Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mom (10 page)

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

I looked down at my mittens. “Yes,” I said. “I miss him.”

“What do you miss about him?”

I thought about that for a moment. “He used to watch Saturday morning cartoons with me and Rosie. He’d bring us big bowls of cereal to eat in front of the TV, and he’d sing along with all the theme songs from
Arthur, The Magic School Bus, Caillou….
”

“I loved
Caillou.
”

“And he taught me how to ride my bike. He’d take me for long bike rides sometimes, just the two of us. He gave great back rubs and was really good at fixing things. And he made up these stories, just for me, at bedtime….”

My voice caught in my throat. I’d tried not to think about those stories for a long time. They were adventure tales, and Dad had made them up out of thin air. They’d always star me and my imaginary friend, Pete. The stories always started the same: Pete and I would go out to play in the backyard, and very quickly we’d get into
some kind of mischief. Like we’d explore a hollow tree and fall down a hole that would take us to a magical kingdom. Or we’d jump in a puddle that suddenly turned into an ocean, and we’d find ourselves aboard a pirate ship. They were thrilling, always just a little bit scary, but of course everything always turned out okay, and each story would end with Pete and me walking through the back door just in time for milk and cookies.

By the time Dad left, he hardly ever told a Pete and Violet story – I was almost ten, after all. But every once in a while, when I’d had a particularly crappy day, he’d perch on the edge of my bed and just start talking. Sometimes I would groan and tell him I was too old for storytelling, but he’d just smile and continue, and I’d shut up and listen to his voice and feel safe.

I got over myself and turned to Jean-Paul. “What about you? What do you miss about your dad?”

“My dad’s a great cook. I miss his
tourtière
and his roasts. I miss playing hockey with him on the ice rink near our house. I even miss hearing him sing Céline Dion songs at the top of his lungs in the shower.”

“Ugh,”
I said, laughing. “Why did they get divorced?”

“They fought all the time. I don’t think they liked each other very much.”

“My parents never fought. They were like best friends. They were always hugging and kissing in front of us … then,
boom,
Dad tells us he’s in love with
another woman. It makes you start thinking. Was
everything
a lie? Like, did he actually hate
Caillou
?”

“Nobody could hate
Caillou.
”

And suddenly Jean-Paul grabbed my hand and squeezed it, just for a fraction of a second, before he let go. It happened so fast, I wasn’t completely sure it
had
happened.

“Hey. I’m back.” It was Phoebe. She crouched down beside us.

“Anything interesting?”

“Zip. Sorry, Violet.”

I turned to Jean-Paul. “You don’t have to go in.”

Jean-Paul shrugged. “I want to.” He jumped up and made his way to the corner. When the light changed, he walked across the street and disappeared into Skip to My Loo.

“So? How did things go?” Phoebe asked as she pulled a cheese sandwich out of my backpack.

“Fine,” I said, trying to sound cool.

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Then why are you as red as a beet?”

I sighed. I couldn’t hide anything from Phoebe. “I think he momentarily held my hand,” I told her.

“Oh. My.
God!!
” Then she shrieked so loud, I had to cover my ears. “I knew it! I knew he liked you, and I
know
you like him.”

I couldn’t deny it. Phoebe was right. I
did
like him. From a strictly objective perspective, of course.

When Jean-Paul came back, he was carrying a bar of lavender soap in a small bag.

“Did you learn anything?”

“Aside from the fact that Dudley thinks this soap will have my mom in a
lather
? Nothing. Sorry.”

Our mission completed, the three of us walked slowly up Main Street together. We reached Jean-Paul’s street first.

“That was fun,” he said. “If you do any more stakeouts, let me know.”

He’d just started walking away when I saw them, standing on the other side of the street.

Ashley and Lauren. Thing One and Thing Two. They were staring at us in disbelief.

It was a perfect ending to a perfect day.

T
hat night, after I’d made fish sticks and frozen peas and toast for Rosie and me because Mom was out with Dudley, and after I’d forced Rosie to eat all her peas because she needed her vegetables, and after I’d washed the dishes and read to Rosie until she’d fallen into a deep sleep, I decided to check my Facebook account before
Glamour Girl
started at nine.

I logged in with my password,
badattitude1.

I could hardly believe it. I had
3 friend requests.

The first was Karen’s old request. I sighed heavily. Then I pressed CONFIRM.

The second request was from Claudia. I pressed CONFIRM.

The third request was from Ashley Anderson.

Yes,
that
Ashley Anderson.

I stared at her profile photo, feeling confused, suspicious, and oddly flattered all at once.
Why would Thing One want to friend me?

I moved the arrow to IGNORE.

Then I thought,
Maybe, when she saw Phoebe and me with Jean-Paul, she realized we aren’t total bottom-feeders after all. Maybe this is her way of saying so.

I moved the arrow to CONFIRM.

Then I thought,
This is the girl who nicknamed you Pancake! The girl who loves to embarrass you in front of the entire class!

I moved the arrow to IGNORE again.

Then I thought,
But I’ve already confirmed Claudia as a friend. If I ignore Ashley, she’ll find out and might make my life even more miserable.

I let out a groan.
Who knew Facebook could be so complicated?

Suddenly Rosie cried from upstairs, “Violet? I forgot to put on my pull-ups and I peed!”

“Coming!”

I stood up, looking one last time at Ashley’s friend request.

Just before I dashed upstairs to change Rosie’s sheets, I pressed CONFIRM.

“D
id Ashley friend you last night on Facebook?” I asked Phoebe, after we’d dropped off Rosie at kindergarten.

“No. As if.”

“She friended me.”

Phoebe raised her eyebrows. “Tell me you hit IGNORE.”

“Of course.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “You know I can check when I get home. As your Facebook friend, I have access to your friend list.”

I sighed. “Fine. I hit CONFIRM.”

Phoebe stopped walking. “You friended her? After the way she’s treated us?”

I shrugged. “I sort of took it as a good sign, you know?”

“Violet. This is the girl who nicknamed you
Pancake.
Who called me
Piggy
–”

“Hey, guys, check it out.”

Claudia was beckoning to us from the landing halfway up the stairs, where she was putting up posters. Relieved to have a subject change, I hurried to join her.

SADIE HAWKINS DANCE, the poster read in capital letters. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13, 7:00 P.M.

“What’s a Sadie Hawkins Dance?” I asked.

“It’s where the girls have to ask the boys,” she told us, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. Paula Michalowski came up with it.” Claudia was on the Social Committee, so she was very in-the-know.

“Who was Sadie Hawkins?” asked Phoebe.

Claudia shrugged. “Some girl who couldn’t get a date the normal way, I guess. Anyway, you guys should come. I’m going to invite Jonah.”

“I suppose I could invite Andrew,” Phoebe said as we climbed the stairs. Andrew was the guy who’d done the presentation on Scottish clans. Phoebe had known him since they were both in diapers because they’d gone to the same daycare. “And you,” she continued, “could invite Jean-Paul.”

“No,” I replied firmly, “I couldn’t.”

Before Phoebe could argue with me about what she liked to call “your cynical and completely unrealistic
pact with yourself,” Ashley and Lauren materialized in front of us like specters, blocking our path.

“Oh, hey, Violet,” said Ashley. “Phyllis.”

“Phoebe,” Phoebe answered hotly. “We’ve only been going to the same school since kindergarten.”

Ashley ignored her and turned her attention to me. “You have a good day off yesterday?”

“Great.”

“Saw you with Jean-Paul,” she said. “You guys just happen to run into each other, or what?”

“Nope,” Phoebe said smugly. “We hung out with him. For hours. Right, Violet?”

“Right.”

Ashley gave us a thin smile. “He’s
sooo
nice, don’t you think?”

Phoebe and I glanced at each other, our senses on high alert. We could both smell a trap.

“Yeah,” I replied warily.

“That’s one of his best qualities. He’s nice to
everyone
, even if he has no interest in them whatsoever.”

“Oh,” replied Phoebe. “You mean he’s been nice to you, too?”

I tried to swallow a laugh, and it came out as a snort instead.

“Anyways –” Ashley started.

“
Anyway
,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“It’s
anyway. Anyways
isn’t really a word.” Yup. It was like my own personalized form of Tourette’s Syndrome.

“You are
such
a loser, Pancake,” she said, using my nickname to my face for the first time ever. “And your hair sucks.”

Thing One and Thing Two swept past us to their lockers. I touched my hair self-consciously; I’d tried the gel thing again and thought it looked pretty good this time, now that my hair had been trimmed.

At least one thing was settled: Ashley and I might be Facebook friends, but we still weren’t friends in real life.

The rest of the day was like a Lemony Snicket novel, a series of unfortunate events. First, Jean-Paul wasn’t at school. Then, when we picked up Rosie at the daycare in the basement, she was sitting in the corner again. Alison, the daycare lady, approached me.

“Violet, could you ask your mother to call me, please?”

I watched as Phoebe made a beeline over to Rosie and scooped her up. “Why?”

“She bit Isabelle again.”

“What happened?”

“They won’t tell us. They were playing with the doll-house. We heard Isabelle scream, and Rosie’s teeth were clamped down on her arm.”

“Isabelle must have said something to upset her,” I said.

“Whatever Isabelle said,” Alison replied slowly, like I was stupid, “biting is unacceptable.”

On the way home, we got the story out of Rosie. “We were playing house, and Isabelle said I couldn’t have a daddy doll because I don’t have a daddy at home, and I said we do have a daddy, he just doesn’t live with us, and she said that meant we don’t really have a daddy. So I bit her.”

“You know what, Rosie?” I said. “I would’ve bit her, too.”

Then, when we stopped in at Mom’s work, we found her comforting Amanda, who was in tears.

“What’s wrong?” we asked in unison.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Amanda said, even though that was obviously a lie. “Cosmo and I are just …”

My heart did a flip. I knew it was ridiculous, but even a cynic like me had to hold on to a small thread of hope that True Love might exist for a lucky few, and Amanda and Cosmo were the flame that kept my hope alive.

“Please tell me you didn’t break up,” I said, my voice a bit wobbly.

“No, no … but he’s been acting strange lately. He canceled a date last night with the lousiest explanation … and when we do get together, it’s like there’s something he wants to tell me, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Like he’s got some big secret.”

Phoebe and I looked at each other. Amanda must have been a mind reader because she said, “And don’t you girls even
think
of spying on him. I mean it!”

Then she started crying again so Mom shooed us away, saying she’d see us at home later.

Rosie and I said good-bye to Phoebe at her house because she had her French horn lesson. When we got to our place, Mr. Bright was on his front porch. “Tell your mother to get that muffler of hers fixed, or I’ll have to call the authorities!” he shouted. The muffler on the Rust Bucket had broken over the weekend and made a loud clanking sound whenever Mom drove it.

“I’ll tell her, Mr. Bright,” I said as I hurried Rosie into our house and locked the door.

The phone was ringing. I made a run for it, not bothering to take off my shoes. “Hello?” I said, grabbing it just before it went to voice mail.

“Violet, hi.” A female voice. Not my mom’s voice.

“Hi. Who’s this?”

“It’s Jennica.”

My stomach lurched. Wife Number Two
never
phoned. She was The Other Woman.
Why on earth would she be calling?
Unless –

“Is Dad okay? Has something happened to him?” Rosie was standing beside me, and I instinctively grabbed her hand.

“No, no, your dad is fine,” she said. “Terrific, in fact. He’s just been hired to direct this big TV pilot for a new show called
Out There.
It’s like a cross between
Lost
and
Touched by an Angel.
He’ll be shooting on the Tantamount lot.”

“Oh,” I said. “Cool.” I let go of Rosie’s hand, and she dashed upstairs.

There was a really long pause after that. I was tempted to run and get the Magic 8 Ball and let it do the talking, but I couldn’t put Jennica through that. The truth was, I still didn’t know her all that well. It’s much easier to be cruel to someone you know.

“Lola and Lucy ask after you and Rosie a lot,” Jennica finally said.

“Do they?” I answered, although inside I was thinking
liar.

“They know you’re supposed to come down for March Break.”

“I wanna go, I wanna go!” Rosie’s voice suddenly came on the line. The little sneak was listening in on the phone in Mom’s bedroom.

“Rosie, is that you?” Jennica asked.

“Hi, Jenny. How’s Lola and Lucy?”

“They’re great. Talking up a blue streak. And they miss their older sisters a lot.”