Try Your Best
I didn’t know why we were in a hurry to get home. I went slowly up the walk, knowing that Mom would have talked to Mr. Villanueva. I was hoping I could sneak in and disappear into my room, hold off the lecture for a while.
But Mom was right there in the kitchen when I walked in, next to Tony, who’d beaten me by a mile. “Both of you are here,” she said. “Good.”
I was expecting Mom to tell me how my suspension would go on my “permanent record,” and wondered whether Dad would come to my aid and say something like, Now, Susie, let’s not be too hard on her. But this wasn’t like coming home a half hour late from Rachel’s, I mean, Rakell’s, or eating a bunch of junk food right before dinner. I’d never done something this serious.
Mom was wearing her purple sweatpants that doubled as pajamas, holding a basket of Grandma’s folded laundry on her hip. I hadn’t seen her in her usual work skirts and blouses in weeks. Bits of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and lay flat against her cheeks.
But what Mom said wasn’t what I’d expected. “I need you two to entertain Grandma,” she told us. She pointed her chin toward the living room, then leaned in close to me and Tony, adding, “She is not happy about moving to the assisted living facility tomorrow. I’m hoping you can distract her while I finish packing her things.”
Entertain her? Distract her? She wasn’t a toddler, or a puppy. Could Mr. Villanueva have forgotten to call? It seemed like days ago that I had been in his office, but it hadn’t even been an hour. I was certainly happy Mom wasn’t yelling at me, but also, I was just a little bit put out that she hadn’t even asked about the contest results. Obviously, she had a few other things on her mind, but it still kind of hurt.
Tony and I did as we were told. As Mom went upstairs, we walked into the living room and found Grandma next to the fireplace, picking things up from the mantle—a brass candlestick, a framed postcard of a bird, a bowl of fake lemons—and looking underneath.
What was Grandma looking for? A price tag?
Tony looked over at me, raised his eyebrows, and sat carefully down on the couch. I shrugged and took the recliner. How exactly were we supposed to “entertain” Grandma? We were way too old to put on a song-and-dance number. Couldn’t I just talk to her, like always? I guessed some days, that just wasn’t possible anymore.
She finished examining the items on the mantle, put them all back in the wrong places, which was not like her at all, then looked curiously at Tony.
“I’m Eleanor Hanson,” she said. “You’re the exchange student, Anthony, correct?”
Tony didn’t answer right away, and I worried he was going to lose it again.
“Well,” she said, “is that correct, or isn’t it? Speak!”
“Yes, yes, ma’am,” he said nervously. He didn’t seem angry with her at all. He actually seemed a little scared.
Grandma went to the couch, still clutching one of the plastic lemons. She sat down slowly and turned her body toward Tony. Then she tilted her head and squinted, like she was trying to bring him into better focus. “Where are you from?” she asked.
Tony’s eyes went big. He brought his thumbnail to his mouth and started chewing.
“Europe!” I cried. I hoped she didn’t want more specifics. Our dad was mostly German. I had no idea where Tony’s mom’s ancestors came from.
Thankfully, Grandma didn’t ask. “I went to Spain once, with my husband,” she said. She leaned back on the couch cushions and got a faraway look in her eyes like she was recreating that trip. Then she said to Tony, “It must be hard, leaving your home. You probably have a beautiful home.” She looked down and gave the lemon in her hand a confused stare.
“It is hard leaving home,” Tony said thoughtfully. He held out his own hand and motioned for the lemon. “Here, I can put that back for you,” he said.
But instead of handing him the fake fruit, my grandma put her other hand on top of Tony’s, and squeezed. She closed her eyes and took a couple deep breaths. Tony glanced at me, then closed his own eyes and did the same. I managed to close one of mine, but I kept the other one slightly open. I didn’t want to let Grandma out of my sight. We must have looked odd, all of us breathing deeply and sitting like statues on the couch.
“I miss him,” Grandma said, her eyes still closed.
I felt myself tearing up. I missed Grandpa, too, but to be honest, I’d never been very close to him. I was so much closer to Grandma. And that’s who I missed, in this moment. Even though she was right here.
She was still Grandma . . . but she wasn’t. I was starting to realize that, even though we might have some okay moments, times when Grandma seemed like her old self, they wouldn’t last, and things would never be completely the way they used to be. She was the person who understood me better than anyone else, and she was disappearing. I squeezed both my eyes tightly shut, trying to keep the tears from spilling out.
“I really miss him,” Grandma said again.
“I know,” Tony told her. “So do I.” There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he said it, and I knew he didn’t mean that he missed my grandpa. Obviously. I knew he missed his mom. He missed his home.
A few days ago, I’d complained to Tony about my mom being on my case to get all my laundry folded and put away, and he had said he’d give anything right now to have his mom on his case again about something so normal, just like old times, before she got sick.
Grandma opened her eyes. She sat up straight, patted Tony’s hand. “No use getting upset, Anthony,” she said. “Your house is waiting for you. It will be there, with all your loved ones, when you get back. My house, however . . .”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she got up, leaving the lemon to wobble and roll off the couch cushion. She walked up the stairs to her room, and I watched her, taking in every little detail I could—the swish of her skirt against the backs of her legs, the way her hand curled around the bannister, the light coming in through the pane of glass next to the front door and bouncing off her silver hair.
I turned back to Tony, who had crossed his arms over his face. I could tell he was crying. I got up and put the lemon back in its bowl and busied myself with the mantle, putting things where they were supposed to be. A place for everything, and everything in its place. That was another of Grandma’s famous sayings. If only it was that easy.
When Grandma left tomorrow, Tony would move back into his own room, if that’s what we were going to call it. Tony’s room? It sounded a lot better than “the spare room.” He’d at least have a bit of space to himself, which was so important. And Grandma would have her own room at the assisted living place, and I would miss her, but I’d visit all the time. I could help her decorate it. Our house had felt so small since Tony and then Grandma arrived, but at least I’d always had my own room, with a door I could close. I knew I was lucky.
I patted Tony’s back. He wasn’t sobbing or anything; he was a silent crier, but I saw a wet drop leaking out of one eye from underneath his crossed arms. I kept my hand on his shoulder and, before I could think it through, I was somehow saying, “I’m glad you’re here.”
The “talk” didn’t come until I was getting ready for bed. My dad poked his head into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth.
“So,” he said. “About this suspension.”
Starting right off, huh? Not even going to give me any warning. I brushed up and down, and around and around, again and again. I’d never brushed my teeth so thoroughly. I could hear Mom downstairs loading the dishwasher.
But pretty soon my mouth got super frothy, so I spit, then swished some water around, spit again. Dad was still standing there, patiently waiting, or else he just hadn’t planned out what he was going to say.
“Isn’t it Mom’s job to yell at me?” I asked.
“She thought I could handle this one,” he said and smiled sheepishly. “And nobody’s yelling.”
I rinsed out my toothbrush, stuck it in my cup, and put th
em back in the cabinet. “Look, I’m really sorry,” I said in a rush. “I was a poor sport, I get that, and I shouldn’t have done it, and I know it was wrong, and it’s just that I worked so hard, and I was really, really upset.”
He held up his hands. “I know, I know,” he said. “I’m not mad at you, Mags, believe it or not. I mean, you certainly did not make the best choices, but we’ve all been under a lot of pressure around here.” He leaned against the doorway. “I look at it this way—if anything was going to be wrecked, I’m glad it was just some paper decorations.”
I felt my body relax, the muscles in my shoulders unknotting. He was letting me off easy. This was incredible. Mom would not have been so kind. She at least would have taken my phone away or something. But I still wasn’t sure I was completely off the hook.
“I promise I’ll never do anything like that again,” I said solemnly.
Dad nodded, then said, “Just try your best.” He opened his arms and pulled me in for a hug. His cheek was scratchy, like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. “That’s all we can ask for.”
He pulled back and looked at me, holding my shoulders. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “You know that Tony is supposed to be going to a counselor, but he walked out of his first session . . . and I was thinking, maybe it would help if we all went, as a family. We’d be supporting Tony, but also, I think it could do us all some good.”
“Ummm,” I said, and Dad cut in.
“You know, a lot of people go to counseling. Your mom and I went years ago, when we were having some troubles.”
I wondered if a counselor had convinced them to stay together. If that was the case, I owed her or him a thank-you. How bad could it be? It was just talking to someone, right?
“Sure, Dad, I’d go.”
I heard someone on the stairs. Tony.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”
He was in his pajamas, probably had the sofa bed all pulled out, ready for his last lonely night in the living room. I wondered how long he’d been listening to Dad and me.
“It’s fine, Tony,” Dad said. “We’re done in here.”
I went to my room, and Dad followed. “Are you going to be okay at home tomorrow?” he asked. “With me at work and Mom getting Grandma settled at the facility?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve got a social studies report to finish.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “Mom or I will call and check on you. Good night.”
He’d gotten to the door when I said, “Dad, could you . . . could you . . . tuck me in?”
“Sure,” he said. He sounded surprised, but happy, too.
He climbed up my ladder and leaned over the bed to pull the comforter up to my chin, and I felt that wonderful warmth and heaviness spreading all over me, pulling my eyelids closed. We’d try as best as we could. That was the only promise worth making.
When I heard someone whisper, “Maggie, Maggie,” I thought at first it was a dream. But there was Tony. He was standing next to my loft, calling up to me, and though he looked a bit ghostlike thanks to the moonlight coming from my window, he was definitely real.
“I can’t sleep,” he said. “It’s too quiet downstairs.”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Mittens was purring at my feet, and I heard Grandma snoring in the other room. Somehow I’d gotten used to it, and it didn’t even bother me anymore, kind of like how I’d stopped noticing all the new smells in the house.
“You can sleep next to Grandma,” I joked groggily. “It’s not too quiet in there.”
I could just make out Tony’s smile from where he stood at the bottom of my ladder. He chewed his nail.
“You’re going to chew that thing right off, you know,” I said. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
He looked down at his thumb like he was seeing it for the first time and wiped his hand on his pajama pants.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “I know Grandma kind of . . . upset you earlier. Are you still thinking about that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, no, not really.” He walked over to my window, pulled the curtains back and looked out. I couldn’t imagine there would be much to see on the street after dark except a person or two getting one last dog walk in, or some raccoons looking to dig through any trash cans that weren’t covered.
“I’m thinking about my mom,” he said. “She actually called earlier. It was a super short conversation. You probably didn’t even hear it.”
“No, I didn’t, but that’s good, right, that you got to talk to her?” Tony had been so upset after school that she wasn’t calling. “That’s progress, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. It’s just that . . . she doesn’t like it there.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” I said. “That’s why she’s going to get better and get out.”
He kept looking out my window, which was starting to bug me, like there was a monster out there or something. I wasn’t typically afraid of things like that, except in the movies, but it was weird.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Tony answered. He sat on my beanbag chair, and I leaned over my bed rail. He’d left the curtain open so the room was brighter now. I could see his bare feet. His toenails were too long and kind of gross-looking. I wondered if his mom used to cut his nails. My mom still cut mine.
“Will you visit her again? At McDonalds or something?” I asked. If he wanted me to go with him again, for moral support, I would. I just hoped the visit would turn out better than the last time.
“We have a meeting set up in a couple weeks,” he said.
I could tell by his expression that it wasn’t nearly soon enough for him. Mittens had climbed down from my loft, and Tony petted her. She started up her purr motor.
“Dad told me how important it is that she really stays committed to her program,” he said. “That’s why I really hate it when she does stuff like miss calls, because I figure she’s messing up other stuff, too.”
Suddenly, he gave my beanbag a punch, and I worried, not for the first time, he’d send Styrofoam pellets everywhere. “I hate this,” he said, too loud for a whisper.
“Shhh,” I said. “Do you want Mom and Dad in here? Or Grandma?”
“Who cares?”
He put his head down in his hands so I couldn’t see his face anymore. I didn’t know what to do. Should I climb down and give him a hug? Should I go get Dad? I was still so out of it. I’d been having a dream where I was chasing Mittens down a dark alley, and it really got my heart thumping. Here in the present, everything was still and calm. But I knew there were shadows in the dark downstairs, and Tony was sleeping down there all alone.
“Hey, Tony?” I said. “If you want to stay in here tonight, that’s fine. I mean, it’s just for the night because tomorrow you’ll have your own room again.”
He looked up, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Really?”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to sleep on the floor, but if you bring all the blankets in and stuff . . .”
“That’s fine, that’s fine. I’ll be right back!”
I vaguely remembered him mumbling good night from his nest of blankets, but I was already back in my dream, only this time I’d found Mittens, and she was purring as I scratched her in just that perfect spot under her chin.
One More Thing
When I woke up, Tony was gone. His pillow and blankets were folded and stacked against the wall. I hadn’t set my alarm since I didn’t need to go to school, and I’d really slept in. It was almost 10 a.m. already. The house was quiet, which meant Mom and Grandma had probably already left. I was sad I didn’t get to say goodbye to Grandma, but I knew I’d be visiting her soon.
It was probably for the best that I’d slept in. Dad had told me yesterday that I might want to stay out of sight this morning. He said Mom didn’t want to have to lie to Grandma about my suspension. “We rea
lly don’t need one more thing to deal with,” Mom had told him. “Not one more thing.”
It wasn’t so bad having the day to myself; I had plenty of things to do. I needed to finish my social studies report—that was first on the list—but I needed to do some thinking, too. I felt like I should reach out to Rakell now that I knew about her parents, but I wasn’t sure how, and I wanted to check in with Olive.
After a couple bowls of Lucky Charms, I was in the living room on the couch with my books spread out on the cushions, looking for some facts about the Revolutionary War. Then, all of a sudden, Tony burst through the door, threw his backpack and coat on a chair, and sat on the couch, putting his head in his hands just like no time had passed since our beanbag conference last night.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you sick?” He looked like he was about to throw up.
“That’s what I told the nurse,” he said.
“Doesn’t a parent have to get you if you’re sick? Wait . . . are you sick, or not?” He was all sweaty and out of breath. “Did you run all the way home?”
“Yeah. I told the nurse my mom had texted and was waiting outside, and then I just left. It’s no big deal; I’m used to getting around on my own. My mom and I didn’t have a car for a while. Anyway, that doesn’t matter.” He waved his hands in the air like this conversation was wasting his time and leaned toward me with this super intense look on his face.
“Something happened to my mom,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I closed my book. My report was clearly going to have to wait. “What happened?”
“Well, she texted Rakell,” Tony continued and explained, “I gave her Rakell’s cell number, just in case.”
“Are you supposed to do that?” I remembered him saying his mom wasn’t supposed to call him directly, and this seemed like a sneaky way of getting around that. Maybe that was why he’d given her Rakell’s number instead of mine, in case my parents were looking at my phone.
The Rule of Threes Page 19
