My Life as a Book by Janet Tashjian

even better than my father and every email from her includes a funny drawing she made on her computer.

    The address of the other email is unfamiliar, but as soon as I read it, I know what it’s about.
Derek—
    Thanks so much for your entry in our daughter’s guestbook. Are you Derek Fallon from California? If so, tell your mother hello. Susan is still very much with us, and it comforts us to know how much she meant to others. I bet you’re a wonderful boy and Susan looks down on you from heaven with pride.
    Sincerely,
Madeline James
    I read the email four times. Why is this woman being so nice ? If Susan’s watching me from heaven, it’s probably with daggers in her eyes thinking about all the fun she’s missing down here on earth. It’s amazing she doesn’t magically appear and push me in front of a train.

    I never thought of Susan as some kind of guardian angel; is it possible she’s still looking out for me? I stare at my inbox with Mrs. James’s note back-to-back with my grandma’s. Genius strikes. I head to the kitchen to find my mom.
    â€œGrandma sure seems lonely,” I tell her.
    Mom hammers chicken breasts with the pounder to tenderize them for dinner. For someone who dedicates her life to saving animals, she’s merciless with the dead ones. “I thought we’d get out to see her this summer, but I don’t have anyone to cover for me. I feel really guilty about it.”

    Mom obviously didn’t think before she answered. I put my plan into action.
    â€œI hate to go the whole summer without seeing Grandma. I miss her so, so, so much.” I wonder if I used too many so ’s, but Mom puts down the pounder and tilts her head.
    â€œI miss her too,” she says. “Let’s go out for a nice New England visit this fall.”
    I wonder if Mom is onto me and is dangling a pull-you-out-of-school trip to shut me up. But I stick to my original plan.
    â€œOctober is so far away. It’s been a year—I really miss her.”
    She stares out the kitchen window and for once I don’t interrupt her silence.
    â€œYou’re right,” she finally says. “I’m going to switch my schedule around. Even a few days with Grandma this summer will be better than no days at all.”
    I jump up and give Mom a hug. I know I should wait until tonight or maybe even tomorrow before I begin the next phase of the plan, but as usual, my mouth works at a faster speed than my brain. “Maybe while we’re back East, we can see Matt.”

    I’m not sure if it’s her veterinary training or just her maternal instincts, but my mother now smells a rat. “Is that what this is about—going to see Grandma because you miss your friend?” When she realizes the second phase of my plan, her face flushes with anger. Why wasn’t I a little more patient?
    â€œPlease tell me this has nothing to do with Susan James.”
    I insist I’m only thinking about Grandma. “She just sent me an email—she misses me.” I make the mistake of pointing to the laptop.
    When Mom sees the open email from Susan James’s mother, I get a heaping helping of MomMad. It takes several minutes before she stops yelling.
    â€œI do miss Grandma…. I just thought we could go to Martha’s Vineyard too,” I admit.
    When Mom sends me up to my room, I go. With the laptop.
    Just because Mom has ruined my plan doesn’t mean I still can’t email Grandma to help talk my mother into a visit.

A Truce
    The next night, my mother walks into the kitchen with two large pizza boxes. Before I can rip them from her hands, she sits across from me and guards them with her body.
    â€œOkay, here’s the deal.”
    It’s difficult to concentrate with the smell of tomato, cheese, and pepperoni, but I try.
    â€œAs much as I hate you hatching secret plans, we do owe Grandma a visit,” she says. “So we’re all