Sophie Hartley and the Facts of Life

by Stephanie Greene

  “Not his whole face, John,” said Mr. Hartley. “Only his eyes.”

  “And half his nose,” said Sophie.

  Mr. Hartley pushed himself away from the door. “Well! I don’t know about you two, but I feel much better now that Nora has been launched.”

  “Good thing she’s not here to hear you. You make her sound like a ship,” Sophie said. “That was a good call, not making her eat dinner. I think she really would have thrown up.”

  “Come on, Dad, you promised.” John held out his hand, palm up. “I didn’t try to kick him or ambush him.”

  “A deal’s a deal,” Mr. Hartley agreed. He pulled some bills out of his pocket, peeled off a single for John, and gave it to him. John promptly ran upstairs to hide it.

  “You bribed him?” Sophie said indignantly. “How come you didn’t bribe me?”

  “I knew you had too much integrity to accept a bribe,” her dad said. “You can choose tonight’s movie—how’s that?”

  “Tonight’s movie and you have to make the popcorn,” Sophie said.

  “Deal. But I’m telling you one thing right now, Sophie,” said Mr. Hartley. “There’s a new rule in this family, starting with you: no dating until you’re thirty.”

  “Deal,” said Sophie.

  Sophie was packing for a sleepover at Alice’s house the next day when John called up the stairs.

  “Mom’s home!”

  Sophie finished stuffing the last of her things into her suitcase and zipped it closed. After giving Patsy a quick kiss on the head, she headed for the stairs as Nora came down the hall behind her.

  “Hurry up, slowpoke. I’m dying to see what Mom says about my hair.” Nora gave Sophie a playful prod in the back.

  “She probably won’t even notice,” said Sophie.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Maura was toddling down the hall to the kitchen. Sophie swooped her up and carried her into the kitchen as the mudroom door opened and Mr. Hartley came in carrying Mrs. Hartley’s suitcase.

  “Mommy home?” said Maura. Then Mrs. Hartley appeared in the doorway behind her husband, and Maura’s eyes opened wide. Her thumb fell out of her mouth as she wailed, “Mommy home!” and burst into tears.

  “Maura, sweetie,” said Mrs. Hartley. She took Maura from Sophie and hugged her tight, patting her back and kissing her. “Don’t cry, Maura. Mommy’s home.”

  “She was fine the whole time, Mom, really,” Nora said.

  “She didn’t cry once,” said Sophie.

  “Dad almost cried last night when he burned the hamburgers and the buns caught fire in the toaster oven,” reported John.

  “Now, John, no tattling.” Mr. Hartley put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “But I have to confess: I did almost cry when I saw the airport van pull into the driveway just now.”

  They all laughed.

  “We missed you, honey,” Mr. Hartley said. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s much easier to carry thousands of pounds of other people’s junk in and out of houses.”

  “I don’t know how you travel as much as you do,” said Mrs. Hartley. “I can hardly wait to sleep in my own bed again.”

  “I think we did pretty well, though. Didn’t we, kids?” said Mr. Hartley.

  “I have to admit, Dad was great,” Nora said. “We were a little worried we were going to see chicken chow mein every night, but we didn’t. Not even once.”

  Mrs. Hartley looked closely at Nora. “What did you do to your hair?”

  “I had it professionally blow-dried yesterday,” Nora said. She shook her head back and forth to make her straight hair fly out around her. “I wanted to get it straightened, but Dad said I had to wait until you were home. Besides, I checked, and hair straightening is so expensive! Dad treated me to the blow dry, and I bought a round brush the stylist recommended. She showed me how to do this myself. I love it.”

  “It looks very nice,” Mrs. Hartley said, “and if it makes you happy, that’s wonderful. How was your date?”

  “Great! But I’ll have to tell you tomorrow.” Nora looked at the clock and started moving toward the door. “Kate’s mom is picking me up in about ten minutes. We’re going to play practice and then I’m spending the night at her house.”

  “Have fun,” Mrs. Hartley called to Nora’s disappearing back.

  She sat at the table with Maura in her lap and sighed. “It’s so nice to be home. Tom, would you get me a glass of water, please? Where’s Thad?”

  “Playing soccer. After that, he’s going bowling with friends. And after that,” Mr. Hartley said, handing the water to his wife, “he’s going over to his new girlfriend’s house.”

  “What happened to Emily?” said Mrs. Hartley.

  “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  “How are you, Sophie?” Mrs. Hartley said. “I see you’re headed out too.”

  “Jenna and I are spending the night at Alice’s. First I have to change Patsy’s litter box, and then I have to eat lunch. Want me to make you a sandwich?” Sophie put her suitcase next to the back door and went to open the cabinets.

  “Thanks, but I bought a sandwich in the airport and ate it on the plane. Well,” Mrs. Hartley said, as Maura held tight to her mother’s necklace and contentedly sucked her thumb, “it certainly seems that everyone’s in good shape and spirits around here. It’s lovely to be home.”

  “It’s lovely to have you,” said Mr. Hartley.

  When they kissed, John clutched his neck and made gagging noises. “Dad wasn’t all lovey-dovey when you weren’t here,” he said disgustedly.

  “I’m glad to hear that, John,” said Mrs. Hartley. She sniffed the air. “Don’t tell me you’ve even been baking, Tom.”

  “John and I made brownies,” Mr. Hartley said. “Come on, let’s go sit in the family room so you can be comfortable. I want to hear about the conference.”

  “And I want to hear about what went on here.”

  “The brownies are for tonight!” John announced, leaping around in front of his parents like an excited puppy as he led the way down the hall. “We’re going to eat brownies and play Candy Land. The whole family.”

  “It looks to me as if the older children are busy, John,” Mrs. Hartley said. “But you and Maura and Dad and I will have a good time.”

  “Yes, John, the older children are busy,” Sophie said. She tried to toss her hair the way Nora had done, but it was too curly to move as easily. “Darn you, Mrs. Witherspoon,” she said haughtily as she opened a can of tuna fish. “It’s all your fault.”

  “I have to ask one more thing,” Alice said.

  “Al-ice,” Jenna said impatiently. “Your five minutes are up.”

  They were in Alice’s bedroom, plotting what to do for the night. Sophie was sprawled on one of the twin beds. Jenna was rewinding her yo-yo for the millionth time.

  “But—” Alice protested.

  “We’re done talking about it!” Jenna shouted.

  “Please . . . ?”

  “Go on, Alice. What?” Sophie said.

  “Okay, if our bodies are like a car, then what’s our brain?” said Alice.

  Jenna sighed loudly.

  Sophie thought for a second. “The steering wheel,” she said.

  “Oh. That makes sense. What about our heart?”

  “That’s two things,” Jenna said.

  “Your heart’s like the engine,” Sophie said.

  “So that means our feet are like the tires?” Alice said dubiously.

  “Be quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet!” Jenna yelled, jumping up and down and waving her hands in the air. “We said no more questions! “You’re an idiot!” she shouted. Jenna grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Alice, who hurled one back. All three of them started throwing pillows, laughing and shouting like crazy people.

  When they were exhausted, they lay on the beds.

  “Let’s make a pact,” Sophie said. “No more talking about P-U until next year.”

  “I second it,” said Jenna.

  �
�Okay. But I feel better about it, don’t you?” Alice said happily.

  “I feel like cheese,” Jenna said.

  “Eating cheese,” Sophie agreed, “and then putting on music and dancing.”

  “Okay. And then maybe we can take pictures of ourselves with the new camera my dad gave me,” Alice said.

  “I need one of the three of us,” said Sophie. “And I want each of us to be wearing one of the tie-dyed things you made.”

  “Those nerdy things?” said Jenna.

  “Okay, but first, let’s go get the cheese.” Alice stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “Just one last thing,” she said quickly. “We won’t talk about it again unless two of us feel like talking about it, and then we can as long as we don’t include the other person.”

  Another barrage of pillows put an end to the conversation.

  “What’s this?” said Mrs. Hartley the following evening.

  “This way, my-dam,” John said formally. He stuck out his elbow for his mother to hold and led her into the dining room. With his other hand, he held up the bottom of the suit jacket he’d taken from Mr. Hartley’s closet to wear over his underwear, so he wouldn’t trip.

  Thad, Sophie, and Nora had Googled “basic table manners.” The men were supposed to stay standing until the women sat down. Now Thad was standing behind his chair in a jacket and tie, waiting for his mother to sit down before he did.

  “Fat chance around here,” Nora had said when they’d read it. She was wearing the sequined jacket and the new skirt she’d worn on her date, her new platform shoes, and her new straight hair.

  Sophie had on her tiara, the one Nora had given her when she was nine. Sophie hadn’t worn it in a while, and she had forgotten how it brought out her regal, queenly side. She planned on sitting up straight and talking with an English accent all through dinner.

  She and Nora had set the dining-room table using the best china and silverware, a tablecloth, and candles. They put out wineglasses and a bottle of wine for Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, too. Mr. Hartley had even bought a cake. It had “Welcome Home” written on the top, surrounded by balloons. It sat on the sideboard, ready for dessert.

  “We planned a special welcome-home dinner for you,” said Mr. Hartley. He pulled out the chair at one end of the table. “Please, sit down. I’ll be right out with the dinner.”

  Mr. Hartley came back carrying a meat loaf on Mrs. Hartley’s best platter. It was surrounded by a sea of mashed potatoes studded with peas.

  “John insisted,” said Mr. Hartley.

  “I decorated it,” said John. “The peas are people drowning after a shipwreck.”

  “Meat loaf again?” Sophie said. Then she caught herself and gave a polite cough. “I mean, I say! Meat loaf again! Jolly good!”

  Nora rolled her eyes but all she said was, “So, Mother. How was your conference? Did you find it productive?”

  “Yes, Nora,” Mrs. Hartley said. “Very productive. Thank you.”

  There was a lull in the conversation.

  “We had a very productive week at home, too, didn’t we, Thad darling?” Nora said encouragingly.

  “Thad darling?” Mrs. Hartley mouthed to Mr. Hartley.

  Thad frowned to have the ball suddenly lobbed into his court, but then he gamely smiled and said, “Very productive.”

  “Mine was very, very, very productive,” said John.

  “I think we’ve had enough productivity for the week,” said Mr. Hartley.

  Thad sat up quickly, as if struck with a sudden inspiration. “I think we should let Mother talk about her conference,” he said gallantly.

  “What did you do to them?” Mrs. Hartley asked Mr. Hartley in a low voice.

  “I’m tired of the conference,” John said. “Dad let me brush my teeth in the bathtub every night. The water had the dirt from my feet and everything.”

  “John!” said Nora. “Your manners!”

  “How wonderfully hygienic, Tom,” Mrs. Hartley said.

  “Yes,” said Sophie, “and Thad, I have to thank you for doing such a good job of explaining the facts of life to me.”

  “Thad told you the facts of life?” Mrs. Hartley said in a faint voice.

  “And you, Nora, for warning me about big bosoms.”

  Thad choked and spewed out his milk. It sprayed all over Nora. “Thad! You slob!” Nora shouted as Thad bolted for the bathroom with the tail of his tie held over his mouth. She jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair, and dabbed furiously at her clothes with her napkin. “This is my new skirt, you idiot! You ruined it! Oh, and my jacket, too!” she cried, hurling her napkin onto the table. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

  She ran out of the room.

  “Bosoms!” John shouted. He fell off his chair and onto the floor, where he rolled around, pounding the rug with his fists and shouting, “Sophie said bosoms!”

  “Back off!” Maura cried, peering with interest at John over the tray of her highchair. She picked up a pea from her dish and put it into her mouth. Then she picked up another pea and dropped it over the edge. “You big bully,” she said.

  Mrs. Hartley and Mr. Hartley stared at each other in amazement.

  “What went on while I was gone?” said Mrs. Hartley.

  “Apparently, more than I realized,” said Mr. Hartley.

  Her mom didn’t sound mad, but Sophie wasn’t taking any chances. “You should do what I do, Mom, and become a tree. It makes it much easier.” Sophie got up and stood near the sideboard. Steadying her tiara with one hand, she rested her left foot against her right leg and hummed, “Ommm . . .”

  “Bosoms!” said John. Maura dropped another pea.

  Mr. Hartley gave his wife a weak smile.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It fell apart a little sooner than I had hoped.”

  “I’m kind of relieved,” Mrs. Hartley said. “I was beginning to think the children had been abducted by aliens and replaced with robots.”

  “And we wouldn’t want that?” Mr. Hartley said hopefully.

  “Bosoms,” John croaked. He was running out of steam.

  When Maura dropped another pea, it pushed the Hartley parents over the edge. They burst out laughing. Sophie couldn’t remember ever seeing them laugh as hard. Mrs. Hartley had to use her napkin to wipe the tears from her eyes, and Mr. Hartley took off his glasses and used the back of his hand. Every time it seemed they might stop, John gasped, “Bosoms,” and Maura dropped another pea.

  It was impossible to become a tree under these conditions.

  “Honestly,” Sophie said, putting her foot on the floor. “If you two act so immature about the word bosoms, I don’t know how you ever managed to have children.”

  This sent her parents off on another gale of laughter.

  Let them laugh, Sophie thought, straightening her tiara. Obviously she was the only mature person in the entire family. Even if no one else had any self-control, she was going to carry on with the meal.

  Sophie picked up the cake and put it on the table in front of her chair. She sat down, took her knife, cut herself a slice that went from the W to the o and encompassed three balloons, and put it onto her plate.

  “Jolly good,” Sophie said, and dug in.

  one

  On the whole, Sophie felt that the conversation about her birthday present had gone very well.

  She’d decided to talk to her father about it first. Sophie liked talking to him about things. He could be more reasonable than her mother. Especially when he was watching TV.

  Especially when he was watching football on TV.

  Sophie checked to make sure he had a soda and a bowl of chips before she perched lightly on the arm of the couch next to his chair and whispered, “Dad?”

  She knew from experience that it was a good idea to whisper her requests. When she whispered, he didn’t always answer “What’d your mother say?” the way he did at other times.

  “Dad?” she whispered again.

  Mr. Hartley leaned his head toward her
ever so slightly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the screen, and said, “Hmm?”

  “You know how I always ask for a dog or a cat for my birthday?” Sophie whispered.

  “Hmm?” Mr. Hartley said again. Then he suddenly leaped to his feet, shouted “Go! Go! What are you waiting for, you cowards?” and shook his fist at the TV.

  Sophie waited patiently until he settled into his chair again and took a swig of his soda before she went on. “I don’t want one this year,” she said. “I want a baby gorilla.”

  If she absolutely had to, she was prepared to add, “It could be my birthday present and my Christmas present.”

  Luckily, she didn’t have to make such a rash promise. Mr. Hartley gave a little start, as if Sophie had woken him up from a deep sleep, and cried, “What? Oh, Sophie! Wonderful! Run and get me some more chips, there’s a good girl,” absently patting her knee as he turned back to the TV.

  Sophie hopped up to get the chips. “Wonderful!” he’d said. Her father hardly ever said “Wonderful!” about anything. It was as good as a “Yes” in her book.

  It took a bit of practice, but she finally did it.

  Hunched over the piece of paper on the floor of the family room, holding her pencil between her big toe and the one next to it, Sophie wrote her name in spidery letters with her foot. Her foot kept cramping from the effort, and she had to stop and massage it several times before she could go on.

  It was a good thing gorillas had short names, like Kiki. They were easier to write.

  Sophie had fallen in love with gorillas after watching a program on TV about a baby gorilla that was being raised by people in a zoo. It wore diapers and drank from a bottle like a real baby. Sophie thought it looked like a real baby, except much cuter.

  She had promptly taken out all the gorilla books she could find from the school’s media center. She especially liked the one about the woman who’d moved to Africa to live with gorillas and had died trying to protect them.

  Passionate, the book called the woman. Sophie loved that word. Deep in her heart she knew she was passionate. She would be willing to die to protect something she loved, too. Of course, she didn’t want to have to do it until she was really old, and she didn’t want it to hurt.