It’s all set up. There’s a meeting today, and I can go even though it’s Saturday and I’m supposed to be in New York.
It wasn’t easy getting my mother to agree. At first she asked if I didn’t want to come in because of the thing about Katie and Andy. I told her no. Then she wanted to know if I still loved her. I told her yes. She reminded me that if I didn’t go this time, we wouldn’t see each other for a total of three weeks, since she has to work out of town next weekend. Finally she gave in when I promised that we’d have a really great Thanksgiving together.
It kind of bothered me when she said, as long as I wasn’t coming in, she’d go out to the Hamptons with Duane, to call her there if I needed her. The Hamptons—Duane’s got a beach house out there. It’s all so fashionable and rich, and I can’t stand it because the one time the three of us went, my mother and Duane slept in the same bedroom. After that I told her I didn’t ever want to go again.
Now we have an arrangement. When I stay overnight, Duane doesn’t. What they do when I’m not there I don’t want to know about.
Maybe I’m a prude, but I don’t like to think about my parents having sex with anyone but each other. Even that is more than I want to think about.
I pull on the lavender unicorn-shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, leg warmers. It sure is beginning to get cold here. I put a feather barrette in my hair.
All I need now is the ride to Rosie’s.
My father calls out, “Phoebe, ready yet? I want to get to the sales early.”
Garage sales. He’s been doing a lot of them lately. Since he gave up work, he worries a lot about money and is trying to be careful, so that his savings last until he gets accepted into an art gallery. We used to have lots of money. I think my mother still does. My father, though, worries more and more about it lately. So do I.
“Ready, honey?” He picks up the car keys. “You look great.”
I put on my sweat-shirt jacket.
“It’s getting cold.” He sighs. “You’ve grown a lot. We’ll have to buy you a new coat.”
“I’ll get one when I see Mom,” I say, and then, not wanting him to feel bad about the money, I add, “Or I can hold out till the January sales.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. We’re not that poor.”
“You pay for all the day-to-day stuff,” I say, kissing him. “She can pay for the coat. After all, if I were living with her, she’d be paying more. In lots of families people pay child support to the parent who’s got the kid most of the time. So don’t worry.”
As we get into the car he says, “If people had told me a few years ago that we’d be having this discussion, I’d have said they were nuts.”
We drive in silence for a while.
If only I can think of a way to get him out of this mood.
“Guess what, Dad,” I say. “When I went to Rosie’s after school yesterday, she made us grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“That’s nice.” He uses the voice that parents have when they really aren’t interested.
I continue anyway. “She said that she didn’t want to dirty the grill, so she took two slices of bread, some cheese, made a sandwich, and wrapped it in aluminum foil.”
“That’s nice,” he repeats.
I start to giggle. “Then she took out an iron and ironed it.”
He laughs and glances my way. “You’re kidding.”
“No, it’s true and it works.”
He says, “I guess that’s one way to handle a pressing problem.”
I groan and say, “We’ll just have to remember that technique when things get all wrinkled up.”
It makes me feel good when I can get him out of a bad mood.