Bras & Broomsticks (31 page)

Monday night we’re in the middle of yet another revolting vegetarian dinner (sloppy joes made with spinach, mushrooms, cabbage, and some unidentifiable beige vegetable) when someone buzzes from downstairs.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Mom asks, putting down her fork.

We both shake our heads. Raf coming to proclaim his love? I skip over to the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s Dad!” Dad? Omigod. Dad! It worked! He’s here! “Come on up!” I scream into the intercom. I know screaming is annoying for the person listening, but I’m too excited to think clearly.

My mom takes a long sip of her water. “Is that your father?”

“Why, yes,” I say, trying to act all cool and casual, which is mighty difficult. Miri jumps up from the table and starts tidying the kitchen.

“Why is he here?” my mom asks, then flattens down her hair. Bet now she wishes she paid more attention to those roots, huh? “Did you girls get into any kind of trouble? Something happen I should know about?”

“No,” Miri and I say simultaneously.

Knock, knock. I leap toward the door. “Hi, Dad!” I sing, and then try not to gasp at the sight of him.

His shirt isn’t tucked in, the few hairs he has left on his head are standing up and pointing in different directions, and he has thick bags under his eyes. “Hi, Rachel. I . . . uh . . . found a book Miri left at the house. I thought she might need it.” He thrusts the book at me. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I step aside to let him pass.

My mom, still fidgeting with her hair, joins us in the hallway. “Hi, Daniel. Nice to see you. Everything all right?”

His eyes light up like two headlights when he sees her. “Hi,” he says softly. I don’t believe it. He’s looking at her as if he’s Romeo and she’s Juliet. He’s in love with her again! Hallelujah! Cupid’s arrow has landed!

“Miri forgot a book and I thought she might need it,” he rushes to explain.

“Yes, she did. Look!” I hold up the hardcover like a trophy. It’s my science textbook from last year, but who’s counting? “So, Dad, would you like some tea? Mom was just going to make a pot.”

My mother stares at me as if I’ve lost it. “I was?”

She’d better not blow this. “Why don’t you two sit down and catch up, and I’ll boil the water,” I say. I fill up and plug in our white kettle.

My father accepts the invite and sits down next to Miri at his old chair at the table. My mom has that baffled, I-just-woke-up look on her face, but sits across from him anyway. I wipe off the glob of sloppy joe that’s smeared across the Formica counter and clear the dinner plates.

“Look how helpful they are,” Dad says to Mom. “What’s gotten into them?”

She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Miri has always been helpful, but Rachel is a whole new girl these days. She’s even in great shape. That fashion show is doing wonders for her. She actually took the stairs yesterday without complaining.”

That’s not true. I complained, just not out loud.

My father snorts. “This is the same girl I had to carry on my shoulders in the Diabetes Walkathon?”

They both laugh. Normally, I would get mad at him for bringing it up (I got tired and bored ten minutes into the walk and forced him to carry me the rest of the way), but not this time. The kettle whistles and I place their teas in front of them, saying, “I have a lot of homework to do, so I’ll be in my room if needed.”

“Me too,” Miri adds, and we both burst out of the kitchen, high-fiving all the way to our rooms.

By eleven, I’m in bed, and I can still hear their voices. Hers, girlish and giggling; his, happy and relaxed. Miri opens my door and tiptoes inside. “He’s still here,” she whispers, beaming. The laughter from the kitchen wafts through the walls.

“I know. I just said good-night.” Seeing them together, sitting at the kitchen table like they used to do in the old days, gave me a surge of warm happiness. Like it’s cold outside, but I’m sitting on a cozy couch, wrapped in a woolly blanket, facing a roaring fire.

The next morning, my mom is sipping her coffee, a half smile on her face.

“What time did Dad leave?” Miri asks, chomping her oatmeal as if she’s been fasting for weeks. I pour myself some Cheerios.

“Around one,” she says. “It was nice. And weird. We haven’t talked—you know, talked—in a long time. But I don’t understand what’s going on with him. Has he been fighting with Jennifer?”

Miri and I get very interested in our cereals.

My mom goes back to sipping her coffee.

STB must have freaked if he came home at two in the morning. Maybe he didn’t go home. Maybe the wedding’s already been called off. “What did he say?” I ask. That he’s in love with you? That he has dumped/is about to dump STB and is moving back home?

“We just talked. About you two. About life. And how it . . . creeps up on you.”

Yes! Awesome! Woo-hoo to the power of a billion! Abracadabra fantastica! Welcome back, Dad! And Spring Fling, here I come!

Good things happen in threes.

First, with the help of my new best friend, A
²
, I’ve managed to reach the Holy Grail of divorced kids and get my parents back together.

Second, Raf has been a sweetheart all day. He dropped by my locker to say hello not once but
twice
and sat next to me during lunch rehearsal.

“Justin wants to know if we want to split a limo so we can all go to the dance together on Saturday,” he says.

Is showing up to the dance in a chariot with my prince charming okay? Duh, yeah.

Third, after school we picked up our designer outfits. At the Izzy Simpson boutique, I was handed a gorgeous red embroidered silk tea-length dress and adorable wooden three-inch heels with red bows, which I seem to have no problem dancing in. Jewel’s outfit is similar, but her dress is green and flows all the way to the floor. It’s a little long for my taste (I like my calves), but she’s happy.

I’m going to look so glam! I wonder who will bring me flowers. After the closing number, we all stay onstage and the MC (Will Kosravi) calls all our names in alphabetical order, and we walk down the catwalk to accept our bouquets. I’ll have to remind my mom to make sure to buy me one.

The only damper on my great day was Tammy. She fully ignored me. She didn’t acknowledge me when I walked late into class, or even when I passed by her locker.

I tried to apologize. “Tammy,” I said, blocking her in the hallway. “Can we talk?”

“No,” she muttered, and walked away. And the hand gesture she gave me is just too rude to even discuss. Unbelievable. She’d better not be planning on using that fashion show ticket. With attitude like that, she can cough up the ten bucks and sit in the back.

I get home from rehearsal, expecting to hear news of the canceled wedding.

“No news,” Miri says. She’s lying on her bed, legs up, reading.

But Spring Fling is in four days! I plop down beside her. “Maybe I should call him.”

“Don’t, Rachel,” Miri warns, shaking her head. “He’s probably confused right now, but he’ll do the right thing. He won’t marry one woman when he’s in love with another, especially when the object of his affection is the mother of his children. He’ll call us by tomorrow for sure.”

“He’d better. It must take at least a few days to cancel a wedding properly. They have a hundred guests. Someone has to call them and tell them not to come.”

“Maybe she’ll e-mail them. It’ll be the perfect closure for the annoying wedding updates. Or maybe they’ll make the announcement at the wedding rehearsal dinner and then call everyone else.”

Groan. I do not want to trek all the way to Long Island on Thursday for a soon-to-be-defunct-wedding rehearsal. The final fashion show dress practice is after class until six, which means I’ll have to run from school to the train to make it to Long Island by seven thirty.

No. My dad would not do that to us. Tomorrow he’ll call us with the cancelation news. It’s the right thing to do.

By the time I get home at eight at night on Wednesday, I’m soaking wet from rain and extremely nervous.

The entire cast has been outfitted for all our numbers, the dances are perfect, the stage crew has finished the sets, and the limo for Spring Fling has been reserved. The entire kickoff weekend for spring break has been perfectly arranged except for one slight issue: the stupid wedding hasn’t been called off yet.

I ignore Miri’s advice and dial my dad’s number.

STB answers on the first ring, her voice wobbling. “Hello?”

“Hi, ST—Jennifer, is my dad there?”

“Rachel? No, he isn’t. He went for a walk.”

“In the pouring rain?”

She laughs, but it sounds strained. “He took an umbrella. I don’t know why he went, honestly. He’s been acting strange all week.”

Yes! Strange! An I-have-to-reevaluate-my-life walk! “All righty. I just wanted to say hi.”

“So you’ll be here by seven thirty tomorrow?”

“Yup.”

“And everything’s ready for the show on Friday?”

“Yup.”

“After the show, do you and Miri want to come back here? That way we can get ready for the big day together.”

“Uh, why don’t we wait and see on that one?”

“Whatever you want. I’ll tell your dad to call when he gets back.” She hesitates. “If it’s not too late.”

He calls. But not until twelve thirty. (Must have been a marathon of a walk—yes!) I’m already halfway into Spring Fling dreamworld when I hear the phone ring.