“That’s it?” her mother said. “That was your whole Randolf experience?”
“Pretty much,” Veronica said, putting plates and napkins on the table. Of course she could tell them about her teacher, about Morning Verse, about the two movie star girls with matching sweaters, but not now. Right now she had to stick to the plan. Mr. Morgan appeared from the powder room with wet hands. He kissed Veronica and dried his hands on the back of her sweatshirt at the same time.
“Gross, Daddy,” Veronica said. He responded with another kiss.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Chinese,” Veronica and her mother answered in unison.
“Oh, yummy,” her father said, clearly disappointed. Veronica and her father walked to the kitchen.
“Marion, you’re such a good cook. Can’t you cook for us? Sometimes? Please?”
“I am a good cook. But I don’t know how to cook quickly. I have a full-time practice, Marvin.” She handed her husband a water pitcher.
“Couldn’t you just cook fewer things?” he asked. “I mean, I’m not a cook myself, but it seems to me that if you made fewer dishes, it would perhaps take less time?” He stood at the sink, running water, waiting for the pitcher to fill.
It was taking forever to sit down.
“I don’t know how to make fewer dishes. Even though I am in the mental health business, I have no sense of moderation.”
“That’s for sure,” Veronica piped in. She grabbed three glasses from the shelf and filled them with ice. Her mother could hardly be accused of not knowing herself. When she cooked, she kind of went crazy. She made dessert from scratch, she made stocks and sauces and everything was delicious and it really did take her three days to feed the three of them and then she seemed both proud and miserable watching it all get eaten in a matter of minutes.
“How was school, honey?” her father asked. Veronica took the glasses to the table.
“Good luck getting anything out of her,” her mother said, patting her daughter’s hair as she walked by.
“Fine. My uniform is too long. My teacher is nice. The kids don’t care I’m alive.”
“Fine is good!” her father said.
“No, Daddy,” Veronica said. “Fine is not good. Fine is fine. Which is much less than good.” The buzzer rang and the night doorman announced the deliveryman. Praise Hunan Delight. They would all be sitting down to eat any minute.
As always, Mr. Morgan took care of the transaction with the deliveryman at the door to their apartment, toting several shopping bags to the dinner table.
“Did you get any work done today, Marvin?” his wife asked. “You’ve got to write your conclusion. How is Mrs. Kreller? Did you take my notes?” She unpacked the Chinese food containers and helped herself to chicken with yellow leeks. Veronica couldn’t have asked for them to get to Mrs. Kreller any faster—it was almost too good to be true!
“Well,” her father said, sitting at the table, “I did, but honestly Mrs. Kreller is a mercurial woman. I may have to revise. One minute her emotions are the source of her anxiety and the next her psoriasis is the root of everything.”
Which came first, the anxiety or the rash? The Morgan family spent many evenings discussing things like this, like Greek philosophers debating paradox.
“Every time I’ve gotten her to acknowledge her withholding husband, she changes the subject to the humiliation of her skin condition,” her father continued. “It’s giving me a rash,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
Veronica and her mother looked at each other in silent agreement that the joke teller was often funnier than the jokes he told. Marvin Morgan continued, “She is turning out to be a very unreliable patient. Like Cricket Cohen was an unreliable friend.”
“Daddy, Cricket was a reliable friend,” Veronica said. She was annoyed. Cricket Cohen wasn’t part of the plan.
“Oh. I apologize. I was under the impression your friendship caused you distress,” Mr. Morgan said while looking at Mrs. Morgan.
Her parents, whose living depended on just how complicated the human psyche was, were so eager for her to label Cricket a good friend or a bad friend. They should know her friendship with Cricket wasn’t all good or all bad. She’d known Cricket her whole life and their friendship had always been less than simple.
“It does cause anxiety,” Veronica said. Anxiety could totally be part of phase one. She decided to run with it. “But it’s not her fault, she just has the kind of family that always does things, so she’s really busy,” Veronica said. “And then I can’t tell if she’s just busy or she doesn’t like me.” Veronica chewed, carefully reviewing the key parts of her plan.
“What kind of things?”
“You know, like apple picking and going to the opera, traveling. They’re just always super busy,” Veronica said. “Whereas I have the kind of family that never does anything except read and maybe go to the farmers’ market.” Even though all this talk about Cricket might contribute to her parents feeling bad for her, it was time to rein it in. “Cadbury has hot spots. Again. Please pass the dumplings.”
Veronica loved how nonchalantly she’d said that. They would never suspect she was up to something.
“Here, lovey. And have some string beans, would you? They’re a little spicier than usual but yummy.”
“Do you think Cadbury’s embarrassed by his hot spots?” Mr. Morgan said. Mrs. Morgan spooned a pile of vegetables on her daughter’s plate.
“No,” Veronica said, “but I do think he is miserable. And lonely. He has to stay by himself in the back until they’re better. Plus, I’m sure the lonelier he is, the worse his condition gets. What do you call that?”
“A vicious cycle,” her mother said.
“A downward spiral,” her father said.
“Yes!” Veronica was beside herself. “A vicious downward cycle. If only he could be analyzed. He has the equivalent of doggie psoriasis. And he’s probably going to develop small-space microphobia.” She worked her face into a very sad expression.
“Small-space microphobia?” her mother asked.
“You know: a fear of small spaces.”
“That’s claustrophobia, honey. Microphobia is a fear of small things.”
“Perhaps I should include beagles in my findings when I give my paper. I bet Cadbury would be more reliable than Mrs. Kreller. Maybe I’ll take a trip to Paws and Claws. Do you think Esme would let me have a session with him?” Mr. Morgan said.
“You could analyze him whenever you wanted if he lived here.”
“That’s true,” said Mr. Morgan.
“You would make such a difference in his life. He really is troubled.”
“Can I have that other dish? I never saw it before,” Mr. Morgan said.
“Chicken with yellow leeks. It’s delicious,” Mrs. Morgan said.
“Wouldn’t it be interesting from a professional standpoint to see if he responded to therapy? He is probably the most reliable patient you could ever have,” Veronica said.
“This is fabulous. Why haven’t we ever ordered this dish?”
“So let’s adopt him,” Veronica said. Her parents did not seem to be following.
“We have ordered this, Marvin. You just don’t remember. And you said the same thing the last time.”
Veronica was dumbfounded. Nothing was happening. She’d said, “Let’s adopt him.”
She’d followed the plan and all her parents were doing was eating their stupid Chinese food. They were supposed to have rushed out the door already, leaving the Chinese food on the table, arriving at Paws and Claws just as the front gate was closing. Esme would open it and then they would rescue Cadbury from another night of sleeping in a cage and bring him home for the rest of his life. That was the plan. It was sound. What was wrong with her parents? They gave money to homeless people, they bought goats and cows for villages in faraway places so the people there could support themselves, but they would not adopt the most helpless living being they knew. They
were horrible. Veronica couldn’t bear it another moment. She threw herself at their mercy.
“It is cruel! You promised. You said when I was ten I could have a dog. I turned ten last year! You said when I proved myself with Fitzy I could have a dog. I did prove myself with Fitzy! After a month with us I’ll bet a million dollars his hot spots would go away.”
“Lovey, for the hundredth time,” her mother said, “we aren’t home enough for a beagle. They need constant company or else they howl. The co-op board would make our lives a living hell. They practically got the Fergusons thrown out because of Fitzy.”
“But you promised when I was ten!”
“We said,” her mother continued, enunciating each word, “when you were ten we would begin discussing getting a dog. We never said we were buying you a dog just because you turned ten. We said maybe. Ooh, I just love this chicken!”
“I’ll be with him,” Veronica said. Her parents absolutely said she could have a dog and now they were saying they hadn’t said it.
“You’re in school all day, honey.”
“Mary’s here.”
“Mary’s afraid of dogs so her presence would hardly be a comfort to a dog who likes company. In addition to which, Mary has a bad hip so she can’t walk a dog,” her father said.
“Not to mention the fact,” her mother added, “owning a dog is very different than visiting a dog at a pet store.”
“You have to walk a dog every day, you know,” her father said.
“I walk Fitzy all the time!”
“Veronica, the excitement will wear off,” said her father.
“And it isn’t just a question of Cadbury, Veronica. We need the right dog for our family,” her mother said.
“Cadbury is the right dog. He is sweet and nervous and he has a rash. I promise, you will never have to walk him, or feed him or do anything for him. Please. He needs us. Please. I am begging you. Please please please.” Veronica looked at her parents. They had her heart in their hands. Her pulse quickened and her mind raced to the future. Cadbury Cadbury Cadbury. Bringing Cadbury home. Walking him down her street. Introducing him to Charlie, the doorman. Riding with him in the elevator. Showing him her room. Sleeping with him on her bed every night. His tail that looked like the end had been dipped in white paint wagging every time she walked in the door after school, the little triangle of darker fur below his shoulder, his warm breath all over her face. She was so excited she could burst.
“Veronica,” her father said, “your mother is right. It’s a big decision. And it’s my impression that you are very anxious, understandably, about starting at a new school and about leaving Cricket, a friendship that caused you considerable difficulty over the years. These changes are bound to trigger all sorts of emotions. But the solution is not getting a dog that this family is not in a position to take care of. I am sorry to say the answer is no. This family is not ready for a dog. And when we decide to get a dog, we will get a dog from a shelter. Not a pet store. Millions of dogs are euthanized in shelters every year. It is just the responsible thing to do.”
“But—”
“End of discussion.”
“The discussion is over,” her mother added.
Veronica excused herself from the table, threw her dishes in the sink, and slammed the kitchen door. Or tried to. They had a swinging door that wouldn’t slam. It just squeaked while swinging back and forth until it stopped.
The Friendship Pact
Last spring Veronica and Cricket had thought wearing a uniform was cool. Cricket had tried to get her parents to let her apply to Randolf, but they said it wasn’t their type of school. The day Veronica got into Randolf she went to Cricket’s house and they designed their own school uniforms. Cricket’s was red-and-white-striped and Veronica’s was a solid lime-green shirt with a navy blue skirt and a pink vest. Then they swore by secret ceremony they would be friends forever. Like everything with Cricket, it began with promise and ended with doubt.
“Can we make it official?” Veronica asked.
“You mean, you don’t think it’s enough to say that we will be friends forever?”
“I don’t know,” Veronica said even though she knew it wouldn’t be enough, especially with Cricket. But Cricket surprised Veronica by suggesting they make a contract. Cricket dictated. Her father was a lawyer. Veronica wrote in her best script. She took special care with the expressions: hereby stated, such as, and in conclusion. After they signed and dated it, Cricket said, “We have to drink to it now or it isn’t official. My parents always have a drink after signing anything.” In the kitchen, they created a friendship cocktail. They poured lemonade and orange juice and seltzer into a pitcher and stirred it.
“Mmm,” Cricket said, tasting it from the spoon, “but it’s missing something.”
“Nesquik?” Veronica said.
“No. Gross. Wait, I know. We have to spit into it. Then it will really be official.” Cricket stood on a chair and spit into the pitcher. Veronica watched rivulets of saliva slide down Cricket’s chin and drop into their concoction. She wasn’t looking forward to drinking it. But she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to hurt Cricket’s feelings or ruin their friendship pact. Cricket climbed down and gestured for Veronica to climb up.
“Are you sure it’s okay to stand on the fancy chairs?” Veronica asked.
“Yes. I do it all the time,” Cricket said. So Veronica, egged on by Cricket, climbed on the upholstered chair.
Just as Veronica spit into the pitcher of friendship cocktail, Cricket’s mother walked into the kitchen.
“Get your feet off my dining room chair this instant! Are you spitting? Veronica Morgan, stop that right now!” Then Mrs. Cohen took the pitcher and poured the friendship cocktail into the kitchen sink.
Cricket should have said, “Mom, it was my idea.” Although Veronica was afraid of Mrs. Cohen, so maybe Cricket was too.
Cricket’s mother made a big show of cleaning out the entire kitchen sink with bleach as though the whole place was contaminated. When she was finished, she gave them plain apple juice and told them to drink that in the dining room with a coaster. When Veronica got home, she realized they had only made one copy of their friendship contract, and it was at Cricket’s house. Veronica had nothing in writing; Cricket had it all.
The A Team
The next morning when Veronica saw Athena Mindendorfer waiting at the front door of Randolf, she assumed Athena was waiting for Sarah-Lisa. But Athena took her by the arm instead. As though they’d been friends their whole life. It was a dream come true, heaven on earth, except for the fact that the only thing Veronica Louise Morgan hated more than her parents being wrong about everything was when they were actually right about something. Could kids at small private schools be excited to have new people around?
Moments later Sarah-Lisa attached herself to Veronica too, and the three of them formed a blockade of sorts as they walked down the halls. Veronica had no idea if this was some kind of prank, but she enjoyed it, however long it lasted. Mary would have been proud.
“Everything happens for a reason, Veronica. You came to Randolf and were placed at our table because you are meant to be the newest member of the A Team,” Athena said as she escorted Veronica to French. Veronica had no idea what the A Team was, but if Athena and Sarah-Lisa were members, she wanted in.
“Veronica can be on the A Team?” Sarah-Lisa asked.
“Yes! Isn’t that amazing?” Athena beamed. Veronica was desperate to know when her membership began and what she was a member of, but she wasn’t going to ruin the moment by asking.
“Darcy, this is Veronica Louise Morgan,” Athena said to Darcy, as though they had not met each other yesterday. And how did Athena know her middle name?
“Veronica is our new project,” Sarah-Lisa added. Veronica smiled, not convinced she liked being thought of as a project—new friend was more what she had in mind. But she wanted desperately to be part of their world. Everything in there was nicer th
an it was in hers. This morning she’d added a striped cardigan to her uniform. Her mother told her that stripes clashed with plaid. But obviously that wasn’t the point. The point was wearing a cardigan.
“Hi,” Darcy said, smiling, “I like your bangs. Where do you get your hair done?”
“Um, the kitchen table,” Veronica said.
“Where is that?” Darcy said, not following.
“My mom does it. At the kitchen table—” Veronica tried to clarify, but Athena cut her off.
“It’s downtown, Darcy, her mother is a stylist there,” Athena said, winking. “Right, Veronica?” Veronica was about to set the record straight even though it was an incredibly fun lie, but Athena pulled her away from Darcy.
“Maybe one day we can all get our hair done there,” Sarah-Lisa said. “Right, Veronica?”
“Come, shy one. Must introduce you to more of the girls. Maggie! Maggie! Have you met Veronica?” Athena took Veronica by the hand and raced in the direction of a girl with braids. Sarah-Lisa followed closely behind.
At lunch the other shoe dropped when Athena and Sarah-Lisa disappeared into the bathroom for some important primping. Veronica was on her own. The clanging of all the silverware and the hum of conversation in the cafeteria were terrible. And even though Veronica had been introduced to every girl in her class she hardly felt she could just sit down with any of them. Athena and Sarah-Lisa were her point people.
A shy girl named Melody Jenkins, who was a singer in the children’s chorus at the Metropolitan Opera, waved to her. Veronica was grateful, but when she came over she found that Melody was singing softly to herself in Italian and Veronica was unsure how to interpret this behavior.
“I have a solo next month,” the girl explained, gesturing for Veronica to sit with her all the same.
Veronica noticed an EpiPen on Melody’s tray. She wondered what Melody was allergic to.
“Hey, what is the A Team?” Veronica asked when Melody finally stopped singing.
“The A Team is what Athena and Sarah-Lisa call themselves, because they are popular, of course, and because their first names end in A? Oh my gosh. Your name ends in A!” Melody said it like the name Veronica took for granted was a treasure chest filled with gold. “Since kindergarten there hasn’t been another girl in our class who could join. Except Sylvie.”
The Good, the Bad & the Beagle Page 3
