squeeze. “Can't blame her for that.”
“Yeah, but it's kind of weird too.”
“You mean the idea of your mom going out?”
“Yeah. I mean, I've only seen her with Dad. And I suppose I sort of thought that was it. Dad's gone and now Mom will be alone. End of story. I never really considered what it would be like to have another guy in the picture.”
“It'll probably take some getting used to.”
“I guess.”
“So, maybe you should be on the lookout for nice older dudes.” He opens the car door for me. “Like maybe someone from church. You could set her up.”
I laugh. “That'd be the day.” But as Conrad drives me home, I think maybe the boy is on to something. If I could get Mom interested in a Christian guy, it might get her to come back to church. By the time we get to my house, I already have something of a plan in place.
I tell him what I'm plotting and ask him to help. “We need to find a single guy who's fun and good-looking and living for God and—”
“That's a tall order, Sam.”
“Well, God can do it. Most of all, I guess we'll have to be praying.”
He firmly nods. ‘That I can do.” Then he kisses me good night, and for a blissful moment I forget all about Mom and everything else.
“See ya tomorrow.”
“Huh?” I say, wondering if he has something specific in mind since it's Saturday and he hasn't asked me out.
He grins. “You know, whatever. See ya!”
O n Saturday morning I sleep in, as usual, and when I get up Mom has already gone to work, as usual, I look around the kitchen thinking maybe she's left a birthday card or something to show that she knows what day it is. But it seems she has forgotten. I'm not too surprised. Disappointed, yes, but I sort of figured she has a lot on her mind and is too busy to remember something as insignificant as her only daughter's seventeenth birthday. Okay, it sounds like I'm about to start having a pity party, and I'm not. I refuse to give in to it today.
Still, so much for celebrating my big day on the home front. It's sure not like it used to be when we were kids growing up. I remember how Dad usually made a special breakfast on birthdays, and there would be cards and gifts and balloons and hugs. This makes me wonder if Zach might actually remember my birthday, but then I doubt it. He's probably preoccupied now, and he's never been good at things like that in the first place. I almost always have to remind him of Mom's birthday and Mother's Day and things like that. I refuse to remind him of my birthday. After all, I'm seventeen. Time to grow up a little, right?
As I pour a cup of coffee, I wonder if Dad might possibly remember what day it is. Maybe he's calling out a “Happy Birthday” to me from beyond the blue right this minute. Or is everything so incredibly exciting and amazing up there that no one thinks about such mundane things as birthdays anymore? Besides, I think I recall hearing that there are no clocks in heaven. Maybe there are no calendars either.
It feels even colder today than yesterday, and the front lawn is crispy white with frost. I'm about to turn up the thermostat, but instead I decide to build a fire again. A birthday fire. And maybe it's because I was thinking of Dad, but I also decide to make myself a birthday breakfast just like he would've done if he were still here. Not just a bowl of cold cornflakes for this girl. I even get out the big electric griddle that hasn't seen daylight in ages and mix. up some instant pancakes and even fry up a couple of eggs to go with it—might as well load up on cholesterol while I'm still young.
I pour myself a glass of orange juice, then carry my birthday breakfast over to my now crackling fire to eat. Okay, it's a little lonely and some might think it's a little pathetic, but it's not like I'm obsessing over the fact that no one seems to care that it's my birthday. In fact, I'm actually sort of enjoying it.
Then after I finish my food, which is really pretty good, I
“Yeah, but it's kind of weird too.”
“You mean the idea of your mom going out?”
“Yeah. I mean, I've only seen her with Dad. And I suppose I sort of thought that was it. Dad's gone and now Mom will be alone. End of story. I never really considered what it would be like to have another guy in the picture.”
“It'll probably take some getting used to.”
“I guess.”
“So, maybe you should be on the lookout for nice older dudes.” He opens the car door for me. “Like maybe someone from church. You could set her up.”
I laugh. “That'd be the day.” But as Conrad drives me home, I think maybe the boy is on to something. If I could get Mom interested in a Christian guy, it might get her to come back to church. By the time we get to my house, I already have something of a plan in place.
I tell him what I'm plotting and ask him to help. “We need to find a single guy who's fun and good-looking and living for God and—”
“That's a tall order, Sam.”
“Well, God can do it. Most of all, I guess we'll have to be praying.”
He firmly nods. ‘That I can do.” Then he kisses me good night, and for a blissful moment I forget all about Mom and everything else.
“See ya tomorrow.”
“Huh?” I say, wondering if he has something specific in mind since it's Saturday and he hasn't asked me out.
He grins. “You know, whatever. See ya!”
O n Saturday morning I sleep in, as usual, and when I get up Mom has already gone to work, as usual, I look around the kitchen thinking maybe she's left a birthday card or something to show that she knows what day it is. But it seems she has forgotten. I'm not too surprised. Disappointed, yes, but I sort of figured she has a lot on her mind and is too busy to remember something as insignificant as her only daughter's seventeenth birthday. Okay, it sounds like I'm about to start having a pity party, and I'm not. I refuse to give in to it today.
Still, so much for celebrating my big day on the home front. It's sure not like it used to be when we were kids growing up. I remember how Dad usually made a special breakfast on birthdays, and there would be cards and gifts and balloons and hugs. This makes me wonder if Zach might actually remember my birthday, but then I doubt it. He's probably preoccupied now, and he's never been good at things like that in the first place. I almost always have to remind him of Mom's birthday and Mother's Day and things like that. I refuse to remind him of my birthday. After all, I'm seventeen. Time to grow up a little, right?
As I pour a cup of coffee, I wonder if Dad might possibly remember what day it is. Maybe he's calling out a “Happy Birthday” to me from beyond the blue right this minute. Or is everything so incredibly exciting and amazing up there that no one thinks about such mundane things as birthdays anymore? Besides, I think I recall hearing that there are no clocks in heaven. Maybe there are no calendars either.
It feels even colder today than yesterday, and the front lawn is crispy white with frost. I'm about to turn up the thermostat, but instead I decide to build a fire again. A birthday fire. And maybe it's because I was thinking of Dad, but I also decide to make myself a birthday breakfast just like he would've done if he were still here. Not just a bowl of cold cornflakes for this girl. I even get out the big electric griddle that hasn't seen daylight in ages and mix. up some instant pancakes and even fry up a couple of eggs to go with it—might as well load up on cholesterol while I'm still young.
I pour myself a glass of orange juice, then carry my birthday breakfast over to my now crackling fire to eat. Okay, it's a little lonely and some might think it's a little pathetic, but it's not like I'm obsessing over the fact that no one seems to care that it's my birthday. In fact, I'm actually sort of enjoying it.
Then after I finish my food, which is really pretty good, I