Two Naomis (11 page)

When Mom and I talk or Skype now, it's all about plans—what we'll do when she's here. For a whole month! We're going to drive to Jones Beach. And she's going to take Annie and me to a place with indoor trampolines, and we can stay as long as we want, jumping for hours, because Mom always wanted to have a trampoline for me but our backyard wasn't big enough.

“So how's that class going? You haven't talked about it at all, but I've been wondering. Did you end up liking that girl you told me about?”

That girl. The other Naomi.

“I guess. It's just . . .” And I can't even think of what it just is, but I know it has something to do with the work I haven't done
on our DuoTek project. “I don't really like the class,” I say. “Or I guess it's okay, but I wish we didn't have to do a project.”

And that's not even the whole truth. I feel guilty, very guilty, that I haven't done any work.Tomorrow's the last class before the whole big presentation thing we're having on the last day, and so far, we've made no progress. Naomi Marie wants everything to be so complicated! Like instead of having to go through a maze, she wants it to be a maze within a maze with three puzzles hidden inside and a quiz at the end.

“When's it due?” Mom asks. “You're not going to let it turn into a whole Vasco da Gama thing, right?”

Okay, so maybe I put off my explorers diorama in third grade and maybe we didn't even have a shoe box in the house and it's possible we sent my dad to the store just to
buy shoes
at five o'clock the night before it was due. And there may have been some crying and freaking out involved too. Maybe. But I guess Mom forgot her promise not to bring up my most epic meltdown ever again.

“Do what you need to do. The class is over in two weeks, Naomi. Just get it done.”

Dad always leaves me alone when I'm Skyping with Mom, but he walks right in and lowers his head so she can see him. “Hello, Sarah,” he says.

“Hi, Tom. Oh, wow. Your hair got long!”

“Did it?” he asks, reaching his hand up to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it did. When you have some time, I'd like to talk to you about some things.”

Hello? Mom? Dad? This is
my
time to talk with Mom
. I clear my throat the way Ms. Gomez does when she wants the class to stop talking. They ignore me.

“Well, sure. No problem. I'll see you in July.”

“I know,” Dad says. “There are a few things I want to discuss before then.”

“A man of mystery,” Mom says.

“Who probably wants to let his daughter talk to her mom for a little while,” I say.

Dad sort of fake-punches my head the way he and his friend Loofie give each other noogies, but then he smiles and waves good-bye to Mom and leaves the room.

Mom sips from the mug next to her, then makes a face. That means her coffee got cold. She pushes the mug away and says, “I wonder what that's about.”

I am nearly sure it's about Valerie. I wonder how much Mom knows. If she even knows anything. She's heard me talk about Dad's friend Valerie's daughter. But does she know that
friend
is maybe more than
friend
? “Very serious,” even?

“Well, one thing I know for sure. There's no way it's about him and Valerie,” I say. “Because he hardly ever wants to talk about her, and he definitely never wanted me to be instant best buddies with her daughter. He finds it totally boring to talk about her.”

Mom doesn't say anything, doesn't even laugh, and I think I might have taken some steps in the way-wrong direction.

More silence.

Of course she doesn't want to think about the man who used to be her husband being in a relationship or whatever with some other woman.

“We never really talk about that, do we, Naomi?” she says.

I push the chair away from the desk and see my face grow smaller on the picture-in-picture on the laptop. “No,” I say. “We don't. I guess—I don't really know how to talk to you about Dad going on dates or whatever.”

Mom presses her lips together and nods. “I understand,” she says. “But the answer is, the same way you talk to me about everything. I hope I'll go on to meet someone else at some point, and that's what I want for your father too.”

“So you're really okay with Dad and Valerie being . . .” I can't even finish.

“Together,” she says. “Yes, I am. You can talk to me about anything. I mean it.”

I nod.

“I'm concerned about you, keeping everything inside, to yourself.”

“I know,” I say. Because the truth is, I'm a little worried about that too.

After we say good-bye, I stay on the computer and open the DuoTek project.

In class last week, we came up with a lot of ideas, but as I play around with our project now, I realize I have no idea how to do all the DuoTek things the other Naomi does so easily. I have to go back into the tutorial to figure some stuff out.

I keep trying to see if I can take what we did—really, what she did—and find a way to get some of my ideas into it so she knows I'm trying, at least. I add some stairs, make sure they work, and save the changes, thinking the other Naomi will be mad she didn't come up with that idea. I'm so excited I figured out how to do it that I'm almost having fun. In fact, I think I really am!

I send her a message in the Dump.

Hey! I added stairs so there are two levels now. I can work on the bottom and you can work on the top if you want. Let's talk about how we want the game to end. We still have lots of time to get it done.

I'm deciding between adding a wave feature or a race when Dad walks in again. “Working on your DuoTek project?” he asks, leaning in to look at the screen.

I usually love doing things with my dad, but not this. Not today. I close the laptop.

“Don't stop,” he says. “Were you working on your project? Aren't you and Naomi Marie supposed to work on it together? I could call Val and see if she wants to bring—”

I stand up and walk out of the room. But once I'm out, I can't even think of where I want to be. Not the kitchen. Not my room. Maybe the backyard? No, it's muddy from all the rain. What I want is to not be talking about the other Naomi and Valerie with my dad, because it feels like that's all that really
matters to him lately. I march into the hallway and sit under the painting of three girls sitting on a bull. Mom wanted to take it when she moved out, but I asked her not to. It would have left such a sad hole.

“Are you mad about something?” Dad asks, a question in his voice that makes me think he's expecting me to say,
Mad? Me? That's hilarious! I'm the opposite of mad!

If he were paying attention, there wouldn't be any question at all. He would have noticed my stompy march out of the room. Or how I'm biting my lip and clenching my teeth so tight, some molars might break. And sitting under a painting of a bull in the hallway.

I'm almost sure I don't have the right words for this, but really, I wish he could just know. That he didn't need me to explain. Why can't he get it, like Mom would?

“I am mad,” I say, a little surprised that my voice sounds way more sad than mad.

“Really? What's up?”

I should have talked this through with Mom. She's so good at helping me get out of this stupid stuttery place I get stuck in when I'm mad.

Dad stands against the hall opposite me and slides down so he's sitting too. I've lived here since I was born, and I don't think anyone has ever sat in this hallway before.

I wait for Dad to ask questions, the way Mom would, but he's waiting too. Maybe he has no idea what else to do. I look down and see my thumbs are tucked into my fists, the way Mom's
always were when she was fighting with Dad.

I dig my heels into the old rug and move them back and forth, like I'm digging a little hole.

I need to start talking.

So I do.

“When you signed me up for that class, without asking me, I really hated that. It felt like you were trying to trick me into being friends with the other Naomi.”

He opens his eyes wide but otherwise looks the same, nodding his head. He still doesn't say anything.

I cross my legs and take a deep breath, getting ready to say more, but then Dad asks, “Don't you like the club?”

“It's okay,” I say. “There are a lot of things I'd rather do than learn DuoTek, though. Which is why it felt so bad that you signed me up without even asking me. And it's more a class than any kind of club.”

He nods again. “Sweetie, can we go in the kitchen? Or the living room? My back is killing me. Hallways are not meant for sitting.”

I stand and then reach for his hands to help pull him up. He follows me into the living room. I flop in the big chair, and he sits on the edge of the shabby blue couch, which is actually starting to look more like a shabby gray couch. He leans toward me. “I did want you to have a chance to spend time with Naomi. I know you two will really hit it off. You're both such good kids and have so much in common, and Val and I—”

There's an old video of me when I was three. I have my
hands on my dad's cheeks and my nose is touching his and I keep saying, “Listen to me. Listen to me.” I really want to do that now. Instead I say, “That's not really true, Dad, that we have so much in common. Or maybe it is, but you didn't even let us find out, really. You made us hang out all the time, and she might like DuoTek but it's really not something I . . . I don't know.”

“Okay. But now that you've had time with Naomi Marie, what do you think?”

It's like it always is. Dad's practically wearing a sign that says Tell Me You Like Her. I Need You to Like Her.

“She's okay. No, yeah, I like her. But do you know what I'm saying, Dad? About signing me up? And everything.”

Dad sighs. “I know I'm not a perfect parent,” he says. “I feel like I'm doing the best I can, but I'm going to try harder. I have to try a little harder.” He's quiet, and then he stands and says, “We haven't eaten today. Come with me.”

I follow him into the kitchen, and he opens the refrigerator. I checked this morning, and I'm almost sure there's nothing in there. I hope I'm wrong; I'm getting hungry! He reaches in, and when he pulls out an old multicolored pineapple, I start laughing.

He walks over to the trash, and it makes a thud when it hits the bottom. “But wait. What about that zoo camp? You liked that zoo camp.”

“I wanted to do zoo camp. But then I didn't like it. Remember where the monkeys slept? And how they kept talking about how we'd get to see where the monkeys sleep?”

“Oh,” he says. “They slept in a room. Right.”

“But this isn't only about the class. Or maybe it is,” I say.

“The club—class, I mean—is over soon. And I won't do that again, sign you up for anything without discussing it with you. Deal?” He sounds like he really is trying harder.

“Deal.”

I'm glad about that, but I also want more than that. I want him to understand what I want without needing to explain it all the time. And I want him to tell me that he still likes doing things with me. Just me.

“How's Bri?” I ask Dad as he hugs me tight. A tiny, guilty part of me is relieved that he's probably so worried that he won't even notice that Xio left.

“What happened to Xiomara?” Dad asks.

So much for that.

“I think I'm getting sick, so I told her she'd better go,” I answer. “Have you gotten any news?”

“Everything's fine. Sorry, I thought Tom already told you. Your mom and Brianna are on their way home. Your sister will probably be kind of grouchy for a day or two.” He puts an arm around my shoulders as we go inside. “
You
know how that is. When you're not feeling well and all.”

We're both quiet as we sit at his kitchen counter for a snack.

“It was nice of Tom to drop you off,” says Dad. “He's a good guy.”

I don't say anything.

“We've had a chance to talk, you know,” continues Dad. “He's a good guy.”

“You just said that,” I mumble.

“Sorry . . . ,” says Dad. “I'm glad that . . . it's working out.”

“You're glad?” I ask, looking up at him. “Really glad?”

“It's . . . complicated, Naomi Marie,” says Dad. “But yes. I am.”

“I guess you heard,” I say. “About my name.”

“I did. Pretty funny, huh?”

“I'm not laughing,” I say.

“How are you feeling about it?” he asks.

I shrug. “It's elegant, I guess.” I finish my crackers and cheese and look in the fridge for some apple slices.

“You never have enough food,” I blurt out.
Wait—I don't want to be mean to my dad too too.
I don't know what's wrong with me.

He doesn't seem to notice. “You're right. I need to think about how quickly you're growing,” he says. He raises his right hand. “From now on, I pledge to be well stocked at all times.”

“Think chips,” I say. “And maybe caramel corn. You can always have pizza dough and mozzarella on hand too.”

“Let's make a shopping list for me and then a list of what we're going to do next,” says Dad. “I can take you home now, or, if you want, you can stay here and do your homework. And then
maybe we'll have time for a quick game of Mad Gab.”

“This is my home too,” I say, taking a sip of ginger tea. I bet Tom doesn't even have ginger tea in his house.

“It makes me happy to hear you say that,” says Dad, grinning. “Because it's the truth. You'll always have a home with me, because you will always have my heart.”

There's a lump in my throat so big I can't even swallow my tea, so I just nod.

“And,” he continues, “I'll always be your dad. Nothing will change that.” He pauses. “Whatever happens, nobody wants to change that.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. I take a deep breath. “Because Tom . . .” I don't even know what I want to say.

“Tom's cool, and he cares about your mom and you girls very much,” says Dad slowly, like he's been practicing. “And he knows how much I do, and respects that.”

“So nothing's going to change?”

He smiles. “Circumstances always change,” he says. “But I'll say it a million times if you need me to: I'll always be your dad.” He hugs me tight.

I want to just enjoy the hug, but I pull back for a second. “So . . . if Momma and Tom keep . . . dating . . . will he be more like . . . Uncle Kevin?” Uncle Kevin is my dad's friend from college. They sing silly songs when they get together, and Uncle Kevin tells us embarrassing stories about “back in the day.” Sometimes he brings pictures—there's one where Dad had a frohawk and Uncle
Kevin had his hair in cornrows! Now they're both bald.

“Sort of,” says Dad. Then he chuckles. “But, heh, we probably can't call him ‘Uncle Tom.'” He starts full-on laughing, and after a minute so do I. My dad's got jokes.

“Anyway, Tom and I can coexist,” Dad says. “We've each got our own shine.”

I'm not sure what Tom's shine is. Choosing food that other people make? I guess I can give it time.

“Give it time,” Dad says. OH MY GOODNESS, DAD'S MAGIC TOO. “We got this. We can each shine our own light without dimming anyone else's.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, like, you can be fully you without . . .
diminishing
Bri, right? And vice versa?”

I nod. Even when Bri makes me mad, I don't want to make her
less
.

“Sometimes there's more room in our lives than we realize. We can grow and grow, and the world around us can too. So . . . maybe
Naomi Marie
is on her way to being a
fuller
Naomi. Maybe Naomi Marie will shine even more, and her light will help others do the same.”

He's getting a little speechy, but I kind of get it, I think. Maybe I don't mind not being who I used to be. “I'll give it time,” I say. “And I'll shine.”

“That's my girl. Ready to play Mad Gab? Or should we finally finish this puzzle?”

“I should call Xiomara—I mean Xio—first.” I was rude. Even though I know she's got my back no matter what, I want to say out loud that I'm sorry. I'll probably have to watch the Off-the-Street audition round of
Vocalympians!
in return, but Xio's worth it.

“Go ahead. I'll set up. Puzzle or Mad Gab? Or do you have a better idea?”

I do, actually. I want to show him the game
I'm
making. I want to show him that he is my one and only dad, forever and ever, the only dadly person in my life. And even if the Other Naomi doesn't care about the presentation and contest, I do. I started a whole new DuoTek project, all my own. I stopped checking the Dump a while ago; she never does anything, and she never answered my questions, so why bother? She can sit there and have quietude while I do the presentation if she wants. This is my own fresh start. I worked hard, and I'm kind of excited—I think it's good! It's an adventure game, and my character looks a little like Bri. She has to use different skills to get through different worlds. I'll put the Other Naomi's name on it anyway, just to be nice. And I left some open code so she can add that fashion idea—it was cool, kind of like paper doll spies.

“Can I show you what I've done with DuoTek?” I say to Dad.

“Your Saturday thing?” he says. “I'd love to see it. Did you figure out how to program the surfboard over the waterfall?”

“Yep,” I say, smiling. “The player had to name three Coretta Scott King Book Award winners and a Newbery to make it over safely.”

“You are your momma's girl,” he says, smiling and ruffling my hair.

“Yours too,” I say quickly. “We're game buddies forever, remember?”

“And ever,” he replies. I get up so he can sit at the computer. “So, am I your first player?” he asks. “I'm honored.”

“The honor is all mine,” I say very grandly, and we both laugh. “It's not totally finished yet, though. But you can play up to level six. I taught myself some code that we didn't get to in the workshop.” I don't add that Naomi E(vil) never really did anything in class and just sat there the whole time while I entered code last Saturday. Whenever Julie came around, we both pretended everything was cool, but it wasn't.

But my game is, I think. I really, really do. It almost doesn't matter about her not helping, because I had fun, and I'm proud of myself. I've got to figure out a way to make sure the Teen Gamez Crew sees this.

She could have messaged me back, though.

“Come on, let's do this,” he says, rubbing his hands together. I show him how to move the pixies, and he's on his way.

“I'm proud of you, honey,” he says, after a few minutes of playing. “Proud, but not surprised.”

I try to put everything I'm not sure how to say into two words. “Thanks, Dad.”

He gets to the glitchy part where the Bri-pixie is supposed to juggle apples, but I haven't figured out how to program it so she can pick them up from the ground.

“I'm a little stuck there,” I say. “But I'll figure it out soon.”

“I know you will,” he says. “Be sure to show me the whole thing as soon as you're done.”

After a pause, I say, “There's a presentation. Do you want to come? But I don't know . . .” I don't know if the Other Naomi is going to like my game, and I don't know if my dad and Tom can both be there for the presentation, and I don't know how to program my life so that there aren't any glitches.

“Let's talk about it with your mother,” he says, like he knows what I'm thinking. I should write a book about magic parents. But maybe kids wouldn't want to read that. Too scary. “Either way, we'll have a showing right here, okay? Show your uncle Kevin. . . . Your aunt Ramona and her kids are coming to visit in a couple of weeks. You know they'll all want to see it. No rules against two presentations.”

“We can make two presentations the new rule,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “Show me what you're trying to do here. Maybe I can help. You know I won't do your work for you—”

“—but you'll create opportunities for my work to shine,” I finish, smiling. “Momma still says that too.”

“We're always a team in that respect,” he says as he stands so that I can sit again. “You'll never have to choose. Your mom and I are both here to help you shine.”