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Authors: Adele Griffin
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and their impressed glances over at me fill me with a happy smugness inside. At least I can count one victory tonight.
“I did it,” I tell Mom the next morning as we’re eating breakfast at the Taste of the Town diner. “I asked Ty and he said yes.”
“Fantastic.” Her eyes rest soft over me. “Your dad and I went to my senior spring formal together, in high school. He wore this beautiful paisley silk tie and cummerbund; no one at Slater had seen anything so sharp. I was hugely impressed with him, so proud he was my date.”
“Yeah, Ty’s got cool clothes. He’d look cool in anything, though.”
“Well, we’ll have to get you a dress. I bet we could find something pretty at Nyheim’s.” She catches my wrist and holds it. “Sound good?”
“Mom, if we need the money—”
“Don’t be a goon. This is important.”
The waitress comes over and fills Mom’s and my coffee cups. I open my mouth. Just ask her about the Greenhouse, I think. Now. Do it, do it. I’ve put this off for almost a week. I’m going to tell her I know where she was last night, and I’m going to ask her what the deal is, keeping this stupid secret from me. What comes out of my mouth is, “How was rehearsal last night?”
“Oh, Louis is having his last-minute panic attacks, of course.” Mom shakes her head and grins like she’s thinking back on something funny that happened.
Every day, the not-tell that has sprung up between us gathers a strange shape, growing thicker and more resistant to the truth.
The weekend blows by and Mom still won’t tell me about her job, and since she’s always out when I’m home and vice versa, I never find the right opportunity to talk with her. Everyone at Bradshaw knows she’s working at the Greenhouse, though, mostly because Esther Zeller, a junior I don’t know very well, buses tables there on weekends.
“Your Mom and I made a killing at the restaurant, Danny,” Esther shouts and gives me a wink Monday afternoon, as I’m leaving the locker room. “You should’ve seen us move.” A cluster of girls stand nearby, but no one speaks or looks at me, yet I sense a shifting, a quieting down of the noise level. They think I’m ashamed, I realize. Bunch of snobs. Then I think, Am I ashamed? And I know that I am, but part of the problem is that it’s all mixed up with feeling angry and defensive and protective of Mom. Another part of the problem is that the person I want to talk with most about my feelings has decided not to talk to me about hers.
“It’s not for a play, is it?” Portia asks later that same day
“No, it’s because Kahani’s is closing down.”
“We knew it.” She snaps her fingers in my face.
“That’s what my dad had guessed, anyway. Look, you don’t have to feel insecure about it with me, you know. Everyone totally loves your mom, Danny. We think she’s so great, and everyone feels really bad that she’s got to work that bummer job.”
Really bad. Bummer job. Insecure. I hate feeling like Mom’s and my finances are up for discussion. What goes on with people moneywise should be private, not discussed over mashed potatoes in the Paulsons’ dining room or in the locker room at school. The whole situation feels like it’s spinning way out of control. I write a note and stick it in the fridge.
Mom,
Please tell me what’s going on with the Greenhouse. I don’t know why you’re feeling so private about it and I’d really like to talk to you.
Love, Danny
Just as I’m going to bed, though, I rip the note into confetti.
Late that night, I call the Greenhouse again, and listen to Mom shout, “Hello hello, who the hell is this?” I stare at the receiver and hang up.
On Tuesday, I make a very dumb fashion decision which, when I mull it over later, ends up adding a big fat worm to my unopened worm can. In a way it’s my own stupid fault, but the boots had been hanging out in my closet for so long that their ugliness shock value was gone for me. So
“I did it,” I tell Mom the next morning as we’re eating breakfast at the Taste of the Town diner. “I asked Ty and he said yes.”
“Fantastic.” Her eyes rest soft over me. “Your dad and I went to my senior spring formal together, in high school. He wore this beautiful paisley silk tie and cummerbund; no one at Slater had seen anything so sharp. I was hugely impressed with him, so proud he was my date.”
“Yeah, Ty’s got cool clothes. He’d look cool in anything, though.”
“Well, we’ll have to get you a dress. I bet we could find something pretty at Nyheim’s.” She catches my wrist and holds it. “Sound good?”
“Mom, if we need the money—”
“Don’t be a goon. This is important.”
The waitress comes over and fills Mom’s and my coffee cups. I open my mouth. Just ask her about the Greenhouse, I think. Now. Do it, do it. I’ve put this off for almost a week. I’m going to tell her I know where she was last night, and I’m going to ask her what the deal is, keeping this stupid secret from me. What comes out of my mouth is, “How was rehearsal last night?”
“Oh, Louis is having his last-minute panic attacks, of course.” Mom shakes her head and grins like she’s thinking back on something funny that happened.
Every day, the not-tell that has sprung up between us gathers a strange shape, growing thicker and more resistant to the truth.
The weekend blows by and Mom still won’t tell me about her job, and since she’s always out when I’m home and vice versa, I never find the right opportunity to talk with her. Everyone at Bradshaw knows she’s working at the Greenhouse, though, mostly because Esther Zeller, a junior I don’t know very well, buses tables there on weekends.
“Your Mom and I made a killing at the restaurant, Danny,” Esther shouts and gives me a wink Monday afternoon, as I’m leaving the locker room. “You should’ve seen us move.” A cluster of girls stand nearby, but no one speaks or looks at me, yet I sense a shifting, a quieting down of the noise level. They think I’m ashamed, I realize. Bunch of snobs. Then I think, Am I ashamed? And I know that I am, but part of the problem is that it’s all mixed up with feeling angry and defensive and protective of Mom. Another part of the problem is that the person I want to talk with most about my feelings has decided not to talk to me about hers.
“It’s not for a play, is it?” Portia asks later that same day
“No, it’s because Kahani’s is closing down.”
“We knew it.” She snaps her fingers in my face.
“That’s what my dad had guessed, anyway. Look, you don’t have to feel insecure about it with me, you know. Everyone totally loves your mom, Danny. We think she’s so great, and everyone feels really bad that she’s got to work that bummer job.”
Really bad. Bummer job. Insecure. I hate feeling like Mom’s and my finances are up for discussion. What goes on with people moneywise should be private, not discussed over mashed potatoes in the Paulsons’ dining room or in the locker room at school. The whole situation feels like it’s spinning way out of control. I write a note and stick it in the fridge.
Mom,
Please tell me what’s going on with the Greenhouse. I don’t know why you’re feeling so private about it and I’d really like to talk to you.
Love, Danny
Just as I’m going to bed, though, I rip the note into confetti.
Late that night, I call the Greenhouse again, and listen to Mom shout, “Hello hello, who the hell is this?” I stare at the receiver and hang up.
On Tuesday, I make a very dumb fashion decision which, when I mull it over later, ends up adding a big fat worm to my unopened worm can. In a way it’s my own stupid fault, but the boots had been hanging out in my closet for so long that their ugliness shock value was gone for me. So
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