give up her dream of helming her own fashion empire.
In any case, I was determined to take advantage of her expertise and forget (temporarily) my grievances with her so I could enjoy our rare mother-daughter outing. And I could tell that Barbie was equally determined because she gave me a kiss and a quick nod as if confirming the deal. The knowledge that my mom was going to be involved in the preparations for my potential big night provided enough comfort that I eventually fell asleep.
The next morning my mother and I awoke and began our journey with tight smiles and curt politeness. We both did our best to veer away from any subject that might cause trouble, which meant that we spent half the thirty-minute drive to St. Michaels saying things like “There sure is lots of traffic for a Saturday!” and “Wonder when this heat is supposed to break?” We arrived at this quaint little boutique called Zip, and Barbie whizzed through the sale rack as if she'd just downed twelve cans of Red Bull. We walked out of the store twenty minutes later with a microminiskirt and an asymmetrical off-the-shoulder top—both for Barbie.
About ten specialty shops later, we finally found an outfit that I could deal with—a fancy black tank with a little ruffle around the edges, and long lean white pants. My mother shelled out the money for the clothes and we walked to Barbie's favorite restaurant, called Lila's, a cozy little coffee shop in the center of town. I ordered the California chicken sandwich. (That's what I always ordered, except for the one time when I ordered the Mediterranean chicken salad. Big mistake.)
“So I wonder which boys will be at the party,” Barbie said, after she had placed her order for a Cobb salad (minus bacon, minus cheese, extra chicken, dressing on side) and we had settled into a table near the window. She and I loved watching passersby and making up stories about who they were and where they were going. Too bad Barbie was homed in on me instead of the tall guy at the parking meter out front. He was seriously H-O-T. “Who's hosting this again? A friend of Mora's?”
Uh-oh. This was bad news. As I said before, I'd never been much of a liar. And I didn't really want to mention Keith, because that would be a major red flag. “One of the lifeguards,” I said, avoiding her eyes.
“Oh—so that's why the Mora Cooper crowd will be there.”
My mom took a bite of her salad before dropping the bombshell. “She's dating that lifeguard who offered you the swimming lessons. Keith McKnight, right?”
I felt my stomach lurch. The server set my sandwich in front of me, but I wasn't hungry anymore.
Just then my mom's cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, and her face lit up. She looked at me and said quickly, “I'll be right back.”
After Barbie went in search of a private place with good reception to talk to her married man, I looked at her empty seat and felt the same horror any daughter would feel watching her mother purposely lie down in front of an oncoming train or stick her tongue on a frozen monkey bar at the school playground. Even though I wasn't one to wallow in self-pity, I figured I was due. In an effort to cheer myself up, I decided to take a tip from Alice and make a list. I grabbed a red crayon off a nearby table and wrote on my napkin:
Things that are crappy:
Great tank top, but no boobs
Barbie/love lunacy
Keith/Mora
Me/love lunacy?
But there was one thing missing. And so I added:
Dad
Even though he'd died before I was born, I still thought about him at times like this, times when I felt like everything just sucked. If he hadn't died, I think my life would have been extremely different. Not that I thought that Barbie would've actually married him and gotten a house in the suburbs and stuff, but I was pretty sure I would've had a much more normal life. He and Barbie would have been divorced and I would have been shuttled back and forth between the two of them. He never would have
In any case, I was determined to take advantage of her expertise and forget (temporarily) my grievances with her so I could enjoy our rare mother-daughter outing. And I could tell that Barbie was equally determined because she gave me a kiss and a quick nod as if confirming the deal. The knowledge that my mom was going to be involved in the preparations for my potential big night provided enough comfort that I eventually fell asleep.
The next morning my mother and I awoke and began our journey with tight smiles and curt politeness. We both did our best to veer away from any subject that might cause trouble, which meant that we spent half the thirty-minute drive to St. Michaels saying things like “There sure is lots of traffic for a Saturday!” and “Wonder when this heat is supposed to break?” We arrived at this quaint little boutique called Zip, and Barbie whizzed through the sale rack as if she'd just downed twelve cans of Red Bull. We walked out of the store twenty minutes later with a microminiskirt and an asymmetrical off-the-shoulder top—both for Barbie.
About ten specialty shops later, we finally found an outfit that I could deal with—a fancy black tank with a little ruffle around the edges, and long lean white pants. My mother shelled out the money for the clothes and we walked to Barbie's favorite restaurant, called Lila's, a cozy little coffee shop in the center of town. I ordered the California chicken sandwich. (That's what I always ordered, except for the one time when I ordered the Mediterranean chicken salad. Big mistake.)
“So I wonder which boys will be at the party,” Barbie said, after she had placed her order for a Cobb salad (minus bacon, minus cheese, extra chicken, dressing on side) and we had settled into a table near the window. She and I loved watching passersby and making up stories about who they were and where they were going. Too bad Barbie was homed in on me instead of the tall guy at the parking meter out front. He was seriously H-O-T. “Who's hosting this again? A friend of Mora's?”
Uh-oh. This was bad news. As I said before, I'd never been much of a liar. And I didn't really want to mention Keith, because that would be a major red flag. “One of the lifeguards,” I said, avoiding her eyes.
“Oh—so that's why the Mora Cooper crowd will be there.”
My mom took a bite of her salad before dropping the bombshell. “She's dating that lifeguard who offered you the swimming lessons. Keith McKnight, right?”
I felt my stomach lurch. The server set my sandwich in front of me, but I wasn't hungry anymore.
Just then my mom's cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, and her face lit up. She looked at me and said quickly, “I'll be right back.”
After Barbie went in search of a private place with good reception to talk to her married man, I looked at her empty seat and felt the same horror any daughter would feel watching her mother purposely lie down in front of an oncoming train or stick her tongue on a frozen monkey bar at the school playground. Even though I wasn't one to wallow in self-pity, I figured I was due. In an effort to cheer myself up, I decided to take a tip from Alice and make a list. I grabbed a red crayon off a nearby table and wrote on my napkin:
Things that are crappy:
Great tank top, but no boobs
Barbie/love lunacy
Keith/Mora
Me/love lunacy?
But there was one thing missing. And so I added:
Dad
Even though he'd died before I was born, I still thought about him at times like this, times when I felt like everything just sucked. If he hadn't died, I think my life would have been extremely different. Not that I thought that Barbie would've actually married him and gotten a house in the suburbs and stuff, but I was pretty sure I would've had a much more normal life. He and Barbie would have been divorced and I would have been shuttled back and forth between the two of them. He never would have
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