by P. G. Kain
“Think?” Phoebe says. “I don’t think. I know. He was totally flirting with you the whole time. You even have an inside joke. When did that happen?”
“And what did he whisper to you just before he left?” Jasmine asks.
“Uh . . . uh . . .” I’m not sure what to say. I want to tell them everything, but there’s also a part of me that wants to keep some of this private. Luckily, we’re interrupted again before I have to actually say anything. The same PA who called the boys back on set is standing at our table.
“Girls, they want to make some wardrobe adjustments for the afternoon, so you need to head over to the wardrobe trailer before we get you back on set.”
We gather up our things and head out of the tent, but as we’re getting ready, Phoebe says, “I’m willing to bet that you and Rory are totally dating by the end of summer.”
“I agree with Phoebe. The way he was talking to you and the way he was looking at you. Totally,” Jasmine says, nodding.
I follow Jasmine and Phoebe out of the tent. Of course I would like to be dating Rory by the end of the summer, but what am I supposed to do next? Life is much easier when you have a storyboard in front of you that tells you exactly what you’re supposed to say and shows you exactly what you’re supposed to do.
CHAPTER 25
After the shoot I’m exhausted but in this satisfying way. Not only did I just finish a national campaign, but I also spent most of the day with the boy in the number one spot on my Crush List. The van drops me off in front of my apartment building, and all I want to do is go upstairs, take a cool shower, watch some mindless DVD, and go to sleep.
As I stand at the front door searching for my key, I hear a voice coming from inside the apartment. It’s not my mother’s voice, but it’s too muffled to make out who it might be exactly. Classes are over at the university, so it can’t be a student. I assume it must be some other professor from the math department. I finally find my key and open the door.
“Dad!” I shout when I see my father sitting on the couch with my mom. I run over and hug him. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. This is so great!”
“How was your shoot?” my mom asks.
“Exhausting,” I say, throwing my bag on the table. “But also really good.” I can’t believe we are all in the same room together. It’s been months and months since anything like this has even come close to happening. This must mean something important, something really important. Then it dawns on me. Maybe they are finally finished with the “trial separation” and are ready to try being a real family again.
This is the perfect ending to a perfect day.
The fact that they’re in the same room is a good sign. Whenever my dad has been in town before, I usually went downstairs to meet him, or he came and got me when he knew my mom would not be around. The fact that they are sitting on the couch without strangling each other has got to be a good sign.
“Hey, we should all go down to that pizzeria on Mercer Street and get Italian ices like we used to do. You know, to celebrate.”
“What do you mean?” my dad asks.
“To celebrate the fact that Dad has stopped traveling. You know, we can celebrate being a family again.” If I can just get us all out together at the same place, at the same time, maybe they’ll see that things can be better. They just have to.
My mom looks at my dad. Her lips tighten. My dad catches her eye for a second, and then he looks down at the ground. It’s pretty clear neither of them feels like celebrating.
“Michael!” my mom says, prodding my dad, but he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking at the floor.
The silence feels like a weight pressing down on my head. I need to do something, anything.
“You know what?” I say. “I think we have some frozen Soyjoy in the freezer. I’ll scoop it out and we can all just stay here and play Monopoly, or we can set up the Wii.” I walk over to the kitchen without looking at either of my parents. I go directly to the cupboard above the sink and take out three bowls, but before I can get to the freezer, my father stops me.
“Cassie, stop. Please. We need to talk.” His voice is soft and very serious. I study his face for a second. I could just go to the freezer and keep going like everything is okay, but the more I look at my dad’s face, the more I see that it looks like he might have been crying earlier. I look at my mom for a second, and her face has the same worried and sad expression.
Cut!
All day long, whenever anything was not right, whenever anything was not perfect, the director would step in and yell, “Cut!” If too much sweat appeared above Stephen’s lip or if Phoebe stepped out of the light line or if Jasmine needed to have a brighter, bigger smile, the director would yell, “Cut!” and everything would stop. We’d go back to our original positions and start the scene over again. Where is he now? Where is he when I need someone to stop what is happening, make it better and start from the beginning?
“We need to talk,” my dad says again. He goes back to the couch and waves his hand for me to come and join both of them. My mom sits on the other side of the couch, and I reluctantly walk out of the kitchen and take the empty spot between them.
I am silent, waiting for one of them to tell me what I’ve already figured out, but inside my head I’m yelling at the top of my lungs.
Cut.
Cut!
CUT!
CHAPTER 26
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ellet,” I say after knocking quietly on the door. Ginger’s parents both look at me with sad smiles. Her dad is standing by the door, and her mom is in the kitchen.
“Your parents called and told us you were coming to spend the night,” Mr. Ellet says, and hugs me. I try not to cry as he puts his arms around me. “I’m so sorry. Let us know what we can do to help.” His beard scratches my face gently.
“Well, I’m making you girls some fresh limeade,” Mrs. Ellet says from the kitchen. She wipes her hands on a dish towel and then wheels out of the kitchen to give me a hug. I bend across her wheelchair and hug her back.
Ginger is so lucky. I have never once heard her parents yell at each other, and they only argue over silly stuff, like what color to paint the bathroom or who should win an Oscar. Her family might not look like a lot of other families, but Ginger can feel safe knowing they will always stay together.
“Ginger is just making up the trundle bed in her room,” Mrs. Ellet says. “If you need any towels or clean sheets, just let me know.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. My voice feels dry and scratchy after so much crying.
“I’m going to put a tray of drinks and snacks outside Ginger’s door in a minute, so just get it when you’re ready. I don’t want to disturb you. I know you girls need to talk.”
“Thanks,” I say without looking either of them in the eye, and head down the hall toward Ginger’s room. I’m so glad they let me come over tonight. I just couldn’t stay at home. Not tonight. Even my parents, who agree on absolutely nothing, agreed that it would be better if I spent the night here at Ginger’s.
I slowly open the door to Ginger’s room, and she is in the middle of putting a pillowcase on one of her extra pillows. She stops when she sees me. “Oh, Cassie. I’m so sorry,” she says.
I shut the door behind me, and before I can even say a word the tears start again. I can’t control them. I hate this feeling of not being in control of my emotions. I think back to earlier in the day when my emotions, or at least what appeared to be my emotions, were part of an orchestrated plan. I hate that my tears appear without any warning and that I have no idea what happens next. I collapse on Ginger’s bed, and she sits down next to me and puts her arm around me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ginger asks in a way that lets me know I don’t have to if I don’t want to. But I do want to talk about it. I just don’t know what to say.
“I’m just so confused. I mean, I knew they were having problems, but it was supposed to be a trial separation. I knew th
at my dad traveling all the time wasn’t helping the situation, but I still thought it was all going to work out. I just thought they needed a break from each other or something like that, but . . . a divorce?”
“A divorce is pretty serious,” Ginger says.
“That’s not even the worst part. My dad is going to take a job in California. California, Ginger. Like, on the other side of the country. I’ll never see him.”
“Why? What did he say?”
I try to think back to just a short while ago. The whole thing is such a blur. I remember going to sit on the couch, and after that I can only remember bits and pieces. It was like an out-of-body experience.
“My dad said something about always loving me but that he just couldn’t see himself living with my mom in the apartment and blah, blah, blah.” I put my face in a pillow, hoping to stop another flood of tears.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have no idea,” I say, my words muffled through the pillow.
How could this day start out so wonderful and end so terribly? I start crying again, and this time I don’t try to stop the tears. They just flow and flow and somehow Ginger manages to help me get into the trundle bed. I pull the sheet over me, grateful that I am so exhausted I can just put this day behind me and fall asleep.
CHAPTER 27
That night at Ginger’s I have the most amazing dream. I’m in the apartment, only it looks totally different. Where we usually have piles of books or craft projects, there are smooth, clean surfaces. The kitchen is spotless, and all the old, worn furniture has been replaced by bright, shiny, new pieces. It takes me a second to figure out where I am, and even though everything looks different, I am definitely in our apartment.
Then my mom comes in, but instead of her long gray-and-brown braid, her hair is cut short just above her shoulders, and all the gray is totally gone. She’s wearing khaki capri pants and a soft green tailored shirt unlike anything she has ever worn before. For once she does not look like a mathematics professor.
She walks over to me and says, “I’m so glad we all booked this spot together.”
Of course I’m confused. “What spot?” I ask.
Then my dad enters, wearing a pilot’s uniform. “The spot we had the callback for last week.” He takes off his pilot’s hat and says, “I guess I won’t be needing this anymore.”
“Oh, Michael,” my mom says with a giggle, like a housewife from some seventies sitcom.
Then it suddenly dawns on me. We’re in a commercial, the three of us. The apartment is immaculate and my parents look gorgeous. They are smiling at each other and even laughing. No one is yelling about money or work commitments or anything.
A middle-aged guy with a baseball cap runs into the apartment screaming, “Cut! Cut!” The baseball cap and attitude make me think this guy must be the director. He walks over to me and says, “You. You are ruining this shoot. You can’t wear that, and you don’t know your lines or any of the blocking.”
I look down at myself and I’m wearing my oldest pair of pajamas—the ones that have a few holes in them. “I’m so, so sorry,” I say. “I’ll go to wardrobe. I’ll change.”
“No, no, no,” he says. I can tell he’s getting angry. “There’s no time. We’re just going to have to go with what we’ve got.” He flips through pages of a clipboard, and dozens of storyboards from go-sees I’ve been on over the past few years fly off his clipboard and around the room. I try to grab a few of them to help him, but they blow around so fast I can’t seem to get my hand on any of them.
The director speaks through a megaphone like the one used in the Seven Sails shoot. “Mom, I need you over here, and Dad, I need you over here. Daughter, just stay with me and watch what I do, okay?”
My parents start moving into position as lights and cameras and production assistants arrive out of nowhere. I stand behind the director, watching in awe as my parents take their places. I want to run up to them and give them a few pointers before the camera starts rolling. “Don’t look into the lens! Don’t scrunch your eyes! Smile when you talk!” I try to shout, but nothing comes out.
It doesn’t matter because the director yells, “Action!” and my parents talk and move like any of the hundreds of fake moms and fake dads I have auditioned with over the years.
“Perfect!” the director yells. “Perfect!” He turns to me, and even though I am right next to him he uses the megaphone to ask, “Hey, Cassie, how did you get two parents who are so perfect?”
I look at my parents, who seem both familiar and distant at the same time. They smile at me, but their smiles aren’t their usual smiles. It’s like they’re auditioning to play the part of themselves in my picture-perfect idea of our family.
CHAPTER 28
I creep back home the next day when I’m sure no one will be there. I open the door and, after checking that neither of my parents is around, walk directly to the beat-up air-conditioner that sits awkwardly in the windowsill. I turn it on and wait for the warm air to turn colder as I lean over the noisy machine, holding up my hair away from my neck. The air finally changes from wet and warm to cool and dry. I just stand in front of the AC and look around the apartment.
The apartment is small, but all the books and papers make it feel even smaller. A few months ago I booked a spot for Shaw’s grocery store, and I remember how clean and perfect the family room in that spot felt. I didn’t have any lines. I just followed my fake mom into the kitchen as she talked to my fake dad about how much money she saved. I did a lot of nodding and smiling. The set was on a soundstage in Astoria, and it was pouring rain, but inside fake sunlight streamed through the large windows of the kitchen set. It was so realistic that when I stepped back outside I remember being so confused. How could everything be so camera-ready on the inside and so miserable on the outside?
Our apartment looks like our family. It’s messy and overgrown and confusing. I look at the bookshelf next to the hallway and something is different, but at first I can’t tell what. I walk over to the bookshelf and stare at it for a few seconds, and then it dawns on me—all three of them are gone. Where are they? I quickly scan all the other shelves in the room. I even look in my parents’ bedroom and then my room. They didn’t move them, they actually took them down. I can’t believe it.
I stare at the only shelf in the entire apartment that is not overflowing with clutter and craft projects, and the emptiness makes me want to cry. Since I can remember there have always been three pictures up on that shelf. I was just looking at them the other day.
One picture is of my parents on their wedding day. It is my favorite picture of them. My mom is young and much thinner. Her hair does not have a drop of gray, and instead of being in her usual thick braid, it’s curly and bouncy. My dad is young and handsome, even though he has a silly long beard. They look so much in love that I can ignore the fact that they’re getting married in an old barn somewhere upstate and that my mom is wearing a muslin dress she made and embroidered herself, and my dad is wearing, gulp, sandals.
The second framed picture shows me as a baby with both of my parents holding me the day after I was born. I’m wrapped in a yellow blanket, my dad’s beard is gone, and my mom has just begun wearing her hair in a braid.
The final picture is from our cruise in the Cayman Islands. All three of us are standing under a canopy of hibiscus, and our happy smiles glow from our freshly sunburnt faces. Where are they? Where is the only remaining evidence that we are—were—a happy family?
I can’t believe my parents. They are entirely erasing the past. Do they think that just taking down a few pictures will make me forget how great things used to be? Sure, the last year or so was not 100 percent fantastic, with all the screaming and fighting, but those three pictures were proof that my parents could get along. That we could be a family.
I think back to the discussion on the couch last night. I remember my father saying over and over again, “I just don’t see us together.” It made me so
sad, because I see us together all the time. Why can’t he just see us as a happy family?
Then I remember a different conversation I had a few days ago with Honey, when all the pictures were still in place. Maybe my parents just need a little help seeing it. Or maybe I do.
I pick up my cell phone and dial. “Honey’s Kids,” Honey says on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Honey. It’s Cassie.”
“Did everything go all right at the Seven Sails shoot?”
“Everything was fine,” I tell her, using the most confident and self-assured tone I can muster. I absolutely hate lying to Honey, and I am about to tell her a whopper.
“I was just calling because . . .” I pause for a second. If there is any chance of turning back, now is the time, but I push on through.
“Because I got my school schedule wrong, and I can actually go out for that spot you mentioned the other day. What was it again, some big campaign . . .” I trail off and act as nonchalant as possible. Like I can barely remember what the spot was for.
“Oh,” Honey says excitedly. “The Happy Family Cruises? That’s great. I think you’re exactly what they’re looking for. But wait.” She stops talking. “Are you sure this won’t conflict with summer school? I gave you all the dates, right?”
The dates completely conflict with summer school. The booking dates are the exact same time as the final presentations, but I have to try to book this commercial. It might be the only way for my family to see that we can be a happy family again. I know it’s silly and doesn’t make any sense, but it’s what I have to do. I just feel it.
“I’m clear,” I tell Honey.
“Well, okay. I’ll see if I can get you a time slot, and I’ll call or text you back.”
I hang up and imagine my mom and dad watching me on TV as the words “Happy Family” scroll across my face.
CHAPTER 29
