Monkey Business (9 page)

When I was born, my mom was on her own. By the time she realized she was pregnant with me, she'd already broken up with my biological dad, and he didn't want to have anything to do with me. He still doesn't, not that I care. He lives in Norway, which is in Scandinavia, which is really, really, really far from here.

“Yes,” said my mom. “It's nice knowing I'm not going to have to go through everything alone. Although I wouldn't change a thing about raising you.” She put her arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the top of my head. “And I'm thrilled to know I can do it on my own if I have to. Nothing will ever be that intimidating.”

I stared at my mom. She looked massive in her giant sundress with red and blue sideways stripes. Her feet were swollen and she had on purple flip-flops. They were the only shoes she could wear now—I'd heard her complain to Ted that her feet were too big for all her regular shoes. She didn't even walk anymore.
She waddled, which looked weird and funny, but I didn't want to say so because I figured that would be insulting.

Anyway, as we walked she continued adding stuff to the shopping cart. Baby towels with yellow ducks all over them, little jumper things with bunnies and rainbows, a white plastic bathtub with blue padding, and two gigantic boxes of newborn-size diapers.

“Wow, those should last for a year!” I said.

My mom laughed. “More like a month if we're lucky!”

We wandered through the crib section and found dozens on display—all in different shapes and sizes and colors and designs. And there were pictures of a hundred more in a gigantic binder with big laminated pictures.

Except the one crib that my mom wanted wasn't in stock.

She asked the salesperson—a tall guy with curly, salt-and-pepper hair—about the crib.

He plugged some numbers into his computer and said, “That one's on back order and won't be ready to ship for another three weeks, ma'am.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked my mom, holding on to her belly with both hands as if she were holding the baby in place. “Because we can't wait much longer.”

“Positive,” he replied with a curt nod.

“Okay, then,” said my mom. She gave the sales
guy our address and he handed her a piece of paper with a picture of the crib on it.

“They'll ring it up at the register with the rest of your stuff,” he explained. “Just give them your address and the crib will be delivered straight to you.”

“Thank you,” she said as we turned the corner and headed to yet another section of the store.

“Don't worry, Annabelle. We're almost done here,” she said as if reading my mind. “Want to help me pick out sheets?”

“Sure,” I said, pointing to the first set I saw and liked. “How about those with the blue and yellow elephants?”

“Lovely,” said my mom. “And they're organic, too.” She took three sets and dropped them into her cart. Then she pushed the cart toward the cash register. Since she seemed to be struggling, I asked if she wanted me to take over.

“That would be amazing,” she said.

I got behind the cart and tried to push it, but it didn't move. “Wow, this is heavy,” I said, throwing more weight behind my steps.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” my mom said. She shuffled along, tummy out, her hands resting on her back.

“Why, where am I going?” I asked. “Do you plan on sending me to boarding school once this kid comes out?”

My mom cracked up. “No, you're not going anywhere. This baby is going to need you.”

“Good,” I said as we joined the back of the line. I looked at the sheets again, hoping my baby brother or sister would like them. Being a big sister suddenly felt like a huge responsibility, and I hoped I was good at it.

“Did you know that Yumi is in charge of her baby sister, Suki, every night when her mom makes dinner?” I asked.

“I didn't,” my mom said, smiling.

“She even gets paid for it,” I said.

“Good for her,” my mom said.

There were only two carts in front of us, but both of them were stuffed full of baby junk too, so we ended up having to wait for a while.

When our checkout time finally came, it took forever for the cashier to ring up all the items, and once she finished, well, I could not believe the bill. I don't want to say how much it cost because I still can't believe it wasn't a mistake. Let me just say this: the bill came to more money than tickets to the Panda Parade cost, in total—a lot more. The crib alone cost more than the spending money for my five best friends. I expected my mom to balk or excuse herself to put some of the stuff back or at least pull a coupon out of her gigantic purse. That was what usually happened in this kind of situation. Except not today. As
soon as the cashier announced the total, my mom smiled and handed over her credit card.

“Are you sure there hasn't been a mistake?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” My mom frowned down at her list again. “I think we got everything we needed.”

“But everything, um …,” I started speaking before I realized I didn't know how to complete my thought. “Um, I thought the crib was on back order.”

“We pay for it now so they can order it, but it'll come right to the house,” said my mom. “Oh, but I'm glad you brought that up.”

She turned to the lady at the register and asked, “Is there anyone who can actually assemble the crib?”

The woman said, “For one hundred dollars more you can order white-glove service. That means the delivery person will assemble it for you.”

One hundred dollars was the cost of a ticket to the Panda Parade—an entire weekend-long event. And this store was going to charge the same amount of money simply to put together one lousy little crib? Outrageous! I figured my mom would laugh in the cashier's face, but instead she said, “We'll take it,” without even blinking.

I'd never seen anything like it.

The cashier handed my mom a form and asked her to fill out our address, and then she swiped my mom's credit card again.

My mom hardly looked at the receipt before she signed it. And a minute later I was pushing the overflowing shopping cart through the parking lot toward our car.

I started wondering—what if Rachel was right? What if I were rich now and I didn't even know it?

I didn't feel any different. But what does being rich mean, anyway? Is it living in a big house and having a swimming pool? If so, then I guess I was kind of rich. Or at least richer. Did that make me a snob? I didn't think I was better than anyone else. Honestly. I thought I was pretty lucky. There was nothing wrong with feeling lucky, was there?

Not that I felt unlucky before, when it was only me and my mom at home. Things were good then, too, when we lived in North Hollywood. Of course, back then, whenever we'd go to the mall or to Target, my mom clipped coupons. She didn't use one coupon at the Baby Supply Company this afternoon. Maybe my mom didn't care about saving money anymore. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I hadn't actually seen my mom use a coupon all year.

“Hey, your birthday is coming up, Annabelle. Any thoughts on what you want to do?” my mom asked totally out of the blue.

“I'm not sure,” I replied.

“Ted keeps talking about this amazing restaurant in Malibu. And we were thinking maybe we could
bring your best friends. It's right on the beach—I'm sure you girls would love it!”

This was unbelievable! “You're not going to suggest we take a limo there, are you?” I asked.

My mom gave me a funny look. “No, that hadn't occurred to me. Do you
want
to take a limo?”

“Of course not!” I said.

“Well, good,” she said, as she unlocked the car. “Because that's not really our style.”

I looked at the giant cart overflowing with stuff for my new baby brother or sister, wondering what our style was, exactly.

“Um, are we rich?” I asked.

My mom stared at me, confused and a little bit horrified. “Is this about your birthday?” she finally asked. “Because going out to dinner somewhere nice for a special occasion does not mean we're rich. Ted and I just thought since you were turning twelve, you'd want to do something different.”

“It's not just about my birthday,” I said. “It's a lot of stuff. Because if we are rich, I feel like I should know.”

My mom took a deep breath and blinked and stared off into space for a moment before turning back to me. “It's been overwhelming, what with the new big house and all this, um, shopping for the house and for the baby. I know our life is a lot different than it was when we were living on my single salary as a teacher, but everything is relative. We've always had food and clothes and a nice place to live. So I suppose the more
direct answer to your question is yes. We have a lot more money than we did before because now we're living on Ted's salary and my salary.”

“So we have twice as much money?” I asked.

My mom smiled. “Well, Ted makes more than I do, to be honest with you. So we have more than two of my salaries. But as I said before, everything is relative. Compared to our old apartment, our new house is very large. But compared to the way a lot of people live on this planet, we've always been rich. Do you know how many people don't get enough food to eat? Millions. And do you know how many homeless people there are in the state of California? More than a hundred thousand.”

She slammed the trunk and we both got into the car.

As I put my seat belt on I asked, “Did you buy all this stuff when you were pregnant with me?”

“No,” she said. “Definitely not. I was on my own with you and I was in graduate school and I was so young. There wasn't much extra money, and I'd never even had a real job before. Your grandmother took care of you so I could finish my degree and get a job at the high school.”

“Is it better this time around?” I wondered. “Having more money?”

My mom thought about this for a few moments before answering. “Not better. I'm not going to lie. It's certainly easier not having to worry so much about
the future and how I'm going to pay for things. But if I could go back in time and do things differently, I wouldn't. I have no regrets. You are the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. Having another baby is going to make that greatest thing bigger. Two greatest things. Does that answer your question?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Are things okay with you and your friends?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Why?”

“Just making sure. It must be hard for Rachel, not having you across the street anymore. She must feel abandoned.”

“I only moved a mile away!” I said. “And it's not like I had a choice in the matter.”

“I know, sweetie. She's got to understand that. And if she doesn't now, well, I'm sure she'll come around. But try not to be too hard on her.”

“What if she's being hard on me?” I asked.

“Is that where all your questions are coming from?” she asked.

“No comment,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and sinking back into my seat.

Saturday's trouble started at Yumi's, where we all decided to meet at nine a.m. sharp. The morning was gorgeous—the perfect day to have a lemonade stand. At least that was what I thought until we actually set up the lemonade stand.

Claire was fifteen minutes late, but worse than that, even though we'd voted down the muffins less than twenty-four hours before, she'd brought a big Tupperware container filled with them.

“What are those doing here?” asked Yumi.

“Funny story,” said Claire. “I was in the mood to bake last night, so I made them. Not for the sale—just to eat. But then my moms asked me to get them out of the house because they're both dieting and they don't want to be tempted, so I had no choice but to bring them with me. Anyway, we don't have to sell them. We can give them away.”

Emma shook her head and said, “A, that story isn't funny at all. And B, my whole point yesterday was that muffins are going to make the table too crowded,
so giving them away for free does not exactly solve anything.”

“Was that your whole point?” asked Claire, tilting her head and squinting at Emma. “I seem to recall you had a bunch of points!”

“Let's not go back there,” said Rachel. “Why don't we sell them since they're here already?”

“Did you guys plan this all along?” Emma asked. “Because if you did, well, that's just really sneaky.”

“Come on, everyone,” I said. “We shouldn't waste time fighting. We've got to get to the playground.”

Everyone seemed to agree with me, which was good. But then Claire and Emma reached for the handle of the wagon at the same time and neither wanted to let go.

“I'll get it,” Claire snapped.