Going Vintage (22 page)

“Yeah, I helped start a pep club. And I went with Oliver Kimball, Ginnie. He needed help and you were at soccer.”

“Just you and Oliver Kimball?” Ginnie asks, her voice smug.

“Who’s Oliver Kimball?” Dad asks.

“Can you pass the casserole?” I say to Mom.

Mom’s chewing on something, and it’s not the food. “You went out? With another boy? So soon after your breakup?”

“It’s not even like that. He’s Jeremy’s cousin, actually.” I don’t know why I say this. To show that this is a purely business relationship
because
Oliver and Jeremy are related, when really, I feel like everything between Oliver and me is in
spite
of that relation. And obviously, that
everything
is
nothing
. “We bought streamers.”

“But imagine how that looks, honey.” Mom sticks her elbows on the table. “I’m sure this was just a school thing and I’m sure nothing happened. But you don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, right? What if people think you’re rebounding with his cousin?”

“But that’s
not
what is happening, Mom.
I
know buying decorations was innocent, Oliver knows it.” In theory. Mostly. Probably. “So what should I care what anyone thinks? And no offense, but it’s not your business.”

“Not my business?” Mom asks. “You’re my daughter. Of course it’s my business.”

“Just … drop it, okay? It doesn’t matter. My reputation sucks anyway.”

“What do you mean, your reputation sucks?” Mom sets down her glass of soy milk. She has that This Is an Important Moment look on her face, like she needs to whip out a camera and snapshot this discussion, document its relativity to her role as a mother and my mark as a person. “Mallory, did you give a piece of yourself to this boy? It only takes one bad act to ruin a girl’s reputation.”

“Dad, do you remember this casserole recipe?” Ginnie asks
loudly. She’s trying, God bless her. “It was your grandma’s. Over seventy years old. The recipe, not the casserole. This whole meal is food that could be served in the early sixties.”

“Tastes like home,” Dad says.

I am not in the conversation. I am not in this room. I am sinking, sliding, shrinking. My pieces? Mom thinks this all happened because I gave up my
pieces
? Why can’t she get over herself enough to see what I’m dealing with here?

“Mother.” Have I ever called her
Mother
? The word slices through the air, nearly extinguishes the long, skinny candles. “Jeremy cheated on me with a girl he met on an online computer game, and now he’s flying her out to be his homecoming date. My reputation should be the least of your worries.”

Dad sets down his roll. Mom’s mouth forms a silent
O
. Ginnie reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. And I hate that I told Mom. Hate that I exposed this part of me and now she can run with the revelation in any direction she wants.

What should happen in this moment: my mom should hug me, smooth my hair while I sob into her designer T-shirt, this one with angel wings. She should say it’s fine, I’m enough, that boys aren’t important, and what other people think really doesn’t matter.

What does happen: Mom’s face floods with relief. “Thank God. I take back every nice thing I’ve said about that Jeremy, but trust me, it’s better to be the victim than the instigator. Just as long as you stay away from his cousin.” She pats my hand. “It’ll get better, I promise.”

I slide my hand away and stare down at Oliver’s ring so the
tears won’t fall. Sometimes I feel like a cardboard cutout to my mom, like I’m playing the role of her daughter, but I’m not an actual person in her eyes. Like our whole family is a part of this image that all reflects back to her. And she’s so blind to it, I could never even call it out. In her eyes, she really is the perfect mother, caring and involved. It’s just … the things she cares about aren’t the
right
things.

“Conference call!” Ginnie sticks her head under the table, and I follow so we are almost nose-to-nose. “I know Mom is being an idiot, but can you please, please keep the peace right now? I’ll tell you why later.”

“I want to throw up on her.”

“Forget her. Forget Jeremy Mui. What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. I think you’re wonderful, okay? And if I think it, it must be true because I’m always right.”

My mother makes up for all shortcomings because she birthed Ginnie. I might not have loads of friends, but Ginnie is enough. More than enough.

“Thanks. And you make good Jell-O.”

Ginnie rolls her eyes. “That is the worst comeback compliment ever.”

We sit up and get to task eating food I have no appetite for. It’s one of those awkward moments that everyone knows is awkward, but no one can think of anything to say to break the tension, so we all just sip our drinks and clank our silverware and pretend this is the dinner Ginnie planned it to be.

Blessedly, mercifully, Mom finally claps her hands together and exclaims, “I almost forgot! This is so perfect that we’re all
together and Ginnie made this dinner today because I. Have. News.”

Dad’s rubs his forearm, just above his tattoo of a wave, but below the Ferris wheel. “If you’re pregnant, I’m worried, since I got that fixed five years ago.”

“Ew,” Ginnie says.

Mom ignores them and points at me. “Remember those cuff links you found cleaning the other day?”

“What? Where was I?” Dad asks. “You didn’t tell me about this. Were they good quality?”

“We wanted to surprise you.” Mom is now glowing. She’s shifted her role from concerned parent to antiques dealer. And as much as I want to hold on to my anger, I’m a sucker for a good find.

“They’re real?” I scream.

“Mallory. Chill.” Ginnie isn’t in the family business; she has no idea what this means. If this means what I think it means, we can toss the chicken and eat lobster every night for a month.

Dad grabs Mom into a squeeze. “You are Wonder Woman. Did you appraise them?”

“Vintage. Early twenties. Real sapphire, platinum.
Tiffany’s
.”

I grab at my chest. All this jubilation after Indian food is heartburn city. “You’re killing us. How much?”

“How much?” Dad whispers.

“Fourteen
thousand
dollars!”

Our mouths hit the floor in one collective thud. Then Dad grabs Mom into a kiss so passionate that Ginnie and I have to look away. Money makes them giddy. Money means kissing.
Money means a happy feeling in this house and a couple months of breathing room for Dad to really get his business going. When my parents finally pull away, they’re shiny-eyed. Dad holds up his glass of water. “A toast! To my daughter Ginnie, for working so hard on this dinner, and setting the perfect backdrop for our good news.”

Ginnie slides down in her seat. She’s trying her hardest to swallow her proud smile and totally failing. “It was nothing.”

“And to Mallory!” Dad holds his glass out to me. “For her talents. You have a collector’s eye. Now. Huzzah!”

Mom and Dad clink their glasses together and kiss again. My cheeks and ears warm.
Talents
. It’s the second time I’ve heard that today, and I like the sound of it. I like the feeling that I’m vital, that I matter on my own and not because of what others think, despite what my mom believes. I cast a glance at Ginnie and we grin. The List is the best idea I’ve had in my entire life.

Ginnie and I sleep in my double bed that night. We stay up late talking and staring at the disco ball hanging from my ceiling. Which, I guess, technically is a decade off, but Ginnie didn’t attack my funkadelic decoration with a Post-it, so I’m okay leaving it. Ginnie could give Oliver a run for his money tonight, what with all the peppiness pouring out of her like a hyperactive fountain. Maybe there was more than just sugar in that Jell-O mold.

“Isn’t that
great
about Mom selling those cuff links?” she
asks me. “It’s going to make such a
big
difference for them. Money helps. And now Mom will
see
how important this job is, how important the family is, and she’ll stay focused and happy.”

“Gin, what are you talking about? She’s a stay-at-home mom—she’s completely focused on the family. Too focused, if you ask me. And of course she’s happy. Why wouldn’t she be happy?”

Ginnie goes silent, scary silent. “Haven’t you noticed how she locks herself up in her office all the time, and how Dad is out of town for work so much? They’re hardly ever together.”

I have, but so what? Mom and Dad are starting a new business. There’s a lot of work to do, and Mom is the only one who knows how to do anything website related. Not only is Dad a Luddite, but Mom never had the time or patience to teach us how to work things. It’s all on her. “I know you don’t know how businesses are run, but that’s normal. It’s a lot of work to get off the ground.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think she’s working. I think she says she’s working, but she’s doing something else.”

“Like what?” I ask, exasperated. “Playing Authentic Life?”

“Mallory. I think Mom is having an affair.”

It’s like Ginnie reached under the covers and punched me in the gut. Because if Mom is having an affair, then that is the worst news ever, but if she isn’t, which she isn’t, then it’s the worst
accusation
ever. My sister’s only fourteen; what does she know about affairs? She can’t be right. It’s almost funny. Not almost. It’s ridiculously hilarious. “Oh yeah? Maybe it’s BubbleYum’s dad. Bazooka Joe.” I giggle, but Ginnie kicks my knee.

“Mom locks the door to her office when she’s working,” she says. “She has a computer password. If I walk into her office, she gets all flustered like she’s hiding something. Our parents fight a lot. She gets flowers all the time.”

“That she buys herself,” I say.

“So she says. Look, all I’m saying, I think she has a secret, and I think that secret is another man.”

I flash back to the last time I was in Mom’s office, when I almost cracked and went all twenty-first century. Mom’s computer wasn’t locked then; all she had were some coupon pop-ups, no scandalous love letters. And even though I know firsthand that cheating can happen to anyone, I still don’t buy it with Mom. “That’s a big accusation to throw out without facts. You could be right, but I hope you’re wrong.”

“So do I.” Ginnie moves her feet and nestles deeper under the comforter. “That’s why I’m doing dinners. To bring everyone together. And I’m going to make the dinner soiree super-romantic for Mom and Dad.”

“Wait, we haven’t planned that yet.”

“I have.”

“We’re supposed to do it together,” I say.

“Fine. Then plan.”

I honestly hadn’t thought about the soiree too much. I’d been so involved with pep club and my dress. “I was thinking we should do it before the dance.”

“So was I. We’ll do a cocktail hour with sixties canapés, invite all our friends, take pictures. Mom and Dad will remember their youth and deep love.” Ginnie yawns. “Everything is going to be great. The List works.”

The moonlight catches on my disco ball, spilling dull rays of purple onto the ceiling. Ginnie’s asleep within moments, probably exhausted from her relief. But I stay up for a good hour, listening to my sister sleep, replaying the day with Oliver and the issues with my parents. If Ginnie is right about Mom, really right, then there might be some things that are impossible, even for The List.

Chapter 16

Top 5 hints that your guy or gal is cheating on you:

1. They act secretive
.

2. They spend more time alone, especially online
.

3. There seems to be a lack of communication and emotional connection
.

4. You find unexplainable gifts, like flowers or jewelry
.

5. They invite their cyberwife to homecoming
.

I’m getting so good at looking past Jeremy, even looking
through
Jeremy, that I should probably add
ignoring
tools
to my
list of things. Although he may be ignoring me too, now that word is out that he’s rebounded with a mysterious out-of-state girl. Best news, he’s had a social fall from grace, and although I’m not online to cement this prediction, the student body as a whole seems a lot more friendly Monday. I leave school with something resembling a skip in my step. I don’t know why I’m happy—my mom is an accused adulteress, my ex has a date to the dance while I don’t, and the only boy I’m remotely interested in spending time with lately is his cousin.