered to help with dinner, but Mom said she had everything under control.
“Dad said he’d help me with my room,” I said.
“We haven’t picked a border out yet, and it’s a unique color so it may take some time,” she said. “Anyway, we can do it ourselves.”
“Just trying to help,” he said as he picked up my stuffed mouse, who was sitting on my dresser.
While we were eating, I casually mentioned I was thinking about repainting. I glanced at my mother out of the corner of my eye. She had a mouthful of potato salad and couldn’t respond. I thought about how to word it. I didn’t want to upset my mom by saying it was butt ugly. Instead, I went with saying, “It gives me a headache.”
“I thought you liked how cheerful it is,” she said, tearing into a roll.
Dad wasn’t sure which side to take so he kept eating and staring at his plate as if nothing was going on. I started to point out it didn’t match any of my stuff, but then my mom gave me her famous “not now” look, which included a raised left eyebrow, pursed lips, and a stare which could turn me to ice. I could live in a neon grapefruit, but I couldn’t live on my mother’s bad side.
“This potato salad is delicious,” Dad said, finally breaking into the conversation.
“I got it at the deli, so you can thank Leon for it,” Mom said.
Dad went back to studying his plate. I shoved a spoonful of potato salad in my mouth as I matched my mother stare for stare. However, I began choking and started sputtering potato and radish all over the table. Dad leapt up and whacked me on the back, and Mom pushed a plastic cup of apple juice at me.
“You gonna make it?” Dad asked as he removed a piece of spit-up radish from his shirt. I nodded as I forced the juice down my burning throat. Mom asked if we were ready for dessert, and I almost choked for the second time. Dessert? I mean, for us dessert meant passing a bag of fun-sized candy bars back and forth during a TV show, and “preparing dessert” meant pulling the foil off the pudding cup. Mom brought out little bowls of pudding with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top. I knew she had spooned the pudding out of the prepackaged cups, but my dad didn’t.
“Hey, butterscotch, my favorite,” he said, digging in. It had to be a lie because butterscotch was nobody’s favorite. Dad wasn’t aware we were having butterscotch because we only eat the chocolate pudding out of the variety pack so we had a fridge full of butterscotch, and the chocolate sprinkles were from a package of cookies we never got around to making.
After dinner, Mom asked me to clear the table, and without thinking, I almost threw my plate in the trash. Then I remembered we had used real dishes and silverware. I wasn’t even sure what to do with a real dish since I was used to eating off paper plates. Did she want me to wash them, put them in the dishwasher, or hide them in the oven? We always hid the dirty dishes in there, and last summer Grandma Albright came for a visit and we freaked out every time Grandma suggested baking some of her famous brownies.
I put the dishes on the counter and figured if mom insisted I wash them I could say, “What? These aren’t paper?” and that would be the end of it.
We went into the living room, and I noticed a gift bag hidden behind the recliner. When was Dad planning on bringing it out? I looked over at Mom, who was sitting so far away from us she was almost in the dining room. Dad handed the bag to me and gave my mom a box of candy.
“I remembered how much you loved chocolate covered cherries from Maxie’s,” he said. Maxie’s was a store where it cost twenty-five dollars for a big caramel apple.
“Landry, open yours.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I tore into the first present, which was a big book about young adult authors. There was a smaller aqua box in the bag. I slid the white ribbon off. Inside was a silver link bracelet with a dangling heart. Mom said it looked expensive and helped me put it on.
Dad asked my mother about work, and I had to give him credit for managing to look interested. He must have been listening because he said, “mm-hmm” and “uh-huh” in all the right spots. Mom let me stay up until eleven o’clock, and then I listened through my bedroom door. They seemed to be getting along. I peeked around the corner and saw Mom had opened the chocolate covered cherries. My parents were still where I had left them. Mom on the chair and Dad was still on the couch, but at least they weren’t arguing.
Later, she poked her head in my room. “I just wanted to say goodnight.” She shut the door and then came back into the room. “If you want to repaint the room… it’s okay with me.”
“For real? It’s like a tangerine exploded in here. Can I get the paint roller thing they show on TV? They promise you can paint any room in an hour or your money back,” I said.
“No, I hate the actor in the commercial. I don’t have any free time for a while, but I suppose we could hire someone,” she said.
“Ashanti’s mom hired a guy after her dad did a crappy job on the living room. Mrs. Russell thinks he did a bad job on purpose so she’d never ask him to paint again,” I said. “I’ll call Ashanti tomorrow.” Mom left and I went to bed dreaming of a room which wouldn’t hurt my eyes.