Read Online Just Plain Al: The Al Series, Book Five by Constance C. Greene - Free Book Online Page A

like in a dream. Then they relaxed. The grown-ups had drinks while Polly, Al, and I slurped iced tea. I watched Al watching her mother out of the corner of her eye. She wanted her mother to have a good time and get along with my parents. That’s only natural. When you have a best friend, you always want her mother to get along with yours. It’s very unrealistic, however, to think that your parents and your friend’s parents will socialize. The chances of them having anything in common are about zilch. Still, it would be nice if they did.
    I was interested to see that Al’s mother was slightly on edge at first. I didn’t know that grown-ups sometimes become unraveled, just the way kids do, in a new and strange situation. I thought all grown-ups were cool. But I could tell she wasn’t quite comfortable. Not at first, that is. And my own mother and father were also slightly off kilter. It was Polly and my grandfather who pulled things together. Both of them were real pros: Polly because she’d led such a sophisticated life—traveled so much and lived in lots of exotic places. And my grandfather because he was a kind man, a real gentleman, who knew how to make people comfortable. My mother, I knew, was worried about the dinner turning out right, and my father was the host and so preoccupied with his job of filling glasses and passing things that he couldn’t be totally concerned with the guests.
    My grandfather liked Al’s mother. I could tell. Every time she said something, he gave her his complete attention, leaning toward her, his eyes on her face. He made her feel like a star, I think. I’d never seen my grandfather with a total stranger before. Only with Mrs. Oakley, whom he’d known a while, as well as with other people he’d known for some time. He’d only just met Al’s mother. What a scene. I loved it. Once I caught Al looking at her mother and my grandfather, and she was smiling. Her mother was having a good time, and that made her happy.
    After a certain amount of scurrying back and forth to the kitchen to check on things, my mother announced dinner was served. Not only did we have candles and flowers and linen napkins and tablecloth and roast beef, we also had place cards. That was my idea. I thought place cards were the cat’s meow. It was like being at the palace when you had place cards. I don’t know what palace, exactly, but you know what I mean.
    My mother had me do the place cards, since my handwriting is much better than hers. When I go slowly, take my time, mine’s quite classy. Hers is like chicken tracks.
    Despite the place cards, my mother said, “You’re here, Virginia,” to Al’s mother. I didn’t know she even knew what Al’s mother’s name was. “And Dad, you’re next to Virginia. Polly, dear, will you sit here, please, and Al, you’re here.” My mother indicated the chair next to my father.
    Out in the kitchen, I hissed, “Don’t you think Al should open her presents now?”
    â€œNo,” my mother hissed back. “After dinner. More festive.”
    The rib roast was carried out with ceremony. And reigned like a visiting dignitary. The little roasted new potatoes, which I’d coated with my finely chopped parsley, plus the asparagus, brought forth a chorus of oooohs and ahs. Even Polly looked impressed. My father’s special horseradish sauce, heaped into a little silver bowl, was splendid.
    My father said grace, as he always does. Then everyone drank a toast to Al’s health and happiness and continued longevity. “And may you always be as happy as right at this minute, Al,” my father told her. Al blushed. The dinner commenced. My father began to carve. Slice after slice of the beef, paper thin and done to the perfect shade of pink, fell under his knife.
    I can’t exactly explain, but it was beautiful. All the vibes were good. It was one of those