Stacey's Problem Read online

  “I got tired of being gloomy. It’s spring. Everything is basically fine, so why should I be down?”

  Because Dad’s getting married, I thought, and that’s upsetting you. Because you’re lonely. But I was glad she was smiling.

  She held a jar out to me. “I picked up that ranch dip you like,” she said. “There are some cut-up veggies in the fridge.”

  I took the jar from her. “Thanks.” I found the vegetables and brought them to the kitchen table along with the dip. She joined me while I ate.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  I told her about the main events — a science test, a special presentation by the glee club in the auditorium, Alan Gray waiting for Claudia at her locker.

  I left out the part about screening possible dates for her.

  “How was your day?” I asked when I was done.

  “Not bad,” she said, smiling. “Busy. I went into Stamford to look at a preview of fall clothing. Can you believe they’re bringing those things out already? Every year it’s the same, but it always seems so insane.”

  “You like those previews, though,” I said. Was that all it took to restore her good mood?

  “I do, it’s true. It gives me a chance to chat with buyers from other stores whom I’ve gotten to know over the years. A bunch of us even went to lunch together.”

  “That must have been fun.”

  “It was. Lots of fun.” As she spoke, she took a catalog from the pile of mail that lay on the table. I ate while she flipped through it.

  After a moment, she slid the open catalog over to me. “Do you think I’d look good in that?”

  It was a color photo of a woman wearing a dark pink wrap dress that tied at the side. “You’d look great in it,” I said. “But it’s kind of fancy. Where would you wear it?”

  “Out to dinner?”

  “Definitely, if you were going to a really nice place,” I replied. “Are you … going to a nice place?”

  “I think so. It’s a dinner dance at a country club, so it should be pretty fancy.”

  A dinner dance! At a country club! What was this?

  “With who?” I asked.

  “One of the buyers. He works for a huge chain of department stores, and apparently they throw a big dinner dance every year. So today at lunch he asked me to go with him.”

  “But who is this guy?”

  “His name is Gabriel Dillon. He’s a very nice man. He’s asked me out before but I just wasn’t ready to date at the time. Now I figured, what the heck?”

  “Good for you! When’s the dance?”

  “This Saturday.”

  “Saturday! Cool!” I cried. I was glad it was soon and not months away. “Wait a minute. Saturday’s no good.”

  “Why not?”

  “I won’t be here. I’ll be in Manhattan. If I’m not here, who will help you get dressed?”

  Mom chuckled. “Stacey, I’ve been dressing myself for years, even before you were born. I think I know a little about fashion. It is my business, after all.”

  “I know, Mom, but you’re too timid. You won’t wear enough makeup. You’ll go light on the jewelry. You’re afraid to really show how beautiful you are.”

  “Well, thank you, I think. We’ll do a practice run before you leave. How’s that?”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “And don’t order that dress. We’ll go shopping for one that is just the right color and fits you great. You’ll want to try it on.”

  “If you say so.” She stretched her fingers in front of her face and examined her nails. “I’ll need a manicure. A pedicure too, since I’m planning to wear open-toed shoes. And I’ll want to have my hair done that day.”

  What good luck! I was so happy that Gabriel guy had asked her out. Perfect timing.

  Her good mood lasted about a day and a half. We shopped together later that evening. I picked out a gorgeous blue dress that shimmered when it moved.

  Mom tried it on and looked amazing.

  “I’d never have picked this on my own, Stacey,” she said, twirling in front of the store mirror. “But it’s just perfect. What would I do without you?”

  That’s what I was wondering.

  By Thursday afternoon she’d stopped humming and singing. A nervous expression had replaced her smile.

  That evening, she went out for her manicure and pedicure. When she returned, she spent the rest of the night fretting that the rose-colored polish she’d selected was too bright.

  “It’s going to be beautiful with the dress,” I assured her.

  “Who will even notice the dress with these neon nails blinding them?”

  I sighed. “They’re not even close to neon. Stop worrying.”

  By Friday, it would be accurate to say she was a nervous wreck. “If Judy’s not there tomorrow, I’m not letting anyone else do my hair,” she said.

  “You made the appointment with Judy. She’ll be there,” I told her, looking up from the TV.

  “What if she’s sick?”

  “Then someone else will do it.”

  “No one else there can cut like Judy can. They’ll ruin my hair, and I refuse to go to a dinner dance with strangers if I’m looking terrible.”

  “That won’t happen. You’re worrying over nothing. Why do you think Judy might be sick?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a terrible cold going around. Two people called in sick today at work.”

  “Mom, you need to chill,” I told her as kindly as I could. “You’re making yourself crazy.”

  “I know I am.” She sat on the couch and took a deep breath. “It’s not like I’m madly in love with Gabe either. It’s just that I haven’t been out with anyone in so long. I’ll calm down.” She drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I’m okay now.”

  “Good,” I said. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I know I will. I only wish I hadn’t gotten this manicure so soon. I’m bound to chip one of these nails by tomorrow. Maybe I should wear gloves to protect my nails until tomorrow.” She stood up again and headed out of the room. “I know I have a pair of rubber gloves somewhere,” she said to herself as she left. “They’re probably under the sink.”

  Man, oh, man! Was she nervous! Did she actually plan on walking around in rubber gloves until the next night?

  And what was she going to do about her pedicure? Wear scuba flippers?

  Mom came back to the living room holding the rubber gloves. “I bet your father wasn’t this nervous when he first met Samantha,” she said.

  “Who knows,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter how he felt. This is about me, not him. Who cares?”

  “Right.”

  “Right,” she echoed.

  I hoped Mom wasn’t going to act this nervous on Saturday night, or her date was going to be a disaster.

  By eleven that Saturday morning I was in Manhattan, but my mind was back in Stoneybrook.

  Once again, I met Ethan at Grand Central Station. “You seem anxious about something,” he observed right away.

  “I am,” I admitted, and told him about Mom’s big date.

  “She’ll be okay,” Ethan reassured me.

  “If they were only going to a movie, I don’t think she’d be so freaked,” I told him. “But she won’t know anyone else at this thing, and it’s so fancy and all. I shouldn’t be so far away when she needs me.”

  “But there’s nothing you can do about it. Even if you were home, you couldn’t go on the date with her.”

  The idea of it — my tagging along to the country club — was so silly it made me laugh. “I know.”

  “Yeah, so forget it. Everything will be okay.”

  I did forget about Mom for a while. Ethan and I ate some bagels and talked. At noon, Ethan left and Dad came to meet me. We were on our way up the stairs when I noticed the time.

  “Dad, I need to make a call,” I told him as I fished my cell phone from my bag.

  He frowned. “To whom?” />
  “Mom,” I said, punching in our number. I knew she’d be home from the hairdresser by now. “Mom, it’s Stacey,” I said when she picked up. “Was Judy there?”

  She was, and Mom was pretty pleased with her hair, although she was afraid it might be a little too short.

  “It’ll look great once you get your makeup and earrings on,” I said. “I hope you didn’t wear those rubber gloves to the salon.”

  She said she hadn’t. Besides, she’d found matching polish, so if she chipped a nail, she could repair it.

  “Is that over with?” Dad asked after I hung up.

  “Yup.”

  “Where’s your mother going?”

  “To a dinner dance.”

  “Sounds pretty special,” he said as we stepped outside and he hailed a cab.

  “I guess it is.”

  To my surprise, he told the driver to take us uptown to the Metropolitan Museum instead of going back to the apartment. “The Versace show is back,” he explained. “I know you were disappointed you’d missed it before, so I was pretty sure you’d want to catch it this time.”

  “Definitely!” I cried. Before he died, Gianni Versace designed the coolest clothing. Gorgeous gowns. Hip outfits. Lots of famous people wear them. “I can’t believe you remembered,” I said, truly impressed.

  “Well, to be honest,” he said, “I didn’t. Samantha knew you’d missed the show and she suggested going today.”

  Somehow, that was even better than Dad’s remembering. It meant Samantha was starting to include me in her thoughts, in her life. I liked the idea.

  When the cab pulled up in front of the museum I spotted Samantha right away. She stood on the wide front steps dressed in black pants, a bright white T-shirt, and dark sunglasses. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a red scarf. I wondered if Dad had felt nervous when he first asked her out.

  We climbed out of the cab and joined her. “Thanks for remembering that I wanted to see this,” I said.

  “You’ll love it,” she replied. “I saw it the last time.”

  I loved that Samantha and I had things in common.

  “After Versace, want to go upstairs and see the Degas ballerinas?” Samantha asked.

  “I’d love to!” I told her. “I’ve seen them a million times but I never get tired of them.”

  “Me neither. Those paintings bring me right into that world.”

  “Would you ladies mind if I pass on the gowns?” Dad spoke up. “I could go to the armor collection and meet you up at Degas.”

  “Fine with me,” Samantha agreed.

  “Me too,” I said. It would interesting to spend some time alone with Samantha.

  In the crowded high-ceilinged lobby, we split up. Samantha and I went down a flight of steps to reach the exhibit. The gowns were displayed on faceless mannequins in glass cases.

  I recognized some of the dresses from pictures in celebrity magazines. I’d seen a photo of Elizabeth Hurley in one of them, attending some event with Hugh Grant. I also remembered a magazine cover with Princess Diana wearing another of the dresses.

  “It’s amazing to see these for real,” I said to Samantha as we gazed into the cases.

  “The fabrics are just gorgeous,” she commented.

  We took our time, lingering over each dress. Samantha didn’t seem to want to rush, and neither did I. I was having too much fun.

  Which made me feel guilty.

  Here I was, having a good time with Dad’s wife-to-be, while my mother was home alone in a state of panic.

  “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I said to Samantha. I stepped into the stairwell and took out my cell phone. The phone began doing strange things. It said I was roaming. Then it gave me a busy signal.

  Stupid phone. I needed to talk to my mother. I wasn’t sure if it was for her sake or for mine. I just knew I had to speak to her right away.

  I canceled the call and tried again. The phone gave me another busy signal. That was weird, because we have call waiting. Unless Mom was on the Internet — something she doesn’t do much — she should be picking up.

  I canceled the call and tried yet again. This time the phone showed some strange error message. I was so busy trying to make the phone work I didn’t realize Samantha had joined me.

  “It’s very hard to call out of here on a cell phone,” she said. “The walls are incredibly thick, plus we’re underground right now. If the call is really urgent you can go upstairs to use a pay phone.”

  I thought a moment. Was the call urgent? Or did my guilt over being with Samantha today just make me feel as if it were?

  “I guess it’s not super-important,” I admitted, slipping the phone back into my bag. “Mom has a date and she’s nervous. I wanted to check in and see how she was.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” Samantha said. “I’m sure she’ll be all right, though. She’s a strong woman. She can handle herself.”

  What she said was true. Mom is a very capable person. I forget that sometimes, because she shows me the softer, more vulnerable side of her personality that she hides from other people.

  But how did Samantha know that? Did Dad talk about Mom? Was it because Mom had called to congratulate them on their engagement?

  Whatever the reason, it was nice of her to say so.

  “That’s true,” I agreed. “She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Ready for Degas?” asked Samantha. “Your dad is probably wondering what happened to us.”

  We found Dad on a bench by the Degas paintings, looking extremely bored. “I thought maybe you were trying on the gowns,” he teased when we joined him.

  “Wouldn’t that be great!” I said.

  We looked at the paintings a little faster than we might have if Dad hadn’t been with us.

  Next, at Dad’s request, we went through the new Greek antiquities section. To me, it’s not the most thrilling part of the museum but going to the exhibit was only fair since Dad had gone to Degas.

  “How about an early supper? The museum restaurant is pretty good,” Dad suggested when we were done.

  “Could we go somewhere outside the museum?” I asked. The truth was, I was dying to get someplace where I could use my phone.

  Samantha must have known what I was thinking. “You really don’t have to worry,” she said softly.

  I sighed and hoped she was right.

  I had a hard time sleeping that night. I wanted to know how Mom’s evening had been. I lay in bed imagining every possible thing that could have gone wrong — from Mom’s hem ripping to her date’s turning out to be a big jerk.

  After I finally did fall asleep, I kept waking up and checking my digital clock. Sometimes only a half hour had passed since the last time I’d awakened.

  It was torture.

  At about three o’clock, my eyes popped open yet again, and I actually considered calling Mom. But finally I forced myself to roll over and shut my eyes. And I stayed asleep. I dreamed Mom and Dad were sitting on a bench in Central Park talking, but they were speaking gibberish, which I couldn’t understand. I kept asking them what they were talking about, but they just smiled at me.

  That dream was still in my head when Dad gently shook me awake at 9:15.

  “Come on, we’re going to check out the Starstruck Diner, the one we read about,” he said.

  Sleepily, I opened my eyes. “Oh, yeah, I remember.”

  My restless night had left me tired. With an effort, I sat up. I wanted to flop down again, but I forced myself to stay upright.

  “What happened to your restaurant rule? You know — once a restaurant has been written up in the paper, it’s too crowded to get into for at least a month,” I said.

  “Well, Samantha’s dying to go. We’re hoping that if we get there a little early, we’ll beat the crowd.”

  Hmm. He was being very flexible. Samantha was managing to loosen him up.

  “Okay, cool,” I said, swinging my legs to the floor. “I’m always up for checking out a new r
estaurant.”

  Dad left and I dressed quickly in khakis, sandals, and a short-sleeved sweater with bands of color that faded from dark to light green.

  I found Samantha in the living room, sitting on the couch, reading The New York Times. “Nice sweater,” she commented as I emerged from my room.

  “Thanks. I’m really excited about this restaurant,” I told her.

  “Me too. It’s more of a diner, but it’s a cool diner. I hear they make fabulous caviar omelets.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not big on caviar, but I bet I’ll find plenty I like.”

  The three of us took a cab to the diner. If we thought we’d beat the crowd we were sorely mistaken. The line outside the place was already halfway down the block.

  “I’ll bet it moves quickly,” Samantha said as we climbed out of the cab. Dad didn’t look so sure. To my surprise, though, he didn’t object.

  Personally, I wasn’t starving. I’d prepared for the possibility of a line by having a banana before we left. And it was a nice morning. I didn’t mind waiting. I considered calling Mom but figured I’d give her a little longer to sleep.

  I was in the middle of my favorite thing to do while in line — people watching — when someone called my name.

  The voice had come from the beginning of the line. I strained to see over heads, but didn’t spot anyone I knew. Then a girl with a long mane of brown curls and large brown eyes stepped out of line and I realized who she was. “Laine!” I cried without stopping to decide if I really wanted to talk to her.

  In the next second, I realized I felt incredibly awkward about running into her. I had no choice but to put a smile on my face, though.

  Laine Cummings used to be my very best friend when I lived in Manhattan. We’d been friends from the time we were five, and by age eight, we were super-best friends. My moving to Stoneybrook, though, put a huge strain on our friendship — so huge that we weren’t friends anymore. We’d both tried, at least at first. Laine visited me, but she didn’t mix well with my Stoneybrook friends. She didn’t like them, and she made her feelings pretty clear. So naturally my friends didn’t like her either. Laine and I hadn’t talked, or seen each other, or even written in a long time.