by Deena Lipomi
The teacher must’ve heard, too, because she came running – so fast that as I was squatting to place the cake on the polished stage floor, she dove right into me. Cake flew into the front rows of the audience and the tray suspended in the air before crashing into someone’s face. The victim had blood pouring from her nose, everyone said. A combination of Oooohs! Aaaahs! and Ohhhhs! filled the auditorium. The house lights blazed on and it was clear that I, the chubby sixth grader with the cake, was the one responsible for ruining party dresses, hairstyles, and the rest of the talent show that night.
For the next year, I read a short story I wrote about a frog in a pond who was eating mosquitoes. It totally sucked except for the fact that it involved a harmless sheet of paper and received a smattering of polite applause. My face glowed red the entire time and at the end a boy yelled, “Way to keep it clean!” His friends snickered. I knew then I’d never be able to live down my disastrous previous year.
Annie was in sixth grade the year I wrote the frog story. She drew a pastel picture of a Pegasus, so real it nearly flew off the paper. She added the finishing touches right there on stage and no one made fun her of in that shining moment. She received the blue ribbon for her drawing. I was proud of my sister – I am proud of her artistic talent.
Is it wrong that somehow being in her shadow still stings, even now?
I turn my attention to something I know I’m good at: preparing food, as stereotypical as it is given the size of my waist. But sSkinny cooks shouldn’t be trusted. At least that’s what I tell myself. I pull the wilted lettuce leaves from the head of iceberg and run my knife though it.
Dexter fans himself with a packet of menus. “Hoooeeee! This summer been hot enough for ya?”
“Winter will be here all too soon,” I reply, enjoying the crunch of the vegetables beneath my blade.
The rest of the lunch team filters in and grabs their assignment sheets, chatting with Dexter and each other. I focus on the food, plating lettuce into a few dozen plastic salad bowls that are meant to look like wood. Next, I cube the tomatoes with a serrated knife to keep them from turning into mush. The other prep cooks wedge them, but then customers have to cut them into smaller pieces in order to fit it into their mouths. When you’re hungry, you shouldn’t have to work for your meal.
Annie was finally hungry last night.
I flinch at the rogue thought that infiltrates my mind. So much for distracting myself at work.
“Salads lookin’ good,” Dexter says, nodding at my uniform bowls.
“Thanks,” I say. “Want me to do the dressing, too?”
Dexter taps a pair of tongs on the counter. “Your vinaigrette is head over heels better than the glop they send us.”
“I’m on it,” I say. Hopefully using my brain to make a batch of salad dressing will help me to stop thinking about Annie.
I finish with the tomatoes and start in on the cucumbers, running the tines of the fork through their skin to make line patterns. Food is easy to prepare, easy to control, easy to please.
If only people were the same way.
Chapter 5
“Melanie! Can you please get down here and help me?” Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs.
Finals are done, the seniors have graduated, and I’m off from work today. What better way to spend the Fourth of July than in PJs while hiding in bed with a pile of celebrity gossip mags?
“Melanie,” Mom calls again.
So much for avoiding everyone. At least I made it to eleven in the morning.
“Hold on,” I yell back downstairs and gather the strength to face the day.
Every Independence Day my family has the same ritual involving a full picnic basket, boxes of sparklers, and beach blankets spread out across the worn grass of Sunder Park. Kasey and other school friends show up. So do Annie’s friends Justine, Chloe, and Samara, and her boys of the moment. It’s a regular feel good family event.
Not this year.
Annie’s been hogging the bathroom with her morning sickness for the past week and there’s no way Mom is hauling her to the park to barf in the semi-sanitary pee houses. Especially not with everyone looking on.
On top of that, I can’t tell anyone what’s going on with Annie. Not that I want to tell her secret; just that I’d be grilled about the baby’s father, when she’s due, and all sorts of crap that I can’t and don’t want to answer.
I’d be happy if Annie had an abortion. Then no one would ever have to know.
There. I said it.
Holy crap, I said it.
My heart hangs heavy when I picture our roles reversed, having to decide my future, my blood, my family. Life changing choices that can’t be undone. What would I choose?
I sigh since it doesn’t matter. Annie is still shutting me out. Everything’s changed and nothing’s changed.
Downstairs, measuring cups and bowls line every flat surface of the kitchen. In true Mom mode, she’s determined to make the holiday a joyful, memorable, gluttonous occasion no matter what the circumstances.
“There’s only four of us, Mom,” I say, tightening my ponytail.
“Could you peel the potatoes?” she asks over the running water and pop music station on the radio.
I can’t say no without getting a long speech on the importance of being a family team player, and now that I’m in the kitchen, I don’t mind helping. I tear open the sack of spuds while Mom dives her fingers into a bowl of burger mix. As the potatoes boil and I chop celery and onions, Mom and I make small talk about when I’ll apply to colleges (“Soon”) mixed with relative silence. We prepare burgers (her recipe), potato salad (my recipe), and peach cobbler (Paula Dean’s recipe with my own secret spice). If tons of food is Mom’s idea of “festive,” then she’s succeeded.
“So,” Mom says finally, “have you talked to Annie about….”
A lump forms in my throat and I purposely don’t look her way. Annie hasn’t come out of her room all day except to puke. What could I possibly have talked to her about? I pop the cobbler into the oven and hope Mom won’t finish her question.
No luck.
“About the baby’s father?” Mom washes her hands.
I stare at the stove. While Annie implied that her whole pregnancy is a secret, she was specific about the secrecy of the father’s identity. I don’t want to be the one to tell Mom. If she needs to know that badly, she can pester her little angel. Not me.
“I would just feel better if I had an idea,” Mom says with a sigh. “Has she said anything to you?”
I back away from the stove, our friendly but stiff banter over. “You should ask Annie.”
She shakes her head and picks up a chef’s knife and a bag of baby carrots. “She won’t talk to me. She won’t tell me a thing.”
I back away from the woman wielding the knife. She probably shouldn’t be chopping anything right now. “Maybe Annie’s afraid you’ll call the boy’s mom or something.”
“Well why not?” she asks, chopping away at the veggies. “He’s probably shocked and scared. His mother should know if he hasn’t told her.”
Does Harris know Annie’s pregnant? Of course I don’t know the answer to that either. “Just let Annie take care of it,” I say, hoping to drop the subject so I can clean up my peach juice in peace.
Mom throws the carrot coins into the salad bowl. “You would tell me if you knew something, wouldn’t you Mel? To help your sister?”
Oh god, I went from being an unnecessary presence in this household to a source of info. The world has turned upside down.
“I’ll be right back.” I race upstairs as if there’s something important I need to do. I’ll clean up my kitchen mess when the cobbler timer dings in twenty minutes. Hopefully by then Mom will drop her line of questioning.
***
Three hours later I get dressed in my summer uniform: long khaki shorts, flowy tank top, and worn Birkenstock sandals. Downstairs I find Mom cleaning up the kitchen.
“I’m g
oing out,” I say, examining the peach cobbler cooling on the counter. It’s a perfect golden brown.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“For a walk.” I grab my keys from the table and head for the door. “I’ll be back by dinner time.”
“Wait a minute.” Mom follows me. “Who are you going out with?”
Going out with? Or going out with? “No one,” I say. Both interpretations make my answer true, though the latter never would’ve been implied without Annie’s “situation.”
“To where?” she asks with one hand on her hip.
“For a walk. Into town. By myself. But I might meet up with Kasey,” I say. “OK?”
Mom’s right eyebrow twitches. “Don’t snap at me. I’m just trying to be a good mother.” Her voice catches.
Oh no, she’s got a guilt complex now. Great. “Mom, come on,” I say, not wanting to bring the conversation back around to Annie. “I already made dinner and agreed to stay home with you guys tonight instead of going out with my friends. Isn’t that enough?”
Mom stares up at the wall where our family portraits hang from the last five years. “I’m only asking who you’re going out with and where you’ll be.” Her words are final.
I inhale and exhale to the count of ten. “I’m going for a walk into town by myself. I might try to hunt down Kasey at the park and I’ll be back by six. I’ve got my cell. Just call if you need me.”
“OK.” Her face is pinched as she returns to the kitchen.
I let the screen door slam behind me and make my way into town. Despite the fact that I told Mom I might look for Kasey, mostly I want to be alone. I’ve got too many secrets to keep and if I see Kasey, I’ll have to staple my lips shut.
“Melanie!”
Of course that means I see her on Main Street. She isn’t at the park with our friend Dawn and everyone else; instead she’s peering into the window at Daisy’s Pet Shop. I should’ve known.
“Get over here,” Kasey orders.
I meet her at the pet shop window.
“Dude, I’m so gonna get a ferret,” she says.
I plaster an “everything is normal” look on my face. The pet store’s closed for the holiday, but that’s never stopped Kasey from drooling over the rodents.
“Don’t you have enough animals?” I ask.
She always ignores me when I ask that. “How’d you know you’d find me here?”
“Um, lucky guess?” I say.
Kasey turns from the ferret and gives me her hawk-like gaze. “If you were actually guessing, you’d guess I was at the park with everyone else.”
I wring my hands.
“So my guess is that you didn’t want to find me. Why aren’t you at the park?”
“Um, why aren’t you at the park?” I ask.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Her hands clasp her hips. “I’m meeting Dawn there in a few minutes since you never returned my call last night. What’s going on?”
“My fam’s not going to the park this year,” I say.
“Why not? It has to do with Annie, doesn’t it?” Kasey’s sense of perception borders on supernatural.
I play dumb. “What has to do with Annie?”
“Your unreachable status finals,” she says.
I either play dumb poorly, or am dumb for trying to play. “I have not been unreachable.”
“We’ve barely spoken since you told me about Annie’s identity crisis.” She taps her foot on the sidewalk impatiently.
“If you already know everything, why are you even asking?” A couple walking on the side of the street stares at me. Oops. Guess I was a little too impassioned.
Kasey beams. She likes being right. “You never told me why you had to walk home with Annie that day or why Justine’s been out without her.”
I bite my lip.
“Dude, I’m your best friend! Remember who got you those concert tickets to Blue Falcon? And helped you study for the trig final?”
“I got a C on that final,” I say.
“You would’ve gotten a D if it weren’t for me.”
I laugh. She’s right.
Standing here with Kasey I realize I need to safely share what I can with someone I can trust – more than I need to hold the burden inside with the hope that it’ll reconnect me with my sister. At this point Annie isn’t speaking to me anyway, so what have I got to lose?
“OK,” I start and dart my eyes down the street. Families are walking toward the park with blankets, picnic baskets, and coolers in their arms. Kids from school are hanging in front of Marshall’s Deli eating ice cream. An old guy walking his limping dog shuffles by. No one is in earshot.
“Annie’s…pregnant.”
“Oh, right, with her art teacher’s baby. Ha! Good one,” Kasey says.
When I don’t laugh, her jaw drops. “Holy shit.”
“Yup.”
“What – when – who –” she says, but I interrupt.
“I promised Annie I wouldn’t say anything, so I can’t tell you anything else.”
“Holy crap,” Kasey says with a shake of her head. That’s all. She doesn’t pry or beg for more info. We stand there for a minute in silence while she soaks it in.
“I didn’t see that coming,” she finally says.
“Join the club,” I say, which makes her laugh and soon I’m joining in even though the situation is anything but funny.
“Come to the park with me,” Kasey says. “Just for a little while?” Before I can object she adds, “I’ll change the subject if anyone asks where Annie is. Plus, you know who’ll be there.”
Sal Malone. I’m pathetically easy to convince after that.
We stroll down Main Street and the only thing Kasey asks is, “How’s Annie feeling?” When I answer sick and sad, Kasey just nods and then dives into how her mom is trying to get two parrots to mate but all they do is squawk at each other. Only marginally related.
When we reach the park, Sal and his entourage cover the picnic benches near the creek like ants on sugar cubes. Justine and Chloe hang under a nearby tree with a couple baseball players who punch a ball into their mitts. One of them is Brett, Annie’s prom date. For the past two years, Annie was here with them. Her friend Samara, too. The four of them would play Frisbee and throw the disc too close to the guys in the ball diamond. Giggling in her cute short skirt with a flower pinned in her hair, how could the guys not notice Annie?
This year, Justine’s smaller group seems less jubilant, although it could be me.
Kasey and I stake out a rickety bench on the fringe of the Sal crowd and wait for Dawn to show up.
“Yo! Check it out! A dead fish!” a guy yells.
Sal saunters over to it. I’m glued to the action like it’s a bake-off challenge, which is pathetic since if I poked a fish with a stick, his whole crew would be laughing at me.
Kasey rolls her eyes. “How romantic.”
I snort. But Sal’s so good looking and is always surrounded by friends. Will a guy like him ever notice me?
“Mel,” Kasey says, sensing my self-deprecation. “He is not that great.”
“Hello, ladies!” Dawn says, dancing up to us before I can respond. “What did I miss?”
Dawn is dressed in sandals that lace up her legs, a red halter top that shows off her freckled arms, and short black shorts. Her blond hair’s in a bunch of skinny braids that remind me of how I’d do my American Girl doll’s hair before my aunt scolded me that it would make her depreciate in value.
“Typical antics,” Kasey says.
“Where’s Annie?” Dawn asks, scoping the scene.
“Hey, check it out,” Kasey interrupts. “There’s someone on a canoe out there.”
I squint against the sun to see what she’s talking about.
“Oh my god, it’s Devon Rudnick.” Kasey jumps on top of the table. “Devon! Hey, Devon!”
Sal’s group casts looks our way, including Justine and Chloe.
My face steams like the potatoes
I cooked this morning. “Kase, get down from there.”
The next thing I know, Dawn’s on her feet next to Kasey.
“Devon! Over here!” She waves.
Kasey giggles. “Mel, he’s coming this way. He’s waving back! He is so into you. You need to go for him.”
“Shhhhh,” I hiss. “That’s not funny.” Sal’s crew is looking from Devon to my trio and Justine is laughing her banshee laugh.
Dawn sits back down, not caring at all about the attention. “He is very tall. And muscly. Look at the way his shoulders bulge as he rows.”
“Guys,” I whisper, “I’m not into him.”
“How do you know?” Kasey asks as the canoe pulls up onto the creek bank just shy of Sal’s territory. “All you’ve ever talked about with him is biology labs. Maybe if you got to know him you’d finally get over the Sal obsession.”
Devon pulls onto the bank, steps out of his canoe and strides our way. Sal’s group watches him with subtle interest. One girl calls, “Hey, Devon,” and he waves to her before reaching our table.
“Hey, guys,” Devon says. “What’s up?” He immediately looks at me. His hair hangs long on his forehead under his baseball hat, reddish brown in the sun. Apparently he only got the back cut so it doesn’t curl down his neck anymore (his hair, not his hat).
Keeping my family from imploding. “Just working a lot this summer. How about you?”
He gestures to the small boat. “You’re looking at it. Spent the past few weeks putting the finishing touches on her.”
“Dude, you made that?” Kasey asks.
“Yeah,” Devon says. His pride is pretty cute. He scratches a toned arm.
“Very cool,” Dawn says. “Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Pearl. Catch up with you later?”
“Have fun,” I say.
Dawn skips off to chat with Pearl over at the badminton net someone set up. At the same time, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony fills the air, which means Kasey’s cell is ringing. She answers and covers one ear while shouting into the phone, “Hi, Mom.”
