BFF* (15 page)

“Mom … who do you think?” A squirrel ran in front of us. I watched him for a minute, then I looked over at Dad. “Is it true?”

“I suppose it is in some ways …” Dad said. “But it has nothing to do with you or Bruce.”

“Does it have to do with Mom?”

“Not with Mom exactly … but with the direction of our marriage.”

“And all this time I thought you
had
to go to California.” I practically spit out those words.

“We needed time apart … to think things through …”

“So how come you couldn't think in Connecticut or New York? How come you had to go across the country to think?”

“It seemed easier at the time.” He glanced at his watch. “I've got a plane to catch.”

“Planes are more important than families, right?”

He sucked in his breath but he didn't deny it. “I want you and Bruce to come out to L.A. over Christmas,” he said. “We'll have more time to talk then.” He leaned over to kiss me but I pulled
away from him. “You're making this very hard, Steph.”

“Good,” I told him.

Rachel called that night. “Our weekend was a disaster!” she said. “My brother was so obnoxious … he had Mom and Jessica in tears … Dad lost his temper … and finally, Charles stormed out of my aunt's house and went to stay with friends. I don't know why he has to be so impossible. I don't know why he can't get along with us. Anyway, I can't think of a worse Thanksgiving!” She paused to catch her breath. “So how was yours?”

“Great.”

“How was your father?”

“Great.”

“What'd you do?”

“We ate a lot.”

Rachel laughed. “Did you go to the city?”

“No.”

“I thought you would.”

“No time.”

“When will your father be back?”

“He's not sure.”

“For Christmas?”

“Probably.”

“Well … the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas always goes fast.”

“Yeah … right.”

“Oh, I almost forget,” Rachel said, “I made All-State Orchestra.”

“You did?”

“Yes. The letter was waiting for me when I got home. Stacey Green made it, too. We're going to be really busy with rehearsals. In April there's a concert. You'll come, won't you?”

“Sure.”

“Well … I'm glad you had a good weekend.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

An hour later Alison called. “Hi … I'm home.”

“How was your Thanksgiving?” I asked.

“Leon and Sadie had a fight.”

“How could anybody fight with Sadie?”

“She says Leon's the only one who ever does.”

“I thought he's so proud of her.”

“Yeah, but see … Sadie's friends are always dropping off manuscripts for Leon to read. They all know somebody who's trying to write. But Leon can't stand to look at other people's work. So he tells Sadie,
If I wanted to do that I'd be a teacher instead of a writer
. So then Sadie says,
What will I tell my friends?
So then Leon says,
Tell them your son is a selfish man who guards his free time
. So then Sadie says,
My friends will be very disappointed
.
So then Leon blows up and tells Sadie she has no understanding of his work. Then he slams out of the house, Sadie winds up in tears and Mom locks herself in the bedroom and won't come out. It was all very depressing.”

“Was this before Thanksgiving dinner or after?”

“After. Sadie didn't show him the manuscripts until Friday night.”

“That was smart. So did they finally make up or what?”

“Yes, but not until Saturday morning.” She paused. “So how was your weekend?”

“Great!”

“Well, I'm glad somebody had a great time.”

Later, as I came out of the bathroom on my way to bed, Bruce called to me from his room. “What?” I asked, standing in his doorway.

He was sitting up in bed with the atlas in his lap. “Dad says I should pretend he's on a business trip. He says it's just a trial separation.”

I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. The atlas was opened to a map of California. “Did he tell you what that means?”

“It means they live apart and think things over.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“No … except we're going to L.A. over Christmas. Would you rather go to Marineland, Disneyland or Universal Pictures?”

“I may not go at all,” I said.

“Then I'm not going either.” He closed the atlas, looking very sad.

“We don't have to decide yet,” I said, in my most cheerful voice. “And I think pretending he's on a business trip is a good idea. I think we should both do that … because before you know it, they'll probably be back together. I'll bet they're back together by my birthday.” I could see that made Bruce feel better so I kept going. “You know Miri Levine … this girl in my class? Well, her parents got divorced when we were in fourth grade and when we were in sixth … they got married again … to each other.”

“Really?” Bruce asked.

“Yes. So let's not say anything to our friends about this separation or we'll just have to explain all over again when they get back together.”

“You don't think they'll get divorced?” Bruce asked.

“No! Who's talking about divorce?”

“I think I'll go to sleep now,” Bruce said. “Tell Mom I'm ready for my kiss, okay?” He snuggled down under his quilt.

“Good night,” I said.

As I was leaving he called, “Steph …”

“Yeah?”

“It wasn't that much fun in New York without you.”

“I'm not surprised.” I danced out of his room singing, “Feed me, Seymour … feed me.”

I got into bed feeling a lot better. It's funny how when you try to help somebody else feel better you wind up feeling better yourself.

Peter Klaff

At school everything was the same, except that Jeremy Dragon was wearing a winter jacket. On Monday morning we had a fire drill before first period. On the way back to homeroom Peter Klaff told me he'd had two warts removed from his middle finger over the holiday weekend.

“Did your mother do it?” I asked.

“Yeah … with dry ice,” Peter said. “It burned.” He held his finger up to my face. “You see that … right there … that's where they were.”

Peter Klaff had never stood so close to me. I pretended to be really interested in the black marks on the back of his finger. I even touched them, just to show how interested I was. Peter is growing. He comes up past my eyes now. “It
must be weird having your mother for your doctor.”

As soon as I said that I got a mental picture of the Klaff family sitting around their dinner table. I could hear Dr. Klaff saying,
Stephanie Hirsch was in for her yearly check-up today. Her breasts are beginning to develop
.

It's about time
, Peter would say, between mouthfuls.

She's probably going to get her period soon
, Dr. Klaff would say, helping herself to more linguini.

I'm glad you mentioned that, Mom
, Peter would say.
From now on I'll keep a look-out for anything red on the back of her pants
.

That's very thoughtful of you, Peter
, Dr. Klaff would say.
So many boys your age act foolish about menstruation. Here, have some more bread
.

I must have had a strange expression on my face because Peter said, “What?”

“Nothing …” I said. “I was just wondering if your mother talks about her patients at home … like when you're sitting around the dinner table?”

“Nah … she talks about the Mets. She's a baseball fanatic.”

“What about when baseball season's over … like now?”

“Movies,” Peter said. “She's a movie fanatic, too.”

“Oh …” I felt relieved. “I thought maybe she talks about diseases and stuff like that.”

“Hardly ever,” Peter said.

This was definitely the longest conversation we'd ever had. And I didn't want it to end yet. So I said, “Do you use apple shampoo?”

“Yeah … how did you know?”

“I can smell it,” I said. “It smells nice.”

He came even closer to me, stood on tiptoe, and sniffed my hair. “Yours smells nice, too. Like uh …”

“Almonds,” I told him.

“Yeah … like almonds.”

The next morning, when I got to homeroom, I found a small plastic bottle on my desk. On the side there was a picture of an apple. I opened it and sniffed what was inside. Apple shampoo! I looked over at Peter Klaff. We smiled at each other and I put the bottle in my bag. This was the first gift I'd ever had from a boy. I was glad Alison was busy talking to Miri Levine and that neither one of them had noticed the private look Peter and I shared.

The following morning Mrs. Remo was late getting to homeroom. While we were waiting to see if we'd have a substitute, Eric Macaulay told us a gross joke. Alison threw her shoe at him and said, “That is the sleaziest joke I've ever heard!”

Just as her shoe hit Eric's head Mrs. Remo came into the room.

“Really!” Mrs. Remo said. “This is not the kind of behavior I expect from my homeroom when I'm late. Alison and Stephanie … you can both report to me after school this afternoon.”

I was shocked. First of all, I hadn't been doing anything wrong. Second of all, I'd never seen Mrs. Remo in such a bad mood.

We told Rachel about it at lunch. She couldn't believe it either. “Just because you threw your shoe at him?” she asked Alison.

“Yes,” Alison said.

Then I said, “And when Alison tried to explain that I didn't have anything to do with it, Mrs. Remo said,
Maybe next time you'll think before you act
. Now what does that have to do with anything?” I asked Rachel. “I mean, does that make any sense to you?”

“No,” Rachel said.

“She's been acting that way since we came back from Thanksgiving,” Alison said.

“Maybe she didn't have a good holiday,” Rachel suggested.

“Probably plenty of people didn't have a good holiday,” Alison said.

I didn't say anything. I just unwrapped my lunch and started to eat.