“So are you getting married to my dad or not?” I asked as I opened the car door to get out. As if I cared anymore.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” Cleo said firmly.
I was so glad. Soon, real soon, I’d be able to ask for heavy cream, if I ever forgot to bring it again.
Chapter 19
“I can’t believe it,” Amber was saying. She put her hands up to her head and rocked it back and forth as if she’d just learned that someone had dumped nuclear waste into the town’s water supply.
“It’s not that big a deal,” I said.
Lynette, Amber, and I were in kitchen unit number seven, the one in the far corner by the window, where the rain outside hit steadily against the panes. Each kitchen unit had a stove, a sink, and a wood-block table. There was only one refrigerator for everyone, and that was in the main kitchen area. Mrs. Drummond, the home ec. teacher, was in kitchen unit number three helping Peter, Kevin, and Booby with their baked Alaska. (That’s his name—Booby, as in booby prize. His real name is Abe.) From the sound of things, the baked Alaska wasn’t going well.
“By the time she gets to us, she’ll be in a really bad mood,” Amber wailed. “How could you forget one little container of cream?”
I turned to look at Amber with my don’t-start-with-me look, but Lynette was suddenly in the way.
“It will be all right,” Lynette recited, “Three tablespoons of butter and seven-eighths of a cup of milk.”
Amber paid no attention. As far as she was concerned, Lynette could be singing a nursery rhyme. Peter and Booby were flicking egg whites all over each other while Kevin was getting ready to put their baked Alaska in the oven. Mrs. Drummond left them and headed over to unit number five. There, everything seemed to be under control. Mrs. Drummond was smiling again.
“Three tablespoons of butter and seven-eighths of a cup of milk,” Lynette said again.
We had already started to cook the Minute Rice and milk and added the raisins before I had the heart to tell my group about the missing cream.
“I brought the rice,” Amber ranted. “
And
I brought the eggs!”
Amber was stirring the mixture of vanilla, sugar, and eggs sans heavy cream. “This is for our final grade.”
“Your grade for sixth-grade rice pudding should not really be the most crucial moment in your life,” I said. Still, I felt terrible, and I had already checked everyone else’s supplies. No one had heavy cream.
We could hear Mrs. Drummond praising unit five on their strawberry shortcake.
“Three tablespoons of butter and seven-eighths of a cup of milk,” Lynette said.
“Will you stop saying that!” Amber turned to Lynette.
“What?” I said, trying to remember what I had just heard but hadn’t listened to. “What did she say?”
“Something about butter,” Amber said curtly.
“Three tablespoons of butter and seven-eighths of a cup of milk is the same as one cup of heavy cream,” Lynette repeated.
Amber raised the heat on the rice and milk. It bubbled slowly in loud plops. “Maybe it will just get thicker if I boil it. Get ready to add the egg stuff. Lynette, get those little saucers ready.”
“Let’s try what Lynette says,” I said suddenly.
The bottom of the milk and rice was starting to stick to the pan. A burning smell rose from the stove.
“Oh, no,” Amber said and threw the pan off the burner. It sizzled. “What does Lynette know!? She was hit by a truck.”
I was stricken, but Lynette didn’t seem bothered by the comment at all.
“Three tablespoons of butter and seven-eighths of a cup of milk,” she said.
“Well, I’m going to try it,” I told Amber.
We already had the milk. I had to sneak over to borrow butter from Peter’s group while Mrs. Drummond was tasting group six’s ladyfingers.
When I asked, Peter threw a stick of soft butter at me, and somehow I caught it before the butter hit the floor and smushed.
“Good catch,” Peter said.
“Thanks,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried back to my unit.
Amber was so nearly comatose with worry that Lynette and I had to save the rice pudding by ourselves. We slipped the pan in the oven just as Mrs. Drummond came over and peaked into the viewing window. The rice pudding sat like miniature boats in a shallow pond. When she asked us how everything went we told the truth.
“Oh, that is clever. A good cook always knows her substitutes.” She even clapped. “Amber, that must have been your idea. Am I right?”
No one said anything. Lynette didn’t, so Amber sure didn’t. But Amber was biting her lip and looking worried. I kind of liked Amber then, like maybe she had a conscience but not enough of one to credit Lynette for her idea.
Mrs. Drummond announced our rice pudding earned us all an A+, and she walked away.
Amber finally spoke. “Thanks, Lynette.” She twisted a pot holder in her hands and looked down at the floor.
Just as Lynette was going to say something, the bell rang to end the period. We finished up the dishes and got ready to leave. The rice pudding was safely in the refrigerator. I placed the last mixing bowl on the drying rack. Amber thanked Lynette again and left quickly. She still looked pretty shook up.
“Amber didn’t mean what she said,” I told Lynette, but I didn’t want to look right at her. “About you not knowing anything.” I worked diligently on wiping the counter, but I could feel Lynette’s attention focus behind me.
“I wasn’t hit by a truck, you know,” Lynette said.
“What?” I kept rubbing around in one spot.
“I was in an incubator right after I was born, and the doctor forgot to turn on the air for a couple of seconds,” Lynette said. “I know the story about the truck, but that’s all it is—a story.” She was talking fast now.
I looked around to see if anyone was listening to this. Only Mrs. Drummond was still in the room, at her desk, bent over in concentration. The second bell was about to ring.
“That’s the truth.” Lynette seemed desperate.
“Oh, well that’s okay,” I said, quickly grabbing my knapsack. “We better get going.”
“I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d want to know the truth,” Lynette said. Her face held a puzzled look.
“I’m sorry but…the bell’s gonna ring.” I started to leave. I didn’t think I wanted to hear any more.
Chapter 20
It was the start of Thanksgiving vacation. Taylor was going to spend it at her dad’s. I couldn’t help being a little glad to hear the sadness in her voice when Taylor told me. I was going to miss her, too, and it’s so much better to miss someone who’s also missing you. We weren’t going to be able to talk on the phone for almost a week.
I had no idea what my family was doing for Thanksgiving. When Taylor asked me, I told her we always had Thanksgiving at home. But when I thought about it, with Cleo in the picture, I really wasn’t sure.
No one was home when I got off the bus. There was a note from my dad that he had to go to the college for a department meeting. I didn’t know where Ian was. I found myself more than half-wanting and half-expecting Cleo to be home.
As far as I was concerned, Cleo was totally moved in. She had moved the colander in the kitchen from the dish cabinet to the pot cabinet, and the can opener from the place-mat drawer to the wooden-spoon drawer. She never spent more than one night back at her place anymore.
My dad’s bathroom was more filled with her things than his own. This, I loved. When Cleo wasn’t around I liked to poke around and touch her stuff. She had a pink razor and tampons, lip gloss and nail-polish remover, a wooden hairbrush and ladies’ deodorant. And a bottle of something called Woolite under the sink. I was considering looking through Cleo’s stuff again, since she wasn’t home, maybe trying out her razor on my legs, in a spot no one would see.
But first, I’d get myself something to eat in the kitchen. I sat at the table with a box of Goldfish crackers and some juice. I stared out the window for a while and listened for the sound of a car over the gravel driveway; Cleo’s car or my dad’s car.
That’s when I felt it.
I felt like I was peeing in my pants. In fact, that’s what I first thought—I thought I was peeing in my pants, so I just got up and went to the bathroom. I leaned way over as I sat down, so I saw two little drops of red fall into the toilet.
This was it.
Oh, my God.
This was it.
It.
I wanted to scream for someone.
But no one was home. For the first half an hour I ran around the house, excited and nervous. I calmed down long enough to get out my journal—Book Two—and write everything down. But I wanted so badly to tell someone. It wouldn’t be real till I told someone.
I even tried calling Taylor, but I got her machine. I knew I would, since she said she was leaving right after school. It wasn’t the kind of message you leave on an answering machine. So I just hung up.
The second half hour, I settled down and tried to read a book I had to read for English, but I couldn’t concentrate.
By the time they got home, the excitement had worn off and I was too embarrassed to say anything.
“What?” Cleo asked me. “What is it?” She followed me into my room when I asked her to. I hoped she would have figured it out already, so I wouldn’t have to say it. But I had to say something, because I was using a folded-up paper towel and walking with my legs squeezed together to keep it from falling out.
“What?” she said again. I closed the door behind us.
“This is where I keep my journals.” I pointed to the secret space under my night table. “My diaries, sort of.”
I lifted the piece of material draped over the table and revealed three books, one on top of the other. “I write stuff in them. Dreams and important stuff that happens. Right when it happens, I write it down.”
Maybe I could just show Cleo what I had written. Maybe she’d just flip through one and see:
This is it. It. I’m screaming out loud. Today I got my period for the very first time.
“Oh, I keep a journal too,” Cleo said. She bent down and took a peek under my night table, but she didn’t take one out and read what was inside. “But that’s not what you wanted to tell me, is it?”
I walked over to my bed and sat.
I’ll say it fast.
“IthinkIgotmyperiod.”
“Oh, Gabby, I had this funny feeling that was it. That’s great.” Cleo sat down beside me and leaned over. She hugged me. “Do you know what to do?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I have something in my pocketbook I can give you for now, and then we can go out later and buy you your own,” she said.
I didn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. I was getting excited again, because Cleo was excited.
“Any cramps?” she asked me.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you’d know,” Cleo said and laughed.
Now I’d know something Cleo knew. We were both women.
Cleo squeezed me on the leg and began to stand up. “I’ll be back with that pad. It’s a light-day pad, but I’m sure it will be fine for right now.”
“Cleo?” I don’t know what I was thinking. Looking back, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all. That was the problem. I had this tremendous “wanting.” It felt like if I didn’t ask then, right then, there would be no other time. It would be too late.
“What, Gabby?” Cleo waited by the door. Her hand was on the knob, but she didn’t open it. I was glad for the distance between the bed (me) and the door (her).
“When you and my dad get married…,” I began, “Am I supposed to…? Will you…? Should I…? Can I call you Mom?”
There are single moments in my life that take longer than any others. Seconds that linger and suck all the air out of me, like I’m inside a bell jar. This was one of them. Cleo’s hesitation was one horrible second too long. Her face was frozen, her hand was still on the doorknob. Not completely in, but nearly heading out.
“Is that what you want?” Cleo asked me, still stopped by the door.
But what I wanted was so much more than that. And it seemed on this very day, as I became a “woman,” my oldest wish was going to be lost to me forever. For me it was too late. Too late to have a mom.
“No, I wouldn’t
want
that. I was just asking what you thought,” I said.
When I looked out the kitchen window later that afternoon, I noticed the river had risen. Trees that had stood low on the banks now looked as though they were floating. Their branches made trails in the flowing water.
Chapter 21
“It’s tonight? Not tonight,” I complained.
“I told you.” My dad looked at me. “Didn’t I?”
No, he definitely hadn’t told me the Faculty Show was that night. Or maybe I knew but I forgot. Either way, I had just started my Thanksgiving vacation, I had just gotten my very first menstrual period, so I should have been resting, and besides, it was cold and rainy out.
“Well, if you don’t want to go…” My dad was putting on a tie. “I suppose you’re old enough to stay home alone.”
“In fact, you’re a woman now.” My dad smiled at me. So Cleo had told him. And she had left to get changed at her house, right away. I didn’t even hear her leaving. But I did find the necessary item left discreetly on my bed.