June 27
Dear Diary,
Matt and I played Boggle today. Here’s how he thought “kissed” was spelled: KIST. I made fun of him, so he kept crossing his eyes because he knows I can’t stand that.
Since Dad is at work, Mom and I and even Matt have been getting ready for the party. We’ve cooked, baked, bought wine (a.k.a. Love Potion!), ordered a king-size cake, and hidden things in the neighbor’s freezer. Matt and I even worked on a toast.
He asked me, “Does everyone have a midlife crisis?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How long do they last?”
“How should I know?”
Mom asked me to help her finish the Hopper puzzle since it’s almost almost almost done.
She and I were finding puzzle pieces and talking about all the friends and relatives who are coming to surprise Dad. Poor Dad still seems so bummed about turning forty this weekend that it’s tempting to tell him about the secret celebration. But I never would!
Mom said, “I see you took off your necklace.”
“I did. I might put it back on for Dad’s party. I’m just not going to wear it all the time.”
“That makes sense.”
“I was thinking of buying myself a necklace with my allowance money. A little apple from the Big Apple.”
“Nice idea.” Mom nodded. “And Lambie, I hope you know that you and Miguel gave each other bigger gifts than that necklace.”
“What do you mean?”
“You gave each other an inside view of another country. If I could give my students field trips like that, I could enrich their lives!”
“Cecily loves your field trips.”
Mom smiled, then added, “And also, Mel, a first kiss is not nothing.” I thought two things. 1. Moms remember everything, and 2. That was a double negative, so she meant, “A first kiss is something.”
It is. I’m glad mine was with Miguel.
The puzzle was almost done, and I was trying to connect two pieces that looked like they belonged together, but I couldn’t force them. Then I picked up a piece in front of me and it clicked right in.
“Love is hard for grown-ups too,” Mom said. “Oh, but guess what? Miguel’s dad, Antonio, phoned this morning while you were asleep. He called to thank us and to say that Miguel really liked New York. And also to say that he and his wife have moved back in together.”
“That’s great!”
“It is. It’s lucky when people can work things out.”
Looking down at the puzzle, I mumbled, “You know, at first I liked Miguel so much that I wanted everything to work out and nothing to change.”
“I know,” Mom said. “But everything does change. Your own dad is struggling with this. He’d like to stay in his thirties, but he can’t. Saturday’s his big birthday, ready or not.”
“We’ll be ready. We’ll make it fun for him.”
“We will. And he’ll like his forties and fifties.” Mom leaned forward. “And someday, Mel, you’ll like your second real kiss—which will be your first kiss with someone else.”
I said, “Mom!!!” but did not add, “How do you know there hasn’t already been a second kiss?”
“You don’t think I was ever eleven or twelve or a teenager?”
“Were you?”
“Careful, Cutie, or I won’t let you put in the last piece.” She handed over the prized last piece. It was an elbow—a funny bone. It belonged to the woman in the diner with two men and one waiter. None of them is talking. The painting is called Nighthawks.
“Nighthawks are birds, right?” I said. “But look—these people are trapped. There’s not even a door for going in or going out.”
“Huh. I’d never looked at it that way.”
“Maybe I’ll be an art teacher someday.”
“You could be anything you want,” Mom said.