Lucky

by Rachel Vail

  I waited in the kitchen, looking out the bay window over the sink, past the pool and the tennis court in the backyard, to where some birds were flying low across the lawn. I think a teacher once said you can tell it’s going to rain if the birds are flying low. Or maybe I dreamed that. It occurred to me that I could probably learn a lot if I ever listened in school. The sky was bright blue, so I must have dreamed it, I decided.

  When Mom came down in jeans and a white T-shirt, her hair combed damp and her face as beautiful and sharp as always, I was guzzling a glass of orange juice. “You know that’s pure sugar,” she said.

  “No wonder I like it,” I said, putting it in the sink.

  She laughed, bigger than normal, then sighed. “Ready?” I followed her out to the garage and got in the passenger seat of her Porsche. We drove without talking. She drives really fast but it still felt safe. The seat kind of hugged me, which was nice. I was kind of disappointed we got to the Neiman Marcus parking lot so fast.

  As we walked through the store together, toward the juniors department, I watched people’s heads turn. Everybody looks at her and she doesn’t even notice. “Have fun last night?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Sure.” What if she asks me how things are going with my friends? I thought. Because, I mean, of course things are fine, just, I’ve been a little weird lately, no big deal. Or maybe somehow she’d figured out about Luke, that I’d kissed him again, or that I kind of liked him, or was using him, or even worse, was not. “Why do you want to know?” I asked her.

  She looked at me funny. “Why do you sound like Allison all of a sudden?”

  I laughed. “Ew. I don’t know.”

  She laughed, too. Phew. We went the rest of the way without talking. At the juniors department, salesladies flocked around Mom, as they always do. They can just tell. I went one time with Ann and her mom and we couldn’t get anybody to help us at all.

  Mom explained that we needed a fabulous dress for my graduation party, so immediately all three salesladies, knowing the drill, fell all over one another to compliment my figure, my face, my eyes, my hair. I shrugged at Mom, who shrugged back. We knew the drill, too.

  They showed us so many dresses my head was spinning, but Mom quickly said yes or no to each and then we went to the dressing room. “Socks, too,” she reminded me. I peeled them off, remembering I had worn them yesterday and slept in them last night and they smelled a little bit like it. I shoved them under my jeans and pulled on the first dress.

  “No,” Mom said, and I whipped it off. I don’t even think I looked at it.

  About five or six dresses in, I saw the green one I had clipped a picture of from Teen Vogue. I pulled it carefully over my head and closed my eyes. She didn’t say anything so I opened them. Her hands were over her mouth as she looked at me in the mirror.

  “What?” I looked at myself, then looked away. I didn’t want to look too closely, because I had imagined myself in this dress so many times it was kind of weird. Dancing with my friends, dancing with Luke, slow dancing with Luke, last dance of the party, with Luke’s arms pulling me close to him…always, always, in this emerald green dress with the straps spread far apart on my shoulders. I waited for her no.

  It didn’t come.

  I looked up again. She was blinking, staring at me in the mirror, her hands still over her mouth. Okay, look.

  I slid my eyes over to my reflection, and there I stood, shoulders hunched but otherwise just as I had dared to imagine I might look in this beautiful dress, when I imagined it, alone and in my pajamas. Beautiful. I mean the dress, of course; it was as beautiful as it had looked in the magazine.

  “You’re beautiful, baby,” my mother said.

  I opened my mouth to joke, to disagree, to argue. But then I didn’t, because the thing is, for the first time ever, I was. She was right. I looked beautiful.

  I uncrossed my arms and let myself look at it, this beautiful girl in the mirror, in this deep green dress that fit her like it was designed for her, sculpted onto her, the same exact color of her eyes, matching and highlighting the slight curves of her body, straight as it was. She looked beautiful. And she was me. I met Mom’s eyes and there were tears in them.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s your dress.”

  I nodded, touching the soft silk near my hips.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her hand went again to her mouth as she swallowed. “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s go. It doesn’t need a single stitch.”

  I took it off and she hung it on the hanger while I put my regular clothes back on. When I had tied my shoes, I followed her and the dress, high on the hanger in front of her, to the checkout counter.

  The woman smiled at us. “We just got that one in. Stunning, isn’t it?”

  “Stunning,” my mother agreed, taking out her charge card and handing it over.

  “You could be sisters,” the lady said, moving smoothly and fluidly, whipping the card through the machine, shimmying a garment bag down over the dress. “You’re too young to have such a magnificent daughter.”

  “She’s my baby,” Mom said. She snapped and unsnapped the silver closure on her wallet.

  “No,” the lady said, frowning at the machine. “You have more?”

  “Three girls,” Mom said.

  “Lucky you,” the lady said. “Sorry. I have to run your card again. This machine is so cranky.”

  “No problem,” Mom said. Her hand tightened on her wallet.

  “All as beautiful as this one?” the lady asked, still frowning.

  Mom nodded. “Beautiful girls.”

  “Like their mama,” the lady said, frowning even deeper. “I really apologize. Do you have another card? This temperamental machine…”

  “Of course,” Mom said, handing over another, then checking her watch.

  “I really do apologize,” the lady said. “This shouldn’t take another second.” She turned to me and smiled. Her teeth were yellow, I noticed. “Your prom?”

  “Graduation,” I said. “Eighth grade graduation.”

  “Oh, very sophisticated taste.” She lifted her black framed glasses on their chain and peered down through them. “This is quite a dress for such a young girl.”

  “It was made for her,” Mom said.

  “You’re very lucky,” the lady said, flashing me a kind of evil look. “Aren’t you?”

  I shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Would you mind hurrying please?” Mom asked. “We’re in a bit of a rush.”

  “Yes, of course, only this card was rejected, too.”

  I was starting to sweat. “Never mind,” I said to Mom.

  Mom threw another card onto the counter. “Put it on this one.” Her eyes were fire. The lady behind the counter stopped smiling and focused on typing in the numbers.

  Her foot tapping, Mom rifled through her bag, then checked her watch.

  “This one is declined as well,” the lady said, handing it cautiously across the counter.

  Shaking her head, Mom tossed it into her bag and thrust another at the lady. “Here’s my Neiman’s card.”

  The lady smiled without showing her yellow teeth. I turned my back to her and leaned against the counter, waiting, listening to my mother’s nails drumming impatiently. I glanced around quickly to make sure nobody from school was around.

  “I’m sorry,” the lady said.

  Mom exhaled hard, holding her hand out for it.

  “I apologize, the computer says they—I have to cut it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mom demanded. The lady swiveled her screen around. Mom looked at it; I didn’t. I was sinking down onto the floor. I heard scissors snipping plastic above my head. “That is the most ridiculous…give me your name.” Mom was speaking quietly, clipped, in her most severe voice.

  The lady spelled out her name and Mom entered it into her BlackBerry. The lady was apologizing, saying she was only doing her job, as Mom told her she was used to a different le
vel of service.

  “Let’s just skip it,” I said.

  “I’ll pay cash,” Mom said, taking out her wallet. “How much is it?”

  “Four forty, plus tax,” the lady mumbled. “So that’s…”

  “I’ll have to…” Mom stopped. I looked up. She was just standing there, holding her wallet and staring into space.

  “Mom?”

  She looked up at the ceiling, blinking.

  “I don’t even like that dress,” I lied, standing up.

  Mom shook her head. “We’ll be back later, after I speak with your manager.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the lady said. “Of course.” She looked up at me pityingly. I could’ve punched her.

  Mom and I walked back out the way we had come. Her eyes were like lasers, straight ahead. I kept up the pace beside her. It wasn’t easy; she was fast. I wished I could put my arm around her, tell her it was okay, tell her it didn’t matter, but what could I do? I just tried to keep up.

  Not saying the wrong thing is easier if you say nothing.

  Near the door, I heard my name. Kirstyn and her mother were heading toward us, big smiles beaming. My mother grimaced, said the S-word quietly, the exact same word I was holding in. We both straightened up and smiled.

  “Hey,” I said to Kirstyn.

  “Hi!” she said.

  “Hi, girls!” her mother said. “Looking for dresses, I guess? Us, too.” She patted her huge shiny pocketbook. “Kirstyn has a whole file of ideas clipped. This is so exciting, isn’t it? Our babies are really growing up!”

  Mom nodded at her.

  “So did you find anything?”

  Mom and I each shrugged a tiny bit. “Still thinking,” I said.

  “This place has really gone downhill,” Mom said quietly.

  “Oh,” Kirstyn’s mom frowned. “Maybe we should go someplace else.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows noncommittally and took a step toward the door. “Well…”

  “Well, true, Kirstyn is shorter and, a bit, well, curvy in the behind, so they’d be looking at different things.” She put her arm around Kirstyn and squeezed. “But I’d think Phoebe would be the easiest person to fit, no?”

  “Fit is not the issue,” Mom said tightly. “Everything looks stunning on her. It’s just hard to decide and this place is so pretentious and airless it suffocates me. Let’s go, Phoebe.” She stalked out. I hurried after her.

  She unlocked her car from fifty feet away with the keychain thing, and slammed herself in. As I went around, got in, and buckled up, she sat stock still, staring ahead.

  After a few minutes, I said, “Mom?”

  She blinked twice. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?” I waved my hand in front of my face, like, forget it.

  She shook her head. “We’ll come back.”

  “I don’t even—”

  “Stop.” She turned to me fiercely. “Yes you do, and you should have it. This was…it isn’t…there was just some confusion. My credit cards are all paid automatically online, so when the…”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. I just wanted her to stop. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to just melt into the soft leather seat of her car and disappear.

  “I can certainly afford to buy my daughter a dress for her…” She didn’t finish. She turned and stared out the front window again. We just sat there for a few minutes and I was not saying one word. Her fingers were tight on the wheel, strangling it. I wished I could reach over and make them relax. I stayed as still as I could, tucking my own fingers under my thighs.

  She took a quick sharp breath in through her nose and flicked the key in the ignition. We backed out of the spot and sped home, the long way, on the highway, very fast. When we got there, I unbuckled and got out but she didn’t.

  “You coming in?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “I’ll be back later.” She looked up at me.

  I turned away. Her eyes looked too complex. I couldn’t meet them.

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s all good.”

  She shifted her eyes down and away.

  “I mean…”

  But by then she was peeling out, backward, down the driveway.

  14

  INSIDE, DADDY WAS SITTING IN his den watching baseball, grouching at the TV. He pried his eyes off the screen for maybe two seconds when I said hello. I wandered into the kitchen and slid open the wide drawer. After checking that nobody was coming, I pulled out the emergency money envelope. Four singles, nothing else. I put them back in, replaced the envelope, closed the drawer.

  Taking the back stairs by twos, I went looking for Allison or Quinn, to tell them what had happened, see what they thought.

  Allison was about to go out so she was in her room having her self-hate-fest first, trying stuff on and ripping it off, grunting that she was hideous. When I tried to compliment her she screamed at me and accused me of taking her white sweater, which I totally didn’t, and anyway I thought it was supposed to be for both of us and in case it had somehow ended up in my bottom drawer, I had to lock her out of my room and lean against the door. Quinn was in her room studying the whole time until somebody beeped in the driveway and she sprinted out of the house. When I went by Allison’s room a little later with the white sweater, she was already gone.

  That’s okay, though, I told myself. I’m not a baby. I can handle all this stuff on my own. I put the sweater on Allison’s spring sweater shelf in her closet and quietly closed the door.

  I had just settled down in front of the TV in the family room with a pint of Cookie Dough Dynamo and a spoon when my phone buzzed. I checked caller ID. It was Luke. I shut off the TV and waved my hands around like a lunatic before answering as cool as possible, “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Luke,” he said.

  “Hi.” I ate a spoonful of ice cream. My mouth was burning up.

  “Oh,” he said. “So, um, Memorial Day?”

  It was obviously a question but I had no clue what to answer. “Uh-huh?” is what I came up with.

  “You going away?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, downing another spoonful. “Is that next weekend?”

  He laughed. “Wow, somebody spacier than I am. That’s impressive.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I knew I’d impress somebody someday.” Youch, that had come out way flirtier than I’d intended. We both kind of breathed for a few seconds. I read the ice cream label. Holy fat content! Luke, you called me!

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “So are you? Going away?”

  “Um, no,” I said. “I don’t think so. Nobody said anything about it to me, anyway. Not that that means anything. Ha ha ha!” What is wrong with me?

  He laughed one ha. “Yeah, I hear you. I mean, good. I mean, I’m not either.”

  “Oh,” I said. I swear he and I used to have normal conversations all the time, even when we were going out. Especially when we were going out. It was more like we were friends, like best friends, then. We played a lot of Stratego and Ping-Pong and laughed all the time. “What?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh,” I said again, slapping myself on the forehead. “I thought, nothing.”

  Silence again. Think of something to say, Phoebe! How about, Hey, remember when we kissed? Like less than a hundred hours ago? “So anyway.”

  “So I was thinking,” he said, “probably you don’t want to so you can say no, no problem but I am probably going to be, you know, working in my mom’s nursery? Repotting? And I was thinking if you felt like doing some transplanting there’s like a million pots of orchids and they all have to be replanted, transplanted, but probably you don’t want to which is fine,” he said in one breath.

  I replayed that whole thing in my head, twice, and when I finally got it, said, “Sounds like fun.”

  “Really?” he asked. “It’s kind of a mess.”

  “I love dirt,” I told him. “You know I do.”

  “Yeah. Just, I di
dn’t know if you still did,” he said.

  He was right. We maybe didn’t know each other so well anymore. “I do,” I said. “I still do.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Good. Great. So, then, it’s a date. I mean, not a date. Not a date date.”

  I laughed or actually kind of brayed. Like a donkey. Unfortunately.

  “I mean, or we could go to the movies, after. At the mall. If you want.”

  I smiled. If I want? “Which day?”

  “Saturday. Okay? Week from today?”

  “Great.” We hung up and I picked up the remote and the ice cream and the spoon, thinking maybe my luck hadn’t completely run out after all.

  15

  SUNDAY WAS GRAY AND GROSS OUT, much cooler than it had been. So much for the heat wave that fooled us into thinking summer had come early this year. Plus my sisters weren’t home, Gosia had her day off, and mom was gone before I stumbled down for breakfast. Dad was at the counter, reading the paper, drinking his tea, made from the new stainless-steel teapot Mom had bought him—one with an out-pointing spout.

  “Hiya, sweetheart,” he said. He gave me a kiss on my forehead.

  “Do you like that tea kettle?”

  He looked, then shrugged. “Sure. Why?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How about some omelets?”

  He and I make killer omelets. “Yeah!” I said, and started getting out the ingredients. We make them loaded—cheese, sautéed onions and mushrooms, fresh herbs. I checked the herb drawer—yup, both dill and cilantro. Yum. Daddy had obviously planned ahead, stopping at the farmers’ market Friday and done the only kind of shopping he likes to do. He flipped on the radio on his way to getting out our favorite omelet pan.

  “I thought you were never gonna wake up,” he complained, dancing his goofy Dad-dance with the pan in one hand and a whisk in the other. The secret, he always says, is whisking the eggs.

  I toasted some fresh bread and whisked the eggs, while he scrubbed and chopped. When we finally sat down, after singing “Natural Woman” really loud together, the whisk and spatula as microphones, we had worked up a big enough appetite to eat most of what we’d made.