“My mom hates it here,” Andrea confessed to me shortly after we met. “She says she feels like a Stepford wife. Like if she doesn’t put the garbage can out at just the right time, facing the right direction, just the right distance from the curb, and then get it back off the street within an hour of pickup time, well, it might make her look bad.” She laughed. “Like who cares what you do with your trash? I mean, would it be better to just let it pile up in your house?”
“Reagan?” My mom’s voice has that tone that suggests I might’ve been ignoring her again. “Are you listening to me?”
“What?” I study her face, trying to remember what we were talking about just now. She looks so pale and old without her usual makeup. Despite the fact that she’s had two very expensive facelifts in the past five years and uses every product imaginable to “slow down the effects of aging,” her years seem to be catching up with her. And, although she refuses to acknowledge it, I know for a fact that she turns sixty next month. One reason I can so easily track her age is because I know she was close to the cutoff age for international adoption in China. Single women can’t be over forty-five to adopt an infant. She was forty-four then and I am sixteen now, so I simply add the two numbers and, presto, I know her age.
Back when my mom decided to adopt a baby, China was the only country to even consider a single woman as a potential adoptive parent. Of course, this was only because the country was so desperate. Thanks to their rigid laws controlling family size, thousands of Chinese baby girls were dying in impoverished orphanages — a fact I try not to think about. Anyway, China must’ve figured that even an older, single mom was better than a death sentence.
Mom sighs in a tired way as she pushes a strand of blonde-tinted hair away from her forehead. “We were talking about Nana, Reagan.”
“Oh, yeah.” I take a long sip that finishes off my smoothie and then meticulously rinse the glass and place it in the dishwasher (only because Mom is watching me). Impressive.
“I want to take Nana to tour this place today, Reagan. And I want you to come along with us.”
“Oh, Mom.” I let out a dramatic groan. “Why do I have to go?”
“Because it will reassure Nana.”
“But I’m not the one who wants to put her away, Mom.”
“We’re not putting her away, Reagan. This is assisted living.”
“What does that mean, anyway?”
“It means they know how to take care of old people. They’re set up for it and they know what they need.”
“Maybe she just needs us.”
“She’s home alone most of the time.” Mom closes the dishwasher with a bang. “And it’s not helping matters that she’s incontinent.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Mom. Isn’t that why she wears those granny diapers?”
“Maybe I should make you go to the store and buy them for her, Reagan.” Mom narrows her eyes in a threatening way. “Do you know how ridiculous I feel going to Wal-Mart for Depends?”
“Why don’t you buy them online?”
She just shakes her head. “It’s too much for me to handle right now, Reagan. My new job at the bank is overwhelming. Everyone there seems to resent the fact that I replaced the last manager, Mr. Nice Guy, although he made a perfect mess of everything — a mess I’m having to clean up. And I’m not getting any younger. I just think it’s time to consider the alternatives for Nana.” She stands up straight and puts on her business face, including a fakelooking smile. “Besides, this place sounds very nice.”
“I don’t know …”
“Exactly.” She points her finger at me. “That’s why you need to come along too. So you can find out. And then you can help Nana see why it’s a good idea.”
And so I agree to go with them. Isn’t this how every sixteen-year-old wants to spend her Saturday? Although it’s not like I have a life anyway. I mean, despite making the cheerleading squad yesterday, it’s not like I’ve made any real friends yet. Maybe after next week, I tell myself as I get dressed to tour the old-folks’ home, maybe after we start to practice and stuff, then I’ll get to know the other cheerleaders and things will start to look up. I know I need to make a plan. I need to pick out someone I think would be easy to befriend. I’ll look for a cheerleader who, like me, is a little on the outside. I’ll be extra nice and encouraging and it will be a start. And if I don’t really like her — if she turns out to be a class-B friend or less — then she might just be a stepping-stone to the next friend. A class-A friend.
Naturally, thinking about this makes me miss my old best friend, Geneva. I’ve tried to call her a couple of times this week, but all I get is her voice mail. I decide to try her again. But, as usual, she’s not answering. “Hey, Geneva,” I say as cheerfully as I can for the recording. “I really miss you and wish you’d return my calls. I made varsity squad and have lots to tell you, and I want to hear how life is treating you too. So call me, okay?” Then I hang up and for some reason I don’t expect her to call. I don’t think she has time for a friend who lives so far away. I wonder who she’s replaced me with.
I feel sorry for Nana as Mom drives us across town. She’s just happily chattering away in the front seat. She always notices interesting-looking people and signs and vehicles and just whatever as she looks out the window. She sees things that most people miss. Like the short elderly lady with curly white hair walking her little white poodle. “Look at the twins,” says Nana, pointing at the pair. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Yes,” I agree. “They even walk alike.”
“I want a little dog,” says Nana in a childlike voice that’s filled with longing.
“Good grief,” says Mom. “What would you do with a dog, Mother?”
“We would dress alike,” says Nana.
Mom sort of laughs, but I know exactly what she’s thinking. I can guess what she really wants to say. And if we weren’t on our way to a place that she hopes we will all approve of, she would probably snap at Nana. She’d say something like, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother, you can’t even take care of yourself. How can you possibly take care of a pet too?” And then Nana would clam up or even start crying. And I would get mad and start sulking, but I wouldn’t say anything because I’d know that it could only get worse. Both Nana and I are well aware that there is no point in arguing with my mother. That woman always wins. When it comes to power in this family, Mom has it all. Especially right now when I need money for a cheerleading uniform. No way will I rock Mom’s boat today.
As Mom turns into a parking lot next to an institutional-looking building, I realize how much I’ve liked having Nana as part of our family. I think of all the times when Mom was on a business trip or working late or attending some social function, and Nana and I hung out and had a good old time at home — just the two of us. Nana never worried about having the music up too loud or making messes doing craft projects or trying weird new recipes that usually tasted horrible. But I always made sure things were cleaned up and put away before Mom got home. It just wasn’t worth the fuss if I didn’t. I can’t even imagine what it will be like with just Mom and me sharing a house. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
After touring the building, which smells like a mixture of pine-scented disinfectant, overcooked vegetables, and pee, I tell Mom that I’m going outside for some fresh air.
“Me too,” says Nana, taking my hand.
Fortunately, there’s a courtyard that’s not too bad. It’s warm and sunny out here, and September roses are blooming profusely. It looks like someone puts some time and care into this garden.
“This is pretty,” I say as Nana and I stroll along a cement path that only goes in a circle since the courtyard is all neatly contained within the confines of the surrounding buildings.
Nana pauses in front of a rosebush and points at a bright pinkish-orange bloom. “That’s a … a …” She pauses and scratches her head. I can tell she’s searching for the right word.
“A rose?�
� I offer and she laughs.
“Yes, silly girl, I know it’s a rose.” She sighs and thinks for a full minute while I wait. “Tropicana,” she finally proclaims happily.
“That’s the rose’s name? Tropicana?” Okay, I’m thinking of orange juice and wondering if she really knows what she’s talking about.
“Yes.” She smiles, proud of herself. “I remembered something.”
“So what do you think of the place?” I nod toward the building, where I suspect Mom is talking to someone, perhaps even making arrangements.
“Oh, that place? It’s for old people.” Nana stoops over to smell a pale pink rose, taking her time as she inhales its scent, then says, “Ah.”
“So, would you want to live in a place like that?”
Nana stands up and looks curiously at me. “Is that why we came here?”
I nod.
“Oh. I thought Diane came to see a friend. She said a friend … a friend …” Her voice trembles and trails off.
“Her friend told her about this place,” I explain.
“Oh.” She looks confused now.
“Mom thinks you’d be happy here.”
“Happy?” Nana peers at me with faded blue eyes.
I feel a huge lump in my throat now. “She’s worried about you being home alone during the day, Nana.”
“Oh. Because I can’t remember things?”
“Yes. She thinks you could get hurt. Like the time you left the stove on high; you could’ve been burned.”
She nods eagerly. “Oh, yes, but I don’t cook anymore, Reagan.”
“I know.”
“Diane wants me to live here?” Nana turns and looks at the long, low cement building that surrounds us and frowns. “Would you want to live here?”
“No!” she says quickly, taking the strap of her old black purse higher into both hands and pulling it toward her chest as if she expects to be robbed. Of course, I know there is nothing of real value in her purse. No credit cards or money or anything besides some ruby red lipstick and an ancient silver compact. Mom took all the other things away some time ago. “No,” says Nana in a firm voice. “I would not … not want to live here.”
I don’t know what to say now. I’m well aware that Mom will be furious at me if I take sides with Nana on this. Especially if she’s in there right now putting together some sort of deal. I need to think fast. “Maybe you could visit here?” I suggest to Nana. But she’s not buying it. She just shakes her head and gets that stubborn look that reminds me of a five-year-old. I link my arm in hers. “Well, don’t worry, Nana,” I say. “No one will make you do something you don’t want to do.”
“You won’t let Diane put me in here?” she says, looking at me with frightened eyes.
“You won’t let her lock me up?”
“I’ll do what I can, Nana.” I walk over to a bench and ask her if she wants to sit and rest while I go look for Mom.
“You won’t leave me here, will you?” She still looks scared.
“Of course not,” I assure her. “Just sit here and enjoy the sunshine and roses and I’ll be back as soon as I find Mom. Maybe we can go to Dairy Queen.”
She smiles at the mention of her favorite treat. “Yes, Dairy Queen! That would be good.”
So I go off in search of Mom, knowing that I’m probably on a fool’s mission. How on earth am I going to convince my mother that Nana doesn’t belong here? And, I remind myself, Mom hasn’t given me money for my cheerleading uniform yet. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Still, I need to stand up for Nana. It’s the least I can do when I consider all she’s done and been for me. I can do this. I find Mom in the lobby, where she is waiting to speak to the head nurse.
“Nana really doesn’t want to stay here,” I say in my most persuasive voice. “She’s getting all freaked and — “
“What did you tell her, Reagan?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just asked how she liked the place.”
“So she knows I’m looking at it for her?”
“She’s forgetful, Mom, not stupid.”
Mom frowns. “Well, I didn’t expect this to be easy.”
“Maybe it’s too soon,” I say, nodding over to where an old woman is slumped in a wheelchair, just sitting by herself and staring into space. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s drugged up or what, but it doesn’t look right. “Nana’s not like the people here,” I point out. “She still functions.”
“It’s just a matter of time, Reagan.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “But maybe that time isn’t here yet.”
“I know this is hard,” says Mom. “But you’ve got to see it’s for the best. It’s too stressful having Nana at home. I just can’t deal with it anymore.”
“Then I’ll help more,” I say. “I’ll take over some of the responsibility for taking care of Nana. I’ll get her breakfast in the morning. I’ll make sure she’s got something ready for lunch too.” I think for a moment. “I’ll even clean up the bathroom she uses, and” — I think I found a bargaining chip — “I’ll make sure she has her granny diapers.” My plan is to order them online.
“Oh, Reagan.”
“Please, Mom. Can we just try it? You should see Nana. She’s so upset and worried. She doesn’t want to be here.”
Mom sighs. “Well, it’s not as if I want to get rid of her, Reagan, it’s just — ”
“It’s just that you need help,” I say with confidence. “And I’m going to do that. Trust me, Mom, I can do this.”
Mom almost smiles now. “Well, okay. I guess it’s worth a try. But just to be safe, I’ll put her on the waiting list, because if I don’t do that today, it’ll be that much longer before we can get her in.”
“That’s cool,” I say with relief. “Can I go tell Nana the good news?”
“I guess. I just hope it’s not a mistake.”
“It’s not, Mom. Really, I can deal with this. Nana and I have always gotten along really great. And I was doing a lot more with her before school started. I realize that I probably haven’t been helping that much the past couple of weeks. That’ll be changing now.”
Nana is hugely relieved when I tell her that she’s not going to be staying here. But Mom looks edgy as we stop by Dairy Queen for ice cream. I can tell she’s already having second thoughts. And this makes me mad. Can’t she just give us a chance? Or maybe she does want to get rid of Nana, to be done with the inconvenience so she can get on with her life. My mother has always been a little on the selfish side.
three
BY MONDAY I’M GLAD TO GO TO SCHOOL. IT SEEMS LIKE ALL I DID WAS WORK, work, work this past weekend. Taking care of Nana is more challenging than I realized. Her laundry had piled up. Her bedding needs to be changed daily. She needs help in the bathroom, help with her food, help taking her medicine, help finding all the things she keeps losing, like her dentures, hearing aid, and glasses, but I think I’ve got it all together by the time I leave for school. I also put my cell phone number on the phone’s speed dial and show Nana how to get me if she has an emergency.
“You’re really handling this well,” Mom told me before she left for work. “Maybe it’ll work out after all.”
I nodded as I placed Nana’s sandwich for lunch in an obvious part of the refrigerator. “Thanks.” Then I reminded her that I needed money for my cheerleading uniform. “The meeting is today,” I said. “I’m supposed to bring a check.”
Mom quickly got into her purse and tore out a check. “Is this just for football season?” she asked as she signed it and handed it to me. “Or are we getting the full whammy all at once?”
“Just football season,” I assured her.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Then she actually smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Reagan. I knew you’d handle the adjustment of this move just fine. And you have.”
“Thanks,” I told her as I slipped her blank check into my purse.
But now as I walk down the hall by myself, I wonder if I re
ally have made the adjustment. It sure would help to have a friend by my side. Seeing Kendra and her friends hanging together doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t look directly at them, although I’m hoping they’ll call out, invite me over, be nice, but they don’t. As I get closer, I can tell they’re looking at me. I’m still not looking at them, but I can just feel it. Then Kendra makes a comment that I can’t quite hear, and the girls all laugh loudly — at my expense, I’m sure. Okay, it’s possible that I’m just being paranoid, but having been on the other side of this same fence, I’m pretty sure Kendra’s making fun of me right now. Still, I don’t show the slightest reaction. I will not give her the satisfaction. I know she has it out for me. And I know this is going to be a tough battle, but I think I’m up for it.
Because of making varsity squad, my schedule had to be rearranged. Instead of taking regular PE, we have a cheerleading class, which is seventh period. I’ve been looking forward to it all day, but now that I’m on my way to the locker room by myself, I’m not so sure. Still, when I notice poor Andrea Lynch coming out of the locker room with some pathetic girl who’s even lamer than she is, I think I really shouldn’t complain. Naturally, I slow my pace, averting my eyes to avoid any form of contact with these two losers. I actually pretend to study an AIDS awareness poster on the wall — eew. And then I continue on my way, holding my head high. Yes, life could be worse.
I coolly survey the locker room, trying to decide the best way to handle this. I don’t want to slink off to a corner like I’m intimidated, but I also don’t want to strip down in the center of the room like I’m an exhibitionist. I notice that some of the other cheerleaders are already here, getting dressed down and ready to practice. Feeling more self-conscious than I’ve felt since middle school, I find a semi-neutral spot and begin to do the same.
Harsh Pink with Bonus Content Page 2
