TWO

Later that evening, I’m sitting at the kitchen table for dinner with my dad and my grandma, Betty Jean. Dad passes me the macaroni and cheese, and when I reach for it, he yanks his hand back and laughs, causing me to laugh and then Betty Jean to laugh, too. Dad is one of my favorite people on the planet. Tall, good-looking (for an old guy), and fun—as far as parentals go. Usually, he has it all together. He’s structured, prepared, and organized, but Mom’s death has been pretty hard on him. Sometimes he needs a little help. That’s where Betty Jean comes in.

“Betty Jean, why is my dad so silly?”

“He’s always been that way, Brookie,” she says, taking the ceramic bowl of mac and cheese from Dad and passing it to me. “Can you believe that he was born giggling? The doctor couldn’t believe it, but I knew right then that my son was going to be a jokester.”

“Thanks for not leaving me at the hospital, Mom,” Dad says, winking at her. I wink at her, too, because without Dad, I don’t know what I’d do. I feel the same way about Betty Jean now that she’s here with us.

Betty Jean moved in with us to help with the transition right after my mom’s funeral. Once she got here, we never wanted her to leave. She said she doesn’t have anywhere else she’d rather be. There’s only one major rule: We can’t call her Grandma. If we do, she’ll pretend she doesn’t know us. It’s usually pretty funny, especially when we’re standing right in front of her, trying to get her attention. She insists that she’s too young to be called anybody’s grandma, which is fine because Betty Jean fits her perfectly. She’s fashionable and smart, and always fun to be around. I’m lucky, too, because she still does the grandma stuff, like baking cookies and making pies. She even sorted out the dirt in the back of our bungalow to start the tiniest garden.

“I have something pretty cool for you, kiddo,” Dad says, spooning way too many lima beans onto my plate. He nods at a big white leather binder in front of me on the table.

“What’s in it?” I ask, picking it up and flipping through all the pages to find tons of names and phone numbers staring back at me in the most gorgeous cursive. “I’d recognize this handwriting anywhere,” I swoon. “That’s Mom’s writing.” I turn to Dad.

“It was her binder. She called it her cookie collection. It has all of our family’s and friends’ information in there, including what cookies they order each year, how many boxes of each, as well as little notes about how everyone is doing.”

I take my time and study the first few pages. “It’s filled with history.”

“That’s a treasured binder, Brookie,” Betty Jean says softly, her voice hovering in the air above the salad bowl.

“Now you should be all set for the start of your big phone-a-thon tonight,” Dad says, smiling. “Talking to everyone was one of your mom’s favorite things to do at the start of cookie season. Our family looks forward to catching up on those special calls.”

“Sounds like it’s about more than just buying cookies, Brookie,” Betty Jean acknowledges, placing her palms over her heart.

“Let’s see,” Dad says, “we haven’t had a good catch-up session with your aunt Leona and uncle Ted in Virginia since last year.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I talked to them,” I admit. “I’m not sure I’d know what to say.”

“They’re family. It’ll be a wonderful conversation. And you can find out how your big cousins are all doing.”

I swallow my greens and geek, “My cousins are on that list, too?”

Dad flips through the pages, pointing at different entries. “And your godparents, your mom’s old boss, and your kindergarten teacher.”

“No way.” My brows dance around my forehead. “Mom kept in touch with all those people?”

“They’ll be over the moon to hear from you directly.” Dad moves his steak around his plate but doesn’t bother cutting it. “She loved every second of this. She really had a way with people, your mom.”

“She was like an angel who could get inside your heart and make it wiggle to the beat of love,” Betty Jean says, reaching for Dad’s hand. “And you’re just like her, Brookie.”

I check out my reflection in the back of my spoon. “I don’t see it, Betty Jean, but I’m glad you do.” I put the spoon down and shrug.

Dad takes a heavy breath. “I miss her so much, especially around this time of year, when reconnecting with family was her biggest joy.”

I poke my fork into the lima beans. “It’s just not the same without her. That’s why I made a big decision today at the pep rally.”

Dad and Betty Jean lean closer to me, their curiosity piqued.

“I decided that I’m going to dedicate this entire cookie season to Mom.”

“That’s a beautiful gesture, kiddo,” Dad says. “I’m sure she would be so proud.”

I gulp down some sweet tea and wipe my mouth with my paper napkin, explaining my thought process. “See, every year, Mom was always so excited about the World Scouts Alliance’s grand prize. She always said it was especially necessary to make the world a better place.”

Dad tugs on his peppered goatee and thinks for a few seconds. “If I remember correctly, last year’s big prize was an opportunity to work with… with…”

“With Feed the World, Dad,” I say, rescuing him from his memory lapse. “The big winners got to go help organize food drives for kids in underserved countries.

“Mom was all about making a difference,” I say, thinking about the disappointment in her eyes when I didn’t win the district title. Sure, she tried to hide it, but I know Mom, and whenever she used to tap her right foot against the floor like she was targeting ants, we all knew she wasn’t a happy camper. “She would have loved the prize this year.”

“So, Mom’s your motivation?” Dad asks, getting choked up.

“Yeah, Dad. She’s all the inspo I need.” I push my plate back, suddenly ready to hop on the phone and make some calls. “See, now I just have to win.”

I grab Mom’s binder and push myself from the table.

“May I be excused?”

Dad wipes his eyes with his napkin and nods. “Don’t mind me. I’m just dealing with some serious allergies. The pollen count must be through the roof this year.”

“Sure, Dad. If pollen count is better known as tears.”

“I’m sorry.” Dad fusses with the corners of his eyes, tossing the napkin and drying them with his shirtsleeve instead. “I just miss her, and when I look at you and the young lady you’re becoming, I see her everywhere: in your warm smile, in that determined glint in your eyes, in your strength and perseverance. It’s almost like she left the most precious piece of herself behind.”

Betty Jean sniffles, and it nearly causes a ripple effect at the table. Before I unload a ton of tears, too, I turn away from memory lane and pad down the hallway with one thing on my mind.

I head into my messy bedroom and try to find a place to set up shop and start making calls—but there’s stuff everywhere. Admittedly, I’m not the neatest twelve-year-old in the world, but lately, even I know my problem is seriously out of control. It’s just that I’ve been so focused on cookie season prep that cleaning my bedroom—or anything else—has taken a back seat. Normally, my room is comfortably messy, but still cool. After the summer, Dad painted it crimson red and wallpapered an accent wall in a pattern of black-and-white high-rise buildings. It makes me think of New York, which is where I want to go to college. Mom always said if you fail to plan, then you plan to fail. And I’m not about that failure life. Juilliard is my plan. And then business school at Berkeley. But first, the cookie crown.

I plop down at my desk and shove the scattered papers out of my way to make room. I turn the pages of the binder and settle on calling Aunt Leona and Uncle Ted to jump-start the phone-a-thon.

I take a few deep breaths before dialing the number. It rings and rings and rings and… finally a voice peps on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Uh… um, hi, Aunt Leona?” I stumble over my words at first because I’m not so sure she’s going to remember me. I haven’t actually talked to her in—wait, I can’t even remember the last time I heard her voice. Uh boy.

“Yes. Is this… is this my little Brooklyn?”

Whew!

“Yes, it’s me, Auntie,” I say, sitting up straight in my desk chair.

“Well, what a wonderful surprise.” Then she yells into the distance, “Teddy, it’s little Brooklyn on the line.”

“Hi, Uncle Ted,” I pipe, waving my hand around in the air even though he clearly can’t see me.

“How are you, little one? Well, I guess you’re not so little anymore. What are you now? Seventeen?”

I laugh, remembering Aunt Leona was always just as funny as Dad. “No, I’m only twelve, Auntie.”

“You mean that’s not the same as seventeen? Well, in that case, you must be selling cookies for your big seventh-grade cookie competition.”

“Hey, you remembered,” I say, drawing a big heart around her name in the binder.

“Of course, sweetheart. Now, your mom usually makes this call, but I’m so happy to see that you’re stepping into her shoes and handling your business.”

“I’m trying, Auntie. You’re actually my first call of the season.”

“In that case, why don’t we have a quick catch-up sesh and you tell me how you’ve been.”

I cradle the phone closer to my earlobe and sigh. “I’m doing okay, Auntie. I’m excited for cookie season, but nervous since Mom isn’t here.”

“You’ll be a big hit; it’s in your genes, sweetheart. Now, I know you’ve got tons of calls to make, so you can go ahead and put us down for our usual.”

I scan the page to Aunt Leona’s last order. “It says here that you guys bought fifty boxes of cookies last year.”

“And the year before that, too. We have a system. Your uncle and I store half of them in the big freezer in the garage and then we give the other half away to the after-school program down the street, where your cousins went to school.”

I jot down a few notes in the binder, updating the cookie info. “I never knew that.”

“It’s become our little tradition.”

“Thank you, Auntie, for such a big order. I really appreciate it. I’m shooting for the district title and the grand prize.”

“Oh, you’re shooting for that championship ring. That’s amazing, sweetheart. In that case, let’s double the order from last year. I’m sure we can find a few shelters in our town that would really appreciate those snacks.”

“No way! Are you serious, Auntie?”

“I just love the World Scouts, always doing good and making this planet of ours better. Now, you tell my big brother that he owes me a phone call and maybe even a visit sooner than later.”

“I sure will, Auntie. And thank you for your order. It’s my first big one of the season.”

“Uncle Ted and I wish you nothing but success, and we’re sending you our love all the way from Virginia.”

“I love you, too. And Uncle Ted, of course!”

I end the call and submit the order into the Virtual Cookie app. Then I just stare at the screen. A hundred boxes sold—just like that.

Whoa!

I flip through the pages in the binder and gawk at all the big orders from last year. Mom had it all figured out. I cross my legs under my desk and slide my finger over the next name on the list: Mr. Berger, my kindergarten teacher. I read through Mom’s notes and see that he ordered forty boxes of cookies last year.

Double whoa!

With Mom’s magical binder and this strategic plan in place, there’s absolutely no way I can fail.