Perfect (17 page)

ON MY WAY TO MY MEETING with Trish, it hit me.
That night at my house with Ashley was the first time I
ever said no to her. I wasn't sure what this meant, but it
felt big to me.

"What do you think it meant?" Trish said, when I asked
her. Trish loves answering questions with questions.

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't really care what she
thought, for once. Do you think!"

"Before that, you used to care? You wanted her to
think well of you?"

"I guess so," I said. "Yeah."

Trish looked at me. "So it was a big deal that you made
a different choice? The choice not to throw up?"

"Well," I said, looking down. "I didn't throw up with
her. Later on I did, though. When I was by myself."

"And what were you feeling then, Isabelle? When you
were by yourself. Can you put your finger on it?"

"I was thinking about ... my dad. Missing him. I was ...
you know, sad."

"Good," Trish said.

I looked up. "Good?"

"Not good that you felt sad. Good that you're beginning to identify your feelings."

"But I still threw up," I said. "Isn't that ... I mean,
aren't I supposed to be not doing that?"

Trish nodded. "Ultimately. Yes. When you're ready. To
get yourself there, though, you have to do the work."

"What work?" I said.

"Being honest with yourself," said Trish. "And with me.
Identifying your feelings. Journaling. Talking it out."

"I'm doing that," I said. "I mean ... aren't I?"

"You are."

"I am."

"Okay then." Trish smiled. "Let's keep plugging. Let's
talk some more about your dad."

At eleven that night, I was dialing Aunt Weezy's phone
number, hoping that she would be the one that answered
and not Uncle Jack, or worse, Nini. I'd already started to
call about fifty times, hanging up before the first ring. This time, though, I was going to do it. I was doing what Trish
said to do. Take deep breaths. In through the nose, out
through the mouth. It was a bit exhausting.

"Aunt Weezy?" I whispered. "It's me. Isabelle."

"Isabelle? Honey? Is that you? I can barely hear you."

I raised my voice a little. "Yeah. It's me."

"Is everything all right? Is it your mom?"

"No. No. Everything's fine."

I could hear the sigh on the other end, like this was
a big relief. It's amazing how people will just believe you
when you say "Everything's fine," like saying it makes it
true.

"Well," I said, "as fine as it ever is. You know."

Aunt Weezy sighed again. "Right."

"Anyway," I said. Now that we were back on track.
"The reason I'm calling is, I've got this idea. And I kind of
need your help."

There was Aunt Weezy's ear, wide open, waiting.

After I got off the phone, instead of going to bed right
away, I took out my journal. I was sleepy, but I wasn't ready
to go to sleep. There's something about talking to a person like Trish, or Aunt Weezy, that makes you think. Your
head fills up with things that most of the time you hardly
ever talk about. Normally I would head for my closet, for
my stash, and start stuffing my face. This time I wrote.

Just minutes before, when I stood in the hallway outside my mother's room listening to her cry, I got mad. Stop
crying! I wanted to yell. Stop crying every night and do something about it!

I wrote about that. And about how I wanted my another back the way she used to be. I wanted her to he the
mom again, taking care of me and April, not the other
way around. I wanted her to stop pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't. Mostly, I wanted her to
know that she wasn't the only one who missed him. We all
did. Because he was all of ours.

THE FIRST NIGHT OF HANUKKAH fell on a Thursday. As soon as I got home from school I started getting
things ready. Even though Aunt Weezy promised to make
sure my mother was out of the house, I checked her bedroom. Just in case.

April did everything I asked her to without making a
peep. But I still watched her every move like a hawk to
make sure she didn't screw it up.

My stomach was full of the butterflies you feel when
you see a guy like Eli Bronstein walking down the hall toward you, and you're thinking, Oh no, is he going to talk
to me? And if he does, what if I freeze? Or say something stupid? Or let out a big raunchy burp?

I hoped we were doing the right thing, me and April. I
thought we were at first, but all of sudden I wasn't sure.

"It looks good, Isabelle, huh?" April said, taking a step
back from the dining room table. "I'm glad we decided to
go with the blue candles, instead of plain white."

I sat folding napkins, over and over until I got them
right. Cloth ones, not paper. And not your regular folds
either. Swans.

"You know?" April said. `Aren't you glad we went with
the blue?"

"Yeah. They look good."

"Everything looks just right. Huh, Isabelle?"

"Yes," I said, placing one napkin swan on each plate.
"It really does."

"It really does."

I smiled at this, Ape Face repeating everything I say
because she wants me to know she's with me. We're in it
together.

"Should I go get the rest of the stuff now?" she asked.
"From upstairs?"

"Yeah. You do that. I'll check on the food."

"Right. You check on the food." April started walking
out of the room, then stopped and turned hack. "Isabelle?"

"Yeah?"

"I think Daddy would really like this. That we're doing
this, I mean. If he could see us right now. You know what
I mean?"

I felt my eyes sting when she said that. I had to bite my lip and swallow hard. "Yeah, April. I know what you
mean.

Aunt Weezy was there with us when my mother walked in
the room. "Hi, Bethy," she said softly. And then, "Happy
Hanukkah."

My mother looked at Aunt Weezy. She looked at me.
And April. And the table, the menorah, Daddy's chair
with April's family tree project propped on top of it, the
whole thing. You could see her eyes moving around like
crazy.

"You can't be serious," she said.

At first, nobody said anything.

Then, I broke the silence. "Well. We are. So, Happy
Hanukkah."

"Happy Hanukkah, Mommy," said April.

"Happy Hanukkah?" my mother said. "Happy Hanukkah?"

Now she turned and looked at Aunt Weezy again, as
though she needed to talk to an adult about this. Aunt
Weezy just nodded, gestured to the empty chair for her to
sit down.

I was too busy watching my mother's face to care if she
was standing or sitting. I knew she was going to lose it any
second now. Which is exactly what she did.

"How could you let them do this, Louise? I can't do
this! I can't!"

"Bethy," Aunt Weezy said quietly, walking toward my
mother with her arms outstretched.

"No!" my mother said. "There's no reason to do this! No reason!" And then, to me and April, "Why did you do
this? I told you we weren't going to do this."

"Bethy," Aunt Weezy said again.

My mother didn't answer. She just turned and ran out
of the room.

Aunt Weezy came around to our side of the table, giving each of us a quick hug. "Girls. Sit tight. I'll be right
back."

Soon it was just me and April, alone again, and Ape
Face was starting to ask a million questions. "Do you think
she'll come back, Isabelle? Mom, I mean? Do you think
she's really mad? ... Maybe we shouldn't have done this,
you know? After she said not to?"

I didn't answer.

"Do you think we should just, you know ... start picking up"„
.

"No!" I said. I knew my voice sounded sharp, but I
didn't care. "We're not picking up anything. It's Hanukkah, and we're going to have Hanukkah."

Ape Face did what a good sister should do in a situation like that: she shut up. She shut up and listened to
directions.

Together we walked to the head of the table where
the menorah was, and picked up the lead candle, the
Shamash. April held the Shamash while I lit the match,
then we placed it in its holder at the same time.

Just like we planned, I sang the first blessing, the one
Daddy always did. "Baruch atah Adonai eloheinu melech
ha-olam asher kideshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik
ner shel Hanukkah."

When it was April's turn, she looked scared. "I might
mess up, okay, Isabelle? I'm not sure I remember the whole
thing. I've been practicing, like you showed me, but I'm
still not-"

"Just do the best you can," I said. "I'll help you if you
get stuck. Okay?"

"Okay." April closed her eyes tight. "Baruch atah
Adonai eloheinu melech ha-olam, sheh' asah nissim
l'avoteinu, ba-yamim ha-heim, ba-z'man ha-zeh.... Was
that right? I thought it sounded pretty good."

"It did," I said. "It was perfect."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," I said. "Now. Aunt Weezy was supposed to do the third blessing, and I don't exactly remember it. Do you?"

April shook her head.

"Okay." I walked back over to my chair and picked up
the prayer book we'd found under my mother's bed. It was
our father's, from when he was a boy.

I turned to April. "God doesn't care if you don't have
it memorized. Remember how Daddy used to say that?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

I walked back to the head of the table with the prayer
book, turned to the third blessing. "On three, okay?"

"On three," April said.

"One, two, three ..."

Even though we were singing from the book, not from
memory, the words sounded warm and right filling the air.
"Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha-olam-"

For a split second, in the middle of the blessing, I looked up. There they were in the doorway, my mother
and Aunt Weezy, watching us. I sang louder. "Shehechey-
anu, v'ki-y'manu, v'higiyanu, lazman hazeh!"

Then I did a crazy thing, in front of everyone. I turned
to my father's chair, which was empty except for the family
tree project leaning against it, and I raised my water glass.
"Happy Hanukkah, Daddy."

Without my even glancing at her, April did the same
thing. "Happy Hanukkah, Daddy."

Then Aunt Weezy. "Happy Hanukkah, Jacob. We miss
you.

I turned to my mother, standing in the doorway. Tears
running down her face, buckets of them. I watched as she
walked slowly across the room and sat down at the table.
She didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. It was all
right there.

FRIDAY WAS THE LAST DAY before winter break
and school was a madhouse. Most of the teachers had just
given up trying to teach and were showing movies instead.
Not Minx, though. The minute we sat down, he handed
out a new book.

"To Kill a Mockingbird," Minx said, "is one of the great
American novels. A coming-of-age story with a moral epicenter. For those of you who are considering a career in
the law. . ."

While Minx droned on and on, Georgie and I sat next
to each other playing tic-tac-toe with pink nail polish.

Denise Miller drew pictures of Minx with horns and a
tail and passed them around the room.

Peter Marsh and Dan Fosse made spitball shooters
out of their ballpoint pens, firing at each other whenever Minx wasn't looking. Every five minutes, one of them
would make a fart noise out of the side of their mouth,
until Minx finally looked up, frowning. "What's going on
here?"

Dan said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Minx. My mother made me
a Mexican omelet for breakfast, and you know what happens when I have beans for breakfast-"

"Never mind," said Minx, and the whole class cracked
up.

Too bad Ashley wasn't there to see it. The room
seemed empty without her. Brian King was completely
hummed. He'd written an extraspecial Ashley poem, for
Christmas.

"I can send it to her, if you want," I told him. "I know
where she's staying in Colorado."

But Bri said no, thanks. He'd put it in her locker, so
she'd have something waiting for her when she got back.