I throw on my ratty Donald Driver jersey, pull on my green, white, and gold striped Green Bay Packers socks, put my hair up into a ponytail with a green hair tie, and finish it off with a Packers bow.
When I get to the living room, Dad is wrestling Baxter into his Packers jersey.
“You know he hates that,” I say, although Baxter’s growling and squirming make that pretty obvious. However, the Packers haven’t lost a home game since Dad bought it at the start of the season, so Baxter has been forced into the insanity.
Poor dog.
I take my place at my designated couch position—left side—while Dad takes the right. In front of us at the coffee table is our first-half spread: cheese, crackers, and summer sausage. Dad has his Spotted Cow beer while I drink Sprecher root beer. At ten minutes left in the second quarter, we fire up the grill. We eat burgers, brats, and potato salad during the third quarter and finish off the bingeing with frozen custard in the fourth. It takes a strong and flexible stomach to be a Packers fan. Oh, and we can only use the bathroom during commercial breaks.
“Everything looks good,” Dad says with a satisfied nod as he surveys the room.
Since there’s a commercial break and four minutes before kickoff, I know this is my only opportunity to tell him my news before we both get swept into Packers madness.
“It’s official! I put in my applications for UW.”
“That’s great, honey.” He holds out his beer bottle to cheers me. “Congrats!”
“Thanks.”
“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re growing up. In a few days you’ll be a full-blown adult.” He cocks his head. “Which is odd since I haven’t aged at all.” He rubs his face, which is weathered from working outside all these years.
“Especially mentally.”
“Hey!” he objects before piling three cheese slices and two pieces of sausage on one cracker. “Speaking of the upcoming big day, what do you want to do on Thursday?”
“The usual,” I reply with a smile.
There should be no surprise that Dad and I also have a tradition on my birthday. We first go out for butter burgers and cheese fries. Then we go home, put our pajamas on, and eat frozen custard from the container while watching one of the first Star Wars movies. And I’m not talking about those Episode I to III crap ones. No, the real first movies: A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, or Return of the Jedi.
For most of my childhood I had dressed up as Princess Leia for Halloween—even when I started growing out of the costume and the white dress was up to my calves and the bun headband was stretched to capacity. Dad always dressed up as Han Solo. Still does.
“Works for me!” He puts another piece of cheese in his mouth.
(Yeah, we also like cheese. A lot.)
“Even though my applications are in, I still have to apply for the scholarships and financial aid. So I have a bunch more forms for you.”
He nods while chewing, pointing at his full mouth, but I know he’s stalling.
I didn’t realize how extremely disorganized my dad is until there was all this paperwork. Our house isn’t messy or anything. We clean it on the weekends, trading off the kitchen and bathroom each week. But he didn’t have most of the forms I need for financial aid. He had his social security number, but I need his last two federal tax returns and bank statement. When I told him that I also needed to know his untaxed income, he froze. Probably since a lot of Dad’s work is under the table. I don’t really see anything wrong with that, since I don’t report my babysitting income.
“I want everything to be in before Christmas break,” I press.
He gives me a thumbs-up before finally swallowing. “Remind me again what you need?”
“I sent you an e-mail with everything.”
“You know I don’t like e-mail.”
“I also left you a list on the counter.”
He takes a swig of beer. “Okay, okay. I’m on it.”
“Because—”
“Ally, I said I’m on it.” He cuts me off, which isn’t like him. But the game is about to start. “I know it’s important, so I don’t want to rush it. Okay?”
I nod as he turns up the TV. Dad starts talking about the offensive line, and I sit there in silence. Occasionally I’ll laugh at something or cheer when we progress down the field. But I know what’s really bothering him. It’s not about a bunch of silly forms.
As much as it’s also been Dad’s dream for me to go away to college, I know he’s upset I’m leaving. How can he not be, when it’s been at the front of my mind as well?
I’m growing up. Things are going to change us. Neither of us is going to like it.
And he’s really, really not going to like the conversation I want to have with him at halftime.
I slide open the screen door that leads to our tiny backyard. Dad is standing over the charcoal grill, an intense look on his face.
The man takes his grilling very seriously.
I hand him a beer.
“Ah, I’ve trained you well,” he says with a smile.
I also want him in as good a mood as possible. The Packers have done their job—we’re up twenty-one to nothing after the first half.
“Can I ask you something?” I begin cautiously.
“Of course,” Dad replies.
Ever since Marian brought her up, thoughts about my mom have been swirling around in my mind.
Maybe I should talk in my essays about losing her. How growing up without a mother had an effect on me. Dad’s done everything a mom would do, but there were times when he had to call in for backup, like when I got my period for the first time and when I needed a bra. Grandma Gleason (well, Marian’s grandma) is usually the one on speed dial for “Female Stuff,” as Dad likes to put it.
He eyes me suspiciously for a moment. “Oh God, this isn’t the talk talk. Didn’t we have that once? I’m fairly sure we did, and I went to work the next day and took a hammer to my head to forget it.”
“It’s not,” I reassure him. Both of us would like to banish any reminder of that moment of awkward pauses, stuttering, and the fact that we both went to our rooms afterward and couldn’t make eye contact for three days.
“Are you dating Neil?” he asks.
“No!” At least at this current moment in time. We’ll see in a week.
“Okay, okay.” He holds out his hands in surrender. “I had figured something was up with how he’s always loitering around here in the mornings.”
“We walk to school together.”
“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days: walking to school?”
“Ew, gross, Dad!”
He laughs, proud of himself for making me sufficiently horrified. “I’ll give you that Neil’s a nice-looking kid. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. But you’re still my baby girl.” He flips the burgers and closes the lid to the grill. “What’s on your mind, Ally Bean?”
It should be simple. But I know deep down it isn’t. I don’t want to upset Dad, but I need this. I don’t know why now, but I do.
“I wanted to talk about … Mom.”
There. It’s out there. But the second I say the word, I see the anguish on his face. His jaw clenches.
He nods for a few moments before he speaks. “What about your mother?” he says in an even, too-controlled voice.
“It’s just that I think maybe I might want to write about her for one of my essays. But I don’t really remember that much. Honestly, I don’t remember anything. Like, do I have any of her traits? Do I remind you of her?”
Dad turns his attention back to the grill. He opens the lid, and smoke comes out and covers his face for a second. He flips the burgers and turns the brats. The only sound between us is the sizzle of the grease hitting the coals.
Other questions begin to flood into my head. It’s as if I finally removed the stopper that had been placed years ago, and now everything is rushing out. “I know that she died of cancer, but was it sudden? Did I kno
w she was sick? Did she try to hide it from me? Was I different after?”
How had I never wondered about these things before? It could be because Dad is always focused on the future. “Let’s look straight ahead,” he used to say when we would pick up and move to a new place. But he also does that with everything else: we rarely talk about the past. Everything is looking ahead.
Maybe that’s what happens when you have a painful past: you can only assume the future will be better. The old wounds are too painful—there’s no point in picking at them. But I know that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m digging into the most tender part of Dad’s past and asking him to relive his pain. For years, I’ve tried not to bring up Mom because I didn’t want to hurt him, but now I have so many questions I can’t stuff them back inside me and pretend they don’t exist.
He rubs his eyes. “Where’s this coming from?”
“All these big questions I’ve been thinking about for these essays … I guess they’ve made me examine my life in a different way. Then I realized there’s a lot about my past I don’t know.”
Dad looks defeated as he puts the burgers and brats on a plate. He covers the grill and heads inside. I follow him. He pauses at the counter that separates the living room and kitchen. His back is to me and I’m afraid to move. I should’ve known better than to have this conversation with him. He’s done so much for me, and how do I repay him? I open up the oldest, deepest wounds, all so I can write a silly essay.
But it’s more than that. I want to know these things. Then maybe when people ask me about my mom, I’m not so distant and cold about the woman who gave birth to me. Who raised me for my first three years.
“I really don’t know what to tell you,” Dad finally says. He turns around and all the color from his face has been drained. He looks tired. He looks old. “Your mom got sick, then she died. You were so young I didn’t know what else to do. So we moved. I needed to get away from the memories.”
“Was I close with her?” I ask. I can’t imagine I could ever have the kind of bond like the one Dad and I share with anyone, but usually girls are closer to their moms.
“Not like you and me,” he states with an aggressive edge to his voice that I don’t recognize.
“I didn’t mean …”
He holds his hand up. “Listen, you’ve been driving yourself senseless with applications and scholarships. Why don’t you wait until you see if you even get accepted?”
I suck in a breath. Dad doesn’t think I can get into college? It takes him a few seconds to realize what a slap that comment is to me.
“Ally Bean …” He comes over to where I’m standing and reaches his hand out to me. “Of course you’re going to get in. Of course you will get scholarships. We will make this work, but dredging up the past isn’t going to help either of us. Especially me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely audible.
In the background, the second half begins.
“I know, sweetheart. Listen, I’m going to take Baxter for a walk. Be right back.”
Baxter, who usually jumps up anytime Dad grabs his leash, stares blankly at him like it’s a cruel joke. Dad never leaves the house when a Packers game is on.
“Come on,” Dad says roughly to Baxter.
Baxter gets up and cautiously approaches Dad without a wag in his tail. He lets out a whimper as Dad grabs his collar too abruptly.
“Be careful,” I say before he slams the front door behind him.
How could he get so short with me for asking some basic questions about my own mother? The person with whom I share half my genetic makeup. I feel an ache inside me that I’ve never experienced before.
As the Packers take the field, I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel like cheering. I don’t feel like watching the second half and eating brats like everything is normal.
Dad keeps talking about lasts with me: last birthday or Homecoming.
But this was a first. Not simply Dad walking out of the house in the middle of a football game, but him seeming truly upset with me.
I hate doing that to him, but I deserve to understand my past. To know who I am and where I come from.
Because how can I go anywhere if I don’t know where I’ve been?
Chapter
SIX
I kept imaging that this week had the potential to be pretty awesome. I thought I’d done everything right: studied, volunteered, joined school activities, and studied some more. It was all supposed to fall into place, but then everything came apart once I woke up.
“Hey!”
I jump at the sound of Neil’s voice greeting me in the morning. Oh, right. And to make matters worse, Neil may be asking someone out … someone who isn’t me.
“Hey, hey!” He holds up his hands as he approaches our front door with caution. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, feeling foolish at my reaction.
My plan had been to be quiet during our walk to school in case, you know, he wanted to ask me something.
Now that’s the last thing on my mind.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Neil throws out into the silence.
“It’s …” My mind is still trying to figure it all out. “I applied to schools yesterday.”
“Congrats,” he says as he nudges my elbow. “It’s hitting you, huh? We’re going to college.”
I shake my head. “No, I got an automatic reply from all three schools.”
Neil raises his eyebrow at me. “Oh, is that how it is? They don’t even need to look over your application. They see that the Allison Smith from Valley Falls has applied and boom! You’re automatically accepted.”
I wish.
I guess I should just be grateful I didn’t check my e-mail last night.
Yesterday was weird enough, even though when Dad came back after his walk he acted like nothing had happened. Our conversation and his agitation had been erased like any memory I had of my past life.
So I had collapsed into bed with Baxter and tried to sleep. Even though I slept poorly, I wouldn’t have gotten any if I’d been aware that there were three e-mails in my in-box that were going to unravel everything.
“No.” I take a deep breath. “My social security number was rejected. They said it’s invalid. My applications didn’t go through.”
Neil doesn’t miss a beat. “You probably put the wrong number in. I do that with numbers all the time. I switch digits around.”
“That’s what I thought, but it’s the right number. I double-checked.”
“Did you ask your dad for the card? Maybe it was copied down wrong.”
“He was already gone by the time I got up.” Not like I feel I could ask him anything regarding college applications after yesterday.
“It’ll be okay. It’s probably a glitch with the university’s system.” Neil pats me on the shoulder, his hand hovering a beat longer than normal. “You should talk to Ms. Pieper.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m assuming. I’m going to her office as soon as we get to school. I’m more frustrated than anything at this point.”
I spent so much time filling out all those forms and answering these big questions about my life. Getting all the paperwork and tax forms. Ensuring everything is filled out exactly so. Meeting every single deadline.
Man, adulting totally blows.
“It’s going to work out fine. It has to be on their end.”
“What’s on whose end?” Dana approaches us from the sidewalk that intersects our route.
“Nothing,” I say. Dana is the last person I want to know about my problems.
The corners of Dana’s lips curl ever so slightly before she turns her attention to Neil. “So how was your weekend?”
I keep my head down but can still feel Neil’s gaze on me.
After it’s sorted out, tonight Dad and I can have a good laugh during Chinese Food and Classic Movie Monday. Obviously he was onto something when he said I’d let this get to me. Applying to colleges has c
aused me to lose my mind.
“My weekend was good,” Neil replies to Dana.
“Oh?” Dana says, her voice sounding strained. “I figured you were swamped since you didn’t return my texts.”
“Yeah …” I quickly glance up and see Neil rubbing the back of his head. “It was really busy.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop from smiling. Neil was ignoring Dana. He wouldn’t be doing that if he was asking her out, right? RIGHT?
It’s not like I have anything against Dana, per se. Her quest to topple my top ranking in class honestly helps. It motivates me. I probably wouldn’t be close to a 4.0 grade point average if she weren’t so aggressive about, well, everything. It’s the way she approaches things—like everybody has to know about each little achievement she gets. Her online profiles (all in her real name because why post something if she can’t get the credit?) are a stream of her daily accomplishments. The only reason the entire school knows about my GPA is because Dana is constantly talking about her score and how close she is to beating me.
At the end of the day, it’s probably not only about being number one. She wants to get up on that stage and give the valedictorian speech at graduation. Honestly, she can have that. My goal has always been about the scholarship money.
But now there’s this Neil factor. Dana usually gets what she wants. And I don’t want her to get Neil.
“I heard about Lee’s party,” Dana says with a hint of envy.
Who didn’t hear about the party? It’s not uncommon for people to show up to one of the Gleasons’ many parties uninvited. It happens often, and that person is greeted with open arms. What’s one more person when there are so many of them?
But there’s no way I’m going to share that piece of information with Dana.
“Well,” Dana continues, “I spent Saturday in De Pere, where our debate team took first place.”
Past Perfect Life Page 4
