Stacey's Problem

by Ann M. Martin

  It had been a serious problem between my mother and him. She began to resent the amount of time he spent at his office. Dad’s being away so much didn’t bother me at the time. It was just the way it had always been. Sure, I minded when he couldn’t go on vacations with us, but, well, that was just Dad.

  The funny thing is that now that I no longer live with Dad full-time, I see more of him than ever. He makes special time for me. He rarely did that when he and Mom were married and I was always around.

  I could have minded that lately he was bringing Samantha along on things we did during our time together, but I didn’t. She has a good sense of humor and she’s generally more adventuresome than Dad. For example, she was the one who talked him into going to Times Square to watch the ball drop last New Year’s Eve. Dad wanted to watch it at home on TV.

  With Samantha around, we do fun things. I guess you could say she’s a lively person. Plus, she’s always doing thoughtful things for Dad and me. When she comes over, she often brings some interesting thing she’s bought. Dad seems very happy with her.

  At about 1:45, Samantha arrived. (She has her own set of keys.) Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back into a bun. A pair of Rollerblades was slung over her shoulder. “Ready to roll?” she asked.

  “I am!” I cried, jumping up from my bed. I keep my Rollerblades at the apartment because I Rollerblade more when I’m here than in Stoneybrook. I flung open my closet and began to dig for them.

  “Do I have to skate too?” Dad asked, groaning.

  Samantha sat on the couch. “Not if you don’t want to, but don’t expect us to wait for you.”

  My Rollerblades were way in the back of the closet. As I pulled them free, I heard Dad and Samantha talking softly in the living room. Why were they being so quiet, as if they didn’t want me to hear what they were saying? I strained to listen, but I couldn’t make out their words.

  “I’m ready!” I called, heading out of my room. Dad took the blades Samantha had given him for his birthday from a box under the couch, and we headed for Central Park.

  We had a great time, skating along the park paths, though it might have been better if we hadn’t had to keep slowing down for Dad to catch up. He’s not too swift on his wheels yet.

  Dad said we were going to go out to dinner later, so we just bought a snack from a vendor. I love the potato knishes they sell. Dad and Samantha ate hot dogs with sauerkraut while the three of us sat together on a bench beside a path.

  Dad suddenly turned to Samantha. “I hope you don’t mind, but I just can’t wait until dinner tonight to tell Stacey,” he said.

  Samantha smiled at him. “All right. Tell her now.”

  “Tell me what?” I asked.

  Part of me already knew what he was going to say.

  I waited, just in case I was wrong.

  “Samantha and I are getting married,” Dad announced.

  “I knew it!” I cried.

  “You did?” said Samantha.

  “I did! Somehow I just had a feeling.”

  “You look happy about it. Are you?” Dad asked.

  “Totally! It’s great.”

  Dad and Samantha looked relieved. Had they thought I’d be upset?

  Why should I be? Samantha is a terrific person. And I knew my parents weren’t going to get back together. Neither of them had made even a single move in that direction.

  No, this was good. Dad was always happy when he was with Samantha — so I was all for it.

  “When?” I asked.

  “I’d like a really big wedding,” Samantha replied. “Doing it whole hog takes at least a year to plan.”

  “A year!” I exclaimed. “Why so long?”

  “The place for the reception has to be reserved, and the band, and the caterer,” Samantha explained. “Those things are usually booked at least a year ahead. That’s if you’re fussy about getting exactly what you want.”

  “And believe me, she’s fussy,” Dad put in, teasing.

  Samantha smiled at him. “That’s why I’m marrying you. I never settle for second best.”

  “Where will you live?” I asked.

  “In Ed’s apartment,” Samantha answered. “Don’t worry. Your room will stay just as it is.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that,” I said, which was true. In fact, I wasn’t worried about anything. I was thrilled that Samantha was going to become a permanent part of my life.

  Around five we returned to Dad’s apartment to clean up for dinner. We’d meet Samantha again at her place at six.

  I stood in the shower, letting the warm water soothe my muscles, which ached just a little from all the Rollerblading. It occurred to me that I’d soon have a stepparent.

  I thought about friends of mine who had stepparents.

  My friend Kristy Thomas hadn’t been crazy about her stepfather, Watson, at first. I didn’t understand it. Watson always seemed like a good guy to me. Maybe it was because Watson brought big changes into her life.

  Kristy and her brothers had moved across town to Watson’s mansion. (He’s a millionaire!) And Watson had kids from his former marriage, Karen and Andrew. Kristy had had to adjust to them, as well as to Watson.

  Samantha didn’t have kids to meet or a mansion to live in. I wouldn’t have to move — not even out of my room. I wouldn’t have all the changes Kristy had had. Besides, even with the rocky start, Kristy now loves Watson, and her family life is happy. It just took some getting used to.

  Then there’s my friend Mary Anne Spier. You might have thought she’d be thrilled to have a stepmother, since her own mother had died when Mary Anne was just a baby.

  She wasn’t, though.

  In the beginning, she and Sharon, her stepmother, clashed about lots of things — such as Mary Anne’s cat, Tigger (Sharon didn’t like him), and even about what to eat for dinner. (Sharon’s a vegetarian; Mary Anne and her father aren’t.)

  Like Kristy, Mary Anne had to move to a new house. She and her father went to Sharon’s. She also had to learn to live with a stepsister, Sharon’s daughter, Dawn. That should have been a cinch since she and Dawn had been friends before their parents married (they’d even plotted to get them together in the first place), but it wasn’t easy. Still — as with Kristy — everything smoothed out. Sharon and Mary Anne are now super-close.

  All in all, I was pretty sure everything would be fine.

  That night, we went to Windows on the World, a restaurant on top of one of the towers of the World Trade Center. The city lights shone like jewels below us. From up there you can see all the way to Brooklyn and Queens and across the Hudson River to New Jersey. I saw the torch of the Statue of Liberty glowing over the dark water.

  Since we’d come to such a special restaurant, I knew Dad considered this a celebration. “When did you guys decide to get engaged?” I asked as the head-waiter led us to our table.

  “Your dad proposed just last night,” Samantha said, her smile beaming. She looked gorgeous in a violet sheath dress, her hair curling loosely around her shoulders.

  “Am I the first to know?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” Dad replied. “But now that we have your blessing, we can tell the world.”

  Samantha took hold of my hand. “I am so looking forward to really getting to know you,” she said.

  Getting to know me? What was she talking about? We already knew each other, didn’t we?

  “I mean, getting to know each other better,” she clarified.

  “Me too,” I answered.

  Dinner was wonderful, but Samantha’s words stayed in the back of my mind. Did I really know Samantha? Sure, she was nice and fun. She loved Dad. But that was all I could say about her right now.

  I found myself watching her during dinner, trying to observe things about her I hadn’t noticed before. For the very first time I observed that she didn’t drink anything while she ate. Not that it meant anything, but were there other things about her I hadn’t noticed?

  For the rest
of the evening I studied her, but I didn’t notice anything else, except that she sometimes fiddled with the charms on her gold charm bracelet. Did those charms have particular meaning for her? Did they mark special events in her life? If so, what were they? I had no idea.

  We took a cab to Dad’s building, where he and I got out first while Samantha continued home. “Isn’t she great?” Dad said, watching the cab turn the corner.

  “She is,” I agreed. “Where is she from?”

  “Philadelphia. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just wondering.” There was so much I didn’t know.

  That night I lay in bed having crazy thoughts. What if Dad was marrying a secret agent, a witch, an alien?

  Not long ago I saw a late-night movie on TV about a woman who thought she was marrying a wonderful guy — a great stepfather to her kids — but he turned out to be a homicidal maniac!

  Finally, I told myself I was being silly, rolled over, and fell asleep.

  Around eleven the next morning, Dad woke me. “Hey, sleepyhead! Get dressed. We’re going to meet Samantha for brunch at twelve.”

  “Where?” I asked groggily.

  “The Oyster Bar at Grand Central. That way we won’t have to worry about you missing your train, since we’ll be there already.”

  “Cool,” I said, climbing out of bed. Dad was still in a great mood. I love the Oyster Bar, but it’s expensive. We don’t go there all that often. I was glad that Dad felt like celebrating again.

  I didn’t want to miss my train either. I was going to a party that evening. More of a get-together, really. It was a welcome-home for my friend Mallory Pike. She was returning from her boarding school in Massachusetts, which had already let out for summer vacation. I was excited about seeing her again and I didn’t want to be late for the party.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, Samantha was already there, waiting in front. Once again, she looked amazing, this time in a lightweight, cream-colored suit. Her hair was gathered in a loose bun.

  She and Dad kissed, and we went inside. The place was bustling. On one side people sat lined up along three counters.

  On the other, where we were seated, the tables were close together, covered in plain white paper. Around us, people were eating clam chowder, shrimp, and all sorts of seafood.

  Arched, tiled ceilings seemed to pick up every sound — every voice, every clattering dish — and echo it around the cavernous space. It’s not especially fancy, but there’s something so … New York … about the Oyster Bar, and the food is great.

  After we ordered, Dad excused himself to go to the rest room. “I was thinking about you last night,” Samantha said to me when he was gone. “Soon we’ll be spending more time together than ever. I hope you’re all right about that.”

  “I’m fine about it,” I assured her.

  “I need to say this right away,” she continued. “I don’t expect you to think of me as another mother. Please don’t worry about that. You already have a wonderful mother and I don’t want to compete with her in any way.”

  I nodded. It was nice of her to say that about my mother.

  “I hope we can simply go on developing the terrific relationship we’ve already started,” she said.

  “That sounds good to me,” I said, feeling a little silly for having worried about Samantha the night before. She was wonderful! I’d get to know more about her a little bit at a time. No problem.

  Dad returned just as our waiter arrived with the food. My order — a variety of smoked fishes — was delicious. We ate, talked, and laughed until ten minutes before my train was scheduled to depart.

  Dad paid our bill, then he and Samantha walked with me to the platform. The train was already there, but the doors were still shut. While we waited for them to open, an unsettling thought occurred to me.

  “When are you going to tell Mom?” I asked Dad.

  Dad took a long breath. “I suppose I should call her soon. Or maybe she should hear it from you, Stacey.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s really your job, Ed,” Samantha said gently.

  “Okay, you’re right.”

  A bell rang and the doors whooshed open. A loudspeaker announced that my train was now boarding.

  I kissed Dad and Samantha, then stepped onto the train. As I settled into my seat, I wondered how I’d manage to keep this big news from Mom until Dad called her.

  Mom was standing on the platform when the train pulled into the Stoneybrook station. She smiled as I approached her. “Hi, honey!” she cried.

  The distracted look was gone from her face. She was happy to see me. She hugged me, then pulled back, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “When I hugged you, you felt tense. What’s bothering you?” Her eyes searched my face for a clue.

  I knew exactly what was bothering me, of course. Should I tell her the news?

  No, I couldn’t. Dad was the one who was supposed to do it.

  “I had a nice weekend,” I insisted. “I saw Ethan for a quick visit. Dad took us to two nice restaurants. It was great.”

  “He took you and Ethan?”

  “Um, no. Samantha and me.”

  “Oh,” said Mom in that flat voice she sometimes uses when the subject of my father comes up.

  We walked silently to the car. Mom unlocked it and I tossed my overnight bag into the backseat.

  “Is it Samantha?” Mom asked, sliding behind the wheel. “Is that what’s bothering you? Because if it is, it’s okay. I understand that your dad dates Samantha. I don’t want you to feel disloyal to me if you spend time with her while you’re there.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” I replied. “I mean, I know you’re my mother. And Samantha is … Samantha.”

  Again, she seemed to search my face. “But something else is bothering you,” she said finally.

  I sighed. There was no sense holding back. She’d get it out of me sooner or later. “Sort of,” I told her.

  “What?”

  “Dad and Samantha are getting married.”

  Mom froze, her hand still on the key.

  I felt terrible — as if I’d taken a bat and hit her with it. If I could have snatched my words out of the air and pulled them back, I would have.

  It was too late for that, though. I’d delivered the news, and now we’d have to deal with her reaction.

  She took her hand off the key and slowly sat back in her seat, staring straight ahead.

  My mind raced, searching for the right words to make her feel better. But I couldn’t find them. What was there to say? That the marriage would make Dad unhappy, or that he wouldn’t go through with it? That Samantha was horrible? But there was no sense telling lies. All I could do was sit there with her as she absorbed the information.

  After another moment, she turned to me. Her expression was calm, though her brow was furrowed. “You like Samantha, don’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  Mom mirrored my nod. “Well, then, I guess that’s that.”

  Turning the key in the ignition, she started the car and pulled out of the lot. We drove home in silence. She didn’t seem to want to chat. Besides, everything I’d tell her about the weekend involved Dad and Samantha. So I kept my mouth shut. Mom would talk again when she was ready.

  We pulled into our driveway. Mom went into the house without waiting for me. When I walked through the front door, the house was quiet and I didn’t see her anywhere.

  I put down my overnight bag and checked the living room, then the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine where she’d gone. I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up my bag and went upstairs to unpack.

  As I passed Mom’s door, I heard her crying.

  The last time I’d stood in the hallway and listened to her cry was when she and Dad were still married. The sound of her sobs brought everything back to me — the shouting, the slamming of doors, the cruel words.

  But while I was thinking of the bad
times, was she remembering the good ones? Was she wishing she and Dad were still together?

  I knocked softly on her door. Her crying stopped abruptly. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She sniffed. “I’m okay. You can come in.”

  I found her sitting at the end of her bed, her eyes puffy.

  She smiled sadly. “Sorry for acting this way. I don’t know why I’m crying. Honestly.” Tears came back to her eyes but she wiped them away. “I feel completely stupid.”

  I sat beside her on the bed. “You don’t have to be sorry. I guess it’s sort of a shock.”

  “He should have told me himself,” she said, a hint of anger in her voice.

  “He’s going to. He said he’ll call … tonight, I think.”

  She nodded. “Then I suppose this is a new development.”

  “Brand-new.”

  She stood up and took a tissue from the box on her dresser. Wiping her eyes, she straightened her shoulders. “It’s not as though I thought we were ever getting back together. I didn’t. Maybe I’m crying because I don’t know what else to do. Or because something in my life is ending. Endings are always hard for me to deal with, even if they’re for the best. As she spoke, she calmed down. “Stacey, I’m not going to wait for your father’s phone call. Would you stay with me while I call him?”

  “All right,” I agreed. I’d have expected her to want privacy, but maybe she couldn’t stand to be alone while she did this. I sat there on the bed as she punched Dad’s number in on her cordless phone.

  “Oh, hello,” Mom said after a moment. She blinked hard and I had the distinct feeling Samantha had answered. “This is Maureen … Maureen McGill.” She coughed.

  Yes, it was definitely Samantha.

  “That’s nice to hear … she is a lovely girl … thank you. She told me your exciting news. Congratulations.”

  Good for you, Mom! I cheered silently. I was proud of her for being so classy.

  “You’re welcome. Is Ed there?” she continued. “Thank you.”

  I crossed my fingers as she waited for Dad to come to the phone. She had turned her back to me, but I could still see her face in the mirror over her dresser. She’d shut her eyes as if gathering her strength for the conversation with my dad.