See You at Harry's (21 page)

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I take off the dress and carefully hang it back up.

Cassie’s door is closed. I can hear her and Ran talking inside. Well, I can hear Cassie talking inside. She’s saying something about next year and a limo.

I knock.

Cassie shrieks. “Ooh! Come in, come in!”

I open the door and find Ran and Cassie sitting on the edge of Cassie’s bed with their eyes squeezed shut.

“OK, on the count of three, we’re opening our eyes. One. Two. Three!”

They both look.

“Just me,” I say.

“What happened? Didn’t it fit? I was sure it would fit!”

“It fit.”

“But we wanted to
see
!”

“Sorry.” I look at my feet.

“Well, I should go home,” Ran says. He avoids eye contact with me.

Cassie sighs dramatically. “Oh, Fern. You can be happy sometimes, you know. You don’t have to be sad every second.”

I see my face in the mirror again.

“I know,” I say. “But . . . it’s hard.”

She stands up and hugs me. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. We’re just worried about you — that’s all.”

“We know you’ll be OK,” Ran adds. “And it’s OK to be sad. Or to feel whatever you’re feeling. Everything is OK.”

All will be well,
I think.
Say it.

Except it won’t be. Because Charlie isn’t coming back.

“Want me to take you home?” Ran asks.

“Sure.”

Cassie follows us to the door. I hold the dress up high in one hand so it won’t touch the floor. “It’s really beautiful,” I say. “Thanks.”

“I can’t wait to see you in it! I just know you’ll be gorgeous.”

I smile and she squeezes my free hand.

Outside, Ran gets his bike. It’s the kind with the pegs on the wheels for tricks. Once he’s on, I step up on the back pegs. I wrap one arm around his waist and hold the dress up behind me with the other. We slowly make our way down the sidewalk, my silver dress billowing behind us like a too-light shadow trying to dance out of my arms.

I
T
’
S
S
ATURDAY
. The big day. So far, Holden and my dad have been pretty good at avoiding each other. My dad gave up on coming home for dinner the past few nights because he’s been busy at work, gearing up for the “big move,” which means that Harry’s Ice Cream is making its way to local convenience stores. My dad pulled the Harry’s ad off of TV and went with an image of the front of the restaurant for the label instead.

But time is not on Holden’s side because when my dad decides to come home for a break between the lunch and dinner rush, Gray also decides to show up with Holden’s tux. And that’s when, as Sara would say, the you-know-what hits the fan.

Holden runs for the door before my dad can get there. He grabs the tux from Gray and starts to shut the door, but my dad gets there before Gray can escape.

“What are you doing here?” my dad asks, glancing at Holden’s tux.

“Uh, bringing Holden’s tux to him. It’s the dance tonight,” Gray says, cool as can be. “Pick you up at seven, right?” he asks Holden.

Holden blushes. “I’ll be ready.”

“Hi, Gray,” I say, peeking around my dad’s shoulder.

“Hey, Fern.”

My dad is not distracted. “Young man, how old are you?”

Gray straightens. He’s taller than my dad. My dad straightens, too. But it just makes his enormous belly stick out farther.

“Seventeen.”

“Do you know how old my son is?”

“Uh, fifteen?”

My dad shakes his head. I can tell Holden is pleading with every molecule in his body for my dad to just go with it. But there is no chance on earth that is going to happen.

“He is fourteen years old.
Fourteen.
Don’t you think you are a little old to be dating my son?”

“Um, I’m just gonna go now.”

“That’s right. And please don’t come back.”

Holden tries to push past my dad, who is blocking the doorway. “Gray, don’t listen to him. Come back at seven!”

“I don’t know, man,” he says, backing up. “Your dad is intense.”

“I’ll be there! Meet me there, OK! I’ll call you!”

But Gray is already hurrying down the driveway.

“You are
not
going to the dance with that boy,” my dad says. His face is bright red. “You aren’t going. Period.”

“How can you do this to me? It’s not fair!”

“I’m doing it to protect you, Holden. Can’t you see that?”

“Protect me from what? From having fun? Or are we never allowed to do that again?”

“I want you to have fun. With kids your own age.”

I wish my mom were here to help talk some sense into my dad, but Mona took her away for a “girls’ day off,” whatever that means. When they left, my mom actually smiled at us when she said good-bye. And then she gave us each a hug. “You’re getting so big,” she whispered in my ear. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered. And then I almost asked her to stay. Because I realized she wouldn’t see me in my dress. And she should. She’s my mom. But instead, she’s leaving me again. Why does she need a “girls’ day off”? What did she need to meditate for? To escape. From us. From me. Before I could get really upset, though, I realized that she doesn’t even know I’m going to the dance. My dad doesn’t, either. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell them. Maybe because I still might change my mind.

“Dad,” I say. “Gray isn’t a bad person. You don’t need to worry.”

“Stay out of this, Fern. You’re too young to understand. I’m giving you my final word on this, Holden. You are not to go.”

“You can’t stop me, Dad.”

“Oh, no?”

“No.”

They stand facing each other. Holden is a lot shorter than my dad and only about one-third the width.

“How do you think you’re going to get there?” my dad asks, towering over him as if he can just physically block him from leaving the house.

“I’ll take him,” Sara says, stepping into the room.

“With what car?” my dad asks. “Last time I checked, that car was registered in my name.”

“Don’t be insane, Dad. You’re totally overreacting. So Gray’s a little bit older. Or are you really worried because he’s gay?”

“Don’t say that.”

Holden slumps into the big chair, the plastic around his tux crinkles as he lays it across his lap like a blanket. “I knew it.”

“No, you did not! That is not what this is about!”

“What is it, then? You’re seriously concerned about Gray’s age?” Holden asks.

“Seventeen-year-olds like to party! And they like to . . . you know. They have certain expectations. You’re not ready for that.”

Holden stands up again. “God, Dad. Are you kidding? I’m not going to —”

“Just stop! You aren’t going!”

“Fine!” Holden storms upstairs.

“I’m going back to work,” my dad says, leaving me and Sara in the living room. I watch him stomp outside. Instead of getting into the delivery truck, he takes the station wagon — the car that is supposed to bring me, Ran, and Cassie home from the dance.

I collapse on the chair. I’m sure Ran’s parents can bring us home instead, but I’m still upset. It probably never even occurred to my dad that I might be going to the dance, too.

Sara crosses her arms and gets that look she has when she’s cooking up a scheme. From upstairs, there’s a lot of door slamming and loud music.

“It’s not fair,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

We sit there for a while, the bass of Holden’s music pumping through our veins.

“We have to do something,” I say.

Sara’s expression changes into a smile. “Yeah. We totally do. Plus hello? How are you going to get home now?”

“I’m sure Ran’s parents can pick us up. Or maybe I just won’t go. It’s not that important.”

“Yes, it is, Fern. It’s important for both of you.” She thinks for a minute, then smiles. “Feel like playing fairy godmother?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Holden needs us to turn a pumpkin into a coach.” I follow her to the window, and we look out at the driveway at the huge ice-cream truck. “And that’s our pumpkin,” she says, grinning at me.

It feels so good to have her look at me like that. “Seriously?” I ask.

“There’s a spare set of keys on the hook in the kitchen,” she says. We both race to the kitchen just to make sure. She pulls the keys off the hook and shakes them so they make a jingle sound.

“CinderHolden,” I say.

And we both crack up.

A
FTER
I
CALL
C
ASSIE AND
R
AN
to tell them I’ll meet them at the dance, Sara and I go upstairs and pound on Holden’s bedroom door. When he finally turns off the music and swings the door open to say,
“What?”
we both stop smiling. His face is splotchy from crying.

We’re quiet for a minute. Than Sara clears her throat.

“Cinderella,” she says in a high-pitched fairy-godmother voice. “You shall go to the ball.”

“Ha-ha.”

“We’re serious,” I say. “You’re going! Call Gray and tell him to meet us there.”

“How? Dad took the car.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But he didn’t take the truck.”

Sara dangles the spare keys in his face.

“No. Way.” He reaches for the keys, but she holds them just out of reach.

“Get ready!” I tell him. “We have to leave at seven!”

He kisses me on the cheek and grabs his tux off the back of his closet door. “Some privacy, please?” he asks.

I race to my own room, shut the door, and turn to face my dress. I take a deep breath. Can I really? Should I? I reach forward and touch the soft fabric. I picture it flowing behind me and Ran as we pedaled home. I see Cassie’s excited face when she invited me and think about all the trouble she went to so I could have the perfect dress. And I know the answer.

When I’m ready, I stand in front of the mirror and stare at the stranger in front of me. I move just a little, and the fabric dances around my legs.

“Hey-eh!” Sara says, coming in without knocking. “Where’d you get that dress? It’s beautiful!”

I turn. “Cassie loaned it to me. It was her sister Maddy’s.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I remember that. She wore it to Prom. Don’t tell, but you look way better in it.”

“Thanks.”

“Except, um . . . You really need to do something with your hair.”

I check it in the mirror.

“Here, let’s put it up again.” She grabs a brush and band from my dresser and pulls it back, then twists it up and somehow gets the band around it just right.

“There’s a bow,” I say. “On my dresser.”

Sara holds it up and makes a face as if it’s contaminated. “Um, no. Hold on. I have an idea.”

She runs down the hall to her room and comes back with an armload of makeup. But first she shows me what she’s holding in her hand. Three silver butterfly clips. They are tiny, with pretty sparkly wings.

“Where did you get those?” I ask. I’ve never seen her wear them.

She shrugs. “One time Mom and I saw them in a thrift store and I liked them, but I never really had a chance to wear them.” She carefully attaches them to my hair in the back, then gives me a hand mirror and shows me how to hold it so I can see the back of my head in my closet mirror.

“Beautiful,” she says.

“They are,” I say, turning my head so that the butterflies glitter in the light.

“And so are you,” Sara says quietly. “Now, come sit on the bed so I can do something about that sad face.”

I sit while she rubs color into my cheeks, gently brushes silver sparkles on my eyelids to match the butterflies, and curls my lashes. When she’s done, she walks me to the mirror again.

“Well, there you go,” she says. “A real homecoming princess.”

I turn and hug her. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying. “Thank you,” I say.

“Don’t mention it.” She looks like she’s about to cry, too.

“I wish you could be at the dance with us,” I say.

She smiles but in a sad sort of way.

“With Gil,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No, we’re through.”

“How come?”

She looks away. “It’s just too hard,” she says. “Knowing how often I chose sneaking off with him instead of taking care of Charlie.”

“It’s not your fault, Sara. You know that.”