Brownie Points (10 page)

“Girl Scouts even gonna let a boy join?” Jason asked, wholly unaware of my thoughts. I could have stayed locked in that state of self-analysis for another hour or five, but he’d already moved on.”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“You want Logan to feel like we’re behind him, that’s fine. Give him the thumbs up from us and let them turn him down. Let Girl Scouts take the hit.”

Only a man could hatch a plan that ends with the phrase, “Let Girl Scouts take the hit.”

Chapter Nine

When I was single and knew everything about parenting, I envisioned myself being the type of mother who always included my children in family discussions. In the fantasy, I looked like Mother Nature dressed in a long flowing robe, sitting under a star-filled sky as my hemp-clad children listened attentively to my wisdom. I patiently answered all of their questions openly and honestly, and when we finished, we would share a meaningful embrace and thank the universe that we were joined as a family.

Now I just wished Maya would go to her room so I could be alone with Logan to discuss this Girl Scout thing. Normally she would be at Ashley’s or Bianca’s house after school, but all three girls were grounded for crank calling their math teacher, so my daughter was home, hovering around her brother like a carrion bird. Finally I openly and honestly asked her to scram.

“I know you’re going to talk to him about joining Girl Scouts, so why can’t I stay and listen?”

I looked at Logan, who shrugged his shoulders and said that he’d discussed the idea with Maya before bringing it to Jason and me. “I don’t care if she hears. Maya thinks it’s a good idea, don’t you?” he asked her. She nodded her head emphatically.

“What’s your angle?” I asked my daughter.

“Angle?”

“Yeah, what’s in it for you, Maya?”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “Brotherly love, that’s all.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow before Logan continued. “I know the idea sounds a little weird,” he began. “But think about it. I’m at Girl Scouts every week anyway. What’s the big deal if I join?”

I sat down next to him on our tire couch where Maya was perched on the armrest. “Yeah, what’s the big deal?” Maya asked.

I shot her a look of warning.“Look, you can ask, but they’re never going to let you join.”

Logan disagreed. “I’ve been at the last five meetings. Isn’t that joining?”

“You visited, you didn’t officially join,” I explained.

Maya interjected. “He
joined
us for the meeting, he
joined
the activity, he
joined
in the fun.”

“Joining the fun is different from joining the organization. If what you want to do is go to Girl Scout meetings, Michelle said you’re always welcome to visit.”

“I don’t want to visit!” Logan asserted. “I want to belong.”

My heart ached for Logan and his sense of disenfranchisement in our new home. For a kid like Logan, Utopia could be hell. When our realtor told us that Los Corderos offered “absolutely everything” for kids, I wish I’d pressed her for specifics.

“Logan, I want you to find your place here too, but you have to be a girl to be a Girl Scout.”

“Isn’t that a bit sexist, Mom?” Maya asked.

“Actually, it’s not,” I began. “I went to the Girl Scout website and their whole mission is about empowering girls by creating a safe place for girls to try —”

“So now I’m a safety threat?!” Logan scoffed.

“Yeah, we’re all so scared of him,” Maya said. “Everyone’s trembling. Logan might decoupage us to death.”

“Let me finish! Girl Scouts is about creating a safe place for girls to try out new things without worrying about what boys think. My God, you two, I said he can ask, what more do you want from me?”

They squealed like pageant queens. I had thought Logan might change his mind, but he was more excited than I’d seen him since we moved here. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a blow for him when his request was denied.

“Can I be a pirate?!” Maya slipped in quickly.

“Absolutely not.”

She sighed, exasperated. “That’s so unfair. He gets to do everything he wants.” With righteous indignation, she spat, “All I want is to try something new without having to worry about what boys think.”

“Oh, I’m buying that,” I said flatly. “Do your homework, you two.”

After Maya left the room, Logan kissed my cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I know you think I’m crazy but this is something I need to do.”

In that moment I was returned to Jason’s parents’ mahogany dining room table so many years ago. “Drop out of medical school?!” his father shouted. “To become a fireman? You’ve got a great mind; don’t waste it doing what any joker with a hose can do.”

Jason and I had rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the plane ride to Baltimore for Thanksgiving dinner, where I was to meet his parents for the first time. Looking back, I see that perhaps we should have spaced our bombs a bit better. Their son dropping out of medical school and marrying a white woman weren’t high on the list of things that Jason’s parents were thankful for that holiday. As planned, Jason told his father that he respected and admired his work with burn victims, but wanted to send fewer his way.

“And what about you?!” Jason’s mother cried. “Firefighters die in the line of duty every day. You’ll save more people if you’re alive. You don’t have to work at the Burn Center,” she assured Jason, though all three of his sisters did. Even she was an occupational therapist there. “You don’t even have to work in the field. You’ll find your own specialty.”

There were hours of discussion, which ultimately ended with Jason telling his parents that he knew it sounded crazy, but it was something he needed to do.

As I returned to the present, I hoped that Logan having our support would be enough for him. There was no way in hell Girl Scouts of America was allowing a boy to join its ranks, but perhaps Logan knowing that his mother — and more important, his father — were behind him would give him some strength.

Chapter Ten

“Michelle, have I caught you at a good time?” I asked.

“Turn down the television!” she shouted, not pulling her phone quite far enough away from her mouth. “You are grounded. This is supposed to be a punishment!” Returning to me, she apologized. “I’m on a tea fast and I’m ready to fry these kids and eat them.”

“Michelle, you look great, what’s with the constant fasts and cleanses?”

“Oh, thanks,” she dismissed. “I’m detoxing. The girl at Answer said the herbs in Sereni-tea will help me de-stress.”

“You just threatened to eat your children,” I pointed out.

Michelle sighed, “Only ’cause I’m hungry.”

“You seemed pretty serene before the detox,” I offered, hoping she would see the absurdity.

Mistake. Big mistake. The greatest insult to a Utopian mother was suggesting that she was anything less than busy, stressed and overscheduled. When running into another mom, the conversation always went something like this:

You: How are you?

Her: Crazy busy. My life is just insane.

You: Tell me about it, we are stretched to the limit.

Her: We’re beyond the limit.

You: We don’t know what a limit even looks like. I am so exhausted with everything I do for this family.

Her: Multiply that by three and you’ve got my life.

You: You don’t know how good you’ve got it. I could collapse from exhaustion.

Her: Oh yeah, I’m actually dead. I had a fatal nervous breakdown, double heart attack last night. This is a ghost you’re seeing pushing the cart here at Target. My funeral is on Friday and my family is having a small memorial service afterward. I hope you can make it.

You: I hope so too. Fridays are crazy.

“I most certainly was not serene, Lisa!” Michelle snapped.

“How long has it been since you had food?” I asked.

“Two days.”

“Two days since you’ve had any food?!”

“Food is for the weak,” Michelle said like a mantra.

“Food is for the living, Michelle.”

“Negativity cannot penetrate my bliss zone,” she said, half-mocking herself.

“You been smoking that tea?”

When she laughed, I detected a slight note of pity that I would never achieve the pure state of Nirvana that comes from a cellulite-free ass. “I wish,” she said instead, surprising me. “What’s up, Lisa?”

“I’m calling about Logan.”

“Logan,” she said extending each letter adoringly. “I love that boy. I mean, of course Maya’s terrific too, but there’s something very special and sensitive about Logan. Am I crazy for hoping that maybe one day he and Ashley will hit it off?”

Certifiably.

“He’s a great kid.” I stopped, hoping to gather my thoughts. “I’m going to just spit this out, ’cause it’s kind of an odd request.”

“Please, Cara just called to ask me to help make her front door look like a coffin,” Michelle said. “Halloween. We really get into the holidays around here.”

“I got a citation last week for leaving my garage door open too long while unloading groceries,” I said, baffled by the inequity.

“Val says if it’s in the spirit of a holiday, she’ll look the other way on the codes. I know she’s a little intense. So what’s your odd request?”

“Logan wants to join the Girl Scouts,” I blurted.

She laughed as if I were kidding. “Gosh, that makes me feel good. So many kids today are so jaded, they can’t appreciate the—”

“Michelle,” I cut her off. “I don’t mean he
wishes
he could join your troop. I’m saying that he wants to join.”

“Really?” she shrieked in puzzlement. “Logan wants to become a member of the troop? I’m so flattered.”

I waited for Michelle to say, “But he can’t. I’m flattered, but in case you hadn’t noticed, he has a penis, which is an automatic disqualifier for Girl Scout membership.” Then I waited through another few seconds as she thought about the gentlest way to shoot down her golden boy.

“Michelle, you there?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Lisa.” And there we had it. I waited to hear,
I’m sorry he can’t join.
Instead she said, “I can’t seem to find my file with the registration folders in it.”
What?!
“Oh, here it is! Scoot on over and we’ll get him all signed up. I’ll need two checks from you. One for ten dollars made out to Girl Scouts of America, and another one for fifty made out to the troop.”

“I … I … I’m just surprised that—”

“I know, I know,” Michelle said. “But the troop has a lot of expenses. All those rhinestones and glitter glue add up.”

“You’re not concerned about having a boy in the troop?”

“Gosh, no!” Michelle said as if the notion were absurd. “It’ll be fun! The more the merrier.”

™˜

I heard Jason’s voice in my mind as I walked to Michelle’s house. “The more the merrier?!” he would shout. Over and over again.

Apparently Michelle didn’t get the memo that Girl Scouts was supposed to take the hit. I began my six-house trek looking a bit like a zombie, which, as it turned out, fit in quite well with the landscape of Utopia that time of year.

The house next door hung ghosts on fishing wire that extended from the bedroom windows all the way to the branches of trees on the sidewalk. When I first saw the sheet-figures, I thought my neighbors were drying dress shirts, but quickly remembered that Utopia is not the sort of place where people air their laundry, even if it’s clean.

Marni’s front lawn sported three extremely sexy witches stirring brew at a cauldron, while the house next to her had ornately decorated pumpkins sitting on graduated bales of hay. At the center was a headless scarecrow with model black crows pecking at its neck. On my side of the street was a home completely barren of Halloween decorations. I took some comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only party pooper behind the gates of Utopia. As I passed that neighbor’s the front door, smoke started shooting from the roof and an eerie male voice bellowed, “Who dares come here?” After my heart settled from the shock, I saw that the home was rigged with a microphone system and motion detector.

When I arrived at Michelle’s house, I was relieved to see that she had a simple set of wreaths made from candy that was wrapped in harvest shades. Orange packages of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups snuggled beside brown Heath Bars and yellow M&M bags.

There was something undeniably likeable about Michelle. At first I assumed it was because she appreciated Logan in a town where few others did. She responded to him the way people in San Francisco used to and, because of that, she reminded me a bit of what we left behind. As time went on, I realized it was more than her kindness to Logan, or her admiration of every one of my sculptures that failed to sell. It was that Michelle had the rare gift of taking people as they came. I never got the sense that she wanted me to be anyone other than who I already was.

“Thank God your house isn’t a theme park,” I said as Michelle let me in.