You First (3 page)

Gigi decided to put on her game face before sliding into the backseat of her mother's car. She wasn't ready to talk about what had just happened, partly because she had a feeling her mom wouldn't approve.

“Hey, sweetness,” her mom said. “How was class?”

“Good.”

Her mom laughed. “That doesn't sound very convincing.”

“Oh,” Gigi said. “Sorry. It was
really
good, actually.” She quickly filled her mom in on the Kids-Only Ultimate Cupcake Bake-Off—leaving out the part about possibly hurting Miranda's feelings. Then she asked her mother if they could swing by the Brandywine Hundred Library before they headed home. She wanted to check out some cookbooks for inspiration.

On the short drive to the library, Gigi asked if Finley could spend the night, so that Gigi could fill her in on what she'd
missed at class. “Plus,” she added, “we're really behind on planning this year's party.”

“I was hoping you and I could have a mother-daughter bonding night,” her mom replied. “It's high time I introduced you to
Singin' in the Rain
.”

“Yeah, but we can do that any night,” Gigi said.

“I could say the same about having a sleepover with Finn,” she pointed out.

Gigi was quiet for a minute. Then she said, “I call compromise.”

“What kind of compromise?”

“We could do pizza and a movie—with Finley—and then make cupcakes inspired by the movie. I already have gray fondant and everything.”

Her mother pulled into the library's parking lot. “That sounds fair,” she said. “Let's pick up a pizza from Grotto's on our way home. A large cheese should be enough for the three of us, right?”

“Could we maybe get two, just in case?” Gigi asked. “That way, we'll have leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”

Cold pizza was her mother's favorite—a holdover, she said, from back in her college days. Gigi knew exactly what her mother would say before she even said it.

“Deal.”

At home, Gigi pored over the cookbooks, looking for a cupcake flavor that would pair well with fondant that tasted like black jelly beans.

Gigi was so absorbed in what she was doing that she completely lost track of time. It wasn't until the light flooding the sunny kitchen had shifted that she even bothered looking at the clock.

Six, and she still hadn't heard from Finn.

Weird.

Gigi pressed 3 on the speed dial. This time, Finn's five-year-old brother, Logan, answered the phone.

“Hi, Logie,” she said. “Can you get Finn on the phone?”

“No,” he said.

Gigi was used to Logan saying “No.” It had been his favorite word since he'd learned to speak.

“C'mon, Logan. I need to talk to your sister.”

“Can't,” he said. “She isn't home.”

“Wait, what?”

“HOME,” he said, louder this time. “SHE ISN'T HOME.”

There was a bit of jostling, and then Gigi heard Ms. Marian wrestle the phone away from Logan. “Hello?” Ms. Marian said. “Who is this?”

“It's me, Ms. Marian,” Gigi said. “I was calling for Finn, but Logie said she wasn't back from her boot camp yet.”

“What? That ended hours ago. No, she's spending the night at a friend's house. Lauren?”

Gigi was stunned.
She
had plans with Finn tonight. And
Lauren
?
Who was Lauren?
There weren't any Laurens in their class.

Then it hit her: Lauren
Avila
was the eighth-grade co-captain of the varsity soccer team.

What was Finley doing hanging out with an eighth grader? That was, like, unheard of at Sterling Middle School. In fact, the eighth graders went out of their way to avoid lowly sixth graders.

“I—I didn't know,” Gigi stammered. “She was supposed to call about our party.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Gigi!” Ms. Marian said. “I told her to talk to you and to apologize about skipping out on your class without offering an explanation. I don't know what's gotten into Finn lately. This isn't like her.”

No,
Gigi thought.
It really isn't.

“That's okay,” Gigi croaked.

Ms. Marian sighed. “I'm really, really sorry,” she said. “I'll make sure she calls when she gets home tomorrow.”

They said their good-byes just as Gigi's mom walked
into the kitchen. “Was that Finn?” she asked. “I am absolutely starving.”

Gigi stared down at the two pizzas on the counter. There had never,
ever
been a time when she didn't know exactly where her best friend was. And she always knew because Finn
always
told her.

What is happening?
Gigi wasn't sure, but she knew, whatever it was, she didn't like it.

Before her mother could ask her what was wrong, she fled to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

She half expected her mom to follow, but when she didn't, Gigi let herself have a good, long cry. Finley was her best friend. She had
always
been her best friend. When Gigi had lost her first tooth and developed a somewhat irrational fear of the tooth fairy, Finn was the one who had camped out in her bedroom and helped her keep watch.

When Finn's beloved basset hound, Elvis, had passed away last year, it was Gigi who had planned the funeral and cried with her for days.

They rode their first roller coaster together, learned how to bodysurf together, got their ears pierced on the exact same day at the exact same time. They had
history
.

But did they have a future?

For the first time ever, Gigi didn't know.

Eventually Gigi's tears ran dry. Her face had grown puffy, and she knew her sore eyes were rimmed in red without even looking in the mirror. But in a weird way, she felt better. She hugged Glamour Puss to her chest and took a few deep cleansing breaths.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, and for a split second, Gigi thought it might be Finley, home early from Lauren's because she felt so bad about ditching her.

But of course it was her mother instead. She poked her head through the doorway and asked, “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.”

Her mother flicked the switch, flooding the room with light. Gigi blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. When her eyes could focus, she saw her mom standing by her bed.

“I talked to Ms. Marian,” she said.

Gigi gasped. “What? No! Why?”

“Because she's
my
best friend,” her mom said. “And because I wanted to know what was going on.”

Gigi sniffed. “What did she say?”

“That Finley was spending the night at someone else's house tonight.”

Gigi nodded.

“But I figure there has to be something else going on too,” her mother continued. “After all, it's not like you girls haven't had sleepovers with other friends before.”

This was true.

“But . . . we always know about that stuff ahead of time. It's not, like, a secret when Finn goes to Katie's house, or when I spend the day with Kendall or whatever. This felt like, I don't know . . . hidden or something.”

“Fair enough,” her mom said. “So what do you think would help this situation?”

Gigi shrugged. “Pizza?”

“I meant with Finley.”

She thought about her mother's question. She was pretty sure her mom had an answer already in mind. “Maybe you could save us both some time and tell me what
you
think I should do.”

Her mom laughed. “Okay. I'm thinking that you need to put all of this out of your head tonight. We'll watch a movie, eat some pizza, bake some cupcakes. Then, tomorrow, you can let Finn know—nicely, of course—how you feel. I'd bet you anything that Finley
has no idea that her actions would upset you, especially not this much.”

Gigi wasn't entirely sure, but her mom was right about one thing: she couldn't resolve anything without talking to Finn.

“Vanilla almond,” she said finally.

“What was that?”

“For the cupcakes,” Gigi said. “I think vanilla almond would go really well with the anise-flavored fondant. Like those cookies we get at the Italian festival.”

Her mother smiled. “Vanilla almond. Sounds like a plan.”

The next morning, Gigi's alarm went off at exactly 5:15 a.m. She shut it off without hitting the snooze button, even though she
really
wanted to go back to sleep.

Sunday morning before sunrise? No thank you.

Only she didn't have much of a choice—not if she wanted to surprise her mom with breakfast in bed. Both of her parents were early risers, even on the weekends. Not because they had to be, but because they genuinely liked getting up before the crack of dawn.

“Maximize your mornings,” her dad always said. “Most people are at their best before eleven a.m.”

When it came to her mother, productivity didn't seem to be a factor. “I just find it really peaceful,” she'd say, holding a steaming mug of mint tea between her hands. “These are my moments of Zen.”

Gigi rubbed at her hot, tired eyes and told herself to rally. There was sausage to be sizzled and French toast
to be flipped. She wondered if they had any oranges left that she could use for fresh-squeezed juice.

The kitchen was where Gigi found her own Zen. It almost didn't matter what she was making; putting on her chef's coat immediately put her into the zone. She had a feeling that Miranda felt the same way, if how she acted in class was any indication.

Gigi finished off a fat stack of blueberry French toast by grating a little lemon zest on top. Her breakfast looked like something out of a magazine. She couldn't wait to see the look on her mother's face. She was in the zone, all right—so much so that she didn't even hear her mother enter the room.

“Aren't you a sweetie,” her mom said, startling Gigi so much that she let out a horror-movie scream. The zester went flying behind her, smacking into the kitchen window with a loud
crack
.

“Holy wow, Mama!” Gigi exclaimed. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” she said. “I keep forgetting how quiet it is with just the two of us here.”

Gigi pulled out two plates from the cabinet and fished a couple of forks out of the utensil drawer. “I was trying to surprise you.”

“I can see that,” her mom said. “And I'm very grateful.”

They decided to eat in the dining room instead of the breakfast bar, to make the morning feel even more special. Gigi's mom took out two wineglasses and poured the juice into them. “Look at us,” she said, “being all fancy.”

Gigi speared a couple of blueberries on her fork. “I wanted to thank you for last night.”

“What about last night?”

She gave her mom a knowing look. “I was sad, and then I wasn't. Because of you—and
Singin' in the Rain
. Just let me say thanks, okay?”

“Okay.”

After breakfast, Gigi's mom insisted on doing the dishes. Gigi, uncharacteristically, insisted on drying.

The two stood side by side, listening to the soundtrack to
South Pacific
as they worked. Gigi's mother hummed along to “I'm Gonna Wash that Man Right Outa My Hair.” Only instead of smiling, Gigi's mother looked terribly sad.

“You okay?” Gigi asked her.

“What? Yes, of course. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Gigi pointed out. “You look like someone kidnapped your dog.”

Gigi's mother laughed. “Oh, Gee. You know your mama too well. To be honest, I was just thinking about
Daddy. I miss him so much, sometimes I feel like my heart is actually aching.”

This caught Gigi by surprise. The past year had been rough on her, what with her father always getting on another plane. But her mom never seemed to mind all that much. Sure, she told Gigi's dad that she couldn't wait for him to get back, and she got extrahappy the day before he flew home. Other than that, though . . . sometimes Gigi wondered if her mom even realized her dad was gone.

“You're always so busy,” she said. “I didn't know you had time to miss Dad.”

“Why do you think I'm always so busy?” her mother countered. “Less time to think.”

“Oh.”

Gigi's mom shut off the faucet and dried her hands on a tea towel. “Before your dad took this job, we all talked about what it would be like, remember?”

Gigi nodded. Her dad had called a family meeting so that they could have a Big Important Conversation about it. He and her mom took turns pointing out all of the ways their lives would be different with her dad traveling sixty percent of the time. It made Gigi sad to think of her dad away for such long stretches, but when he listed some of the destinations—London, Paris, Madrid—well,
Gigi thought this new job couldn't sound any cooler.

But now that her mother mentioned it . . . it hadn't been until
after
her dad took this job that Mom had started teaching yoga twice a week, and volunteering at Dress for Success, this place that provided low-income women with suits and stuff for job interviews.

Over the past year, Gigi's mom had taken a lot of classes too—Investing in the Stock Market, Container Gardening, Conversational Spanish. And scrapbooking! Her mom had dabbled in it before, but now she was hard-core. Some nights Ms. Marian would come over with all of her gear and the two of them would take over the dining room, working on their albums for hours. She and Finley loved it, though; they'd camp out in front of the TV, watching movies until way past their normal weekend bedtime.

“You know,” her mom said, “you could take a page out of my book.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother reached over and tucked some of Gigi's curls behind her ear. “The first few times Dad was away, I felt really sad, and even a little lonely. I tried not to show it, because I knew the transition was difficult for you. But when you weren't around, I was kind of a sad mopey.”

“And?” Gigi said.

“And nobody likes to be around a sad mopey.”

Just then, the phone rang. The robotic caller ID voice announced, “Call from Stewart, Ryan.” Finley's dad. It was their house line. Her mom reached for the phone, but Gigi blurted out, “No, leave it!” She got a funny look in response.

“I'll call her back later,” Gigi explained. “I want to finish our conversation.”

Her mother nodded. “I'm going to put some water on for tea. Mint or chamomile?”

“Mint, please. So what happened then?”

“Ms. Marian happened,” her mom replied. “She told me I had a choice. Either I could sit around feeling sorry for myself, or I could decide to take advantage of this extra time I suddenly had.”

“So that's why you started taking all of those classes and stuff,” Gigi said.

“Yep. And in the beginning, I would always think how great it would be if your dad were here to take some of these classes with me. Only I wasn't taking the kinds of classes that would interest your father. And in some ways, that was the best part.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you're a wife and a mom, sometimes you can forget that you have interests outside of your family,”
her mom explained. “Ms. Marian reminded me of some of mine. It's kind of like getting to know myself all over again. And you know what? I'm pretty amazing.”

“Not to mention humble,” Gigi quipped.

Her mother poked her in the rib cage.

They took their tea into the living room and curled up on the couch, Gigi on one end and her mom on the other. She hated to admit it, but what her mother said made perfect sense. Almost everything she was involved in—no, scratch that,
everything
she was involved in—Finley was involved in, too. Cooking class, soccer, drama club . . .

And just like that, Gigi knew exactly what she had to do.

She started by making a list in the purple composition book that served as her sometimes diary.

Knitting

French Club

Play clarinet

Fencing

Go horseback riding

Volunteer at pet shelter

School newspaper

It was an ambitious list—especially the part about fencing. (Did they even offer fencing classes in Delaware? She'd have to do some research.) But at one time or another, Gigi had wanted to do all of the things on it, and Finn hadn't.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. They'd never discussed volunteering at a pet shelter before, but so much of Gigi's list was
me, me, me
. Her mom was a big believer in giving back to the community. Therefore, the pet shelter.

Gigi copied the list on a separate piece of paper, in her neatest handwriting. Then she went downstairs and handed it over to her mom. “Don't make fun, okay?”

“I would never,” her mother assured her. She watched her mom's face as she read the list. It revealed nothing.

“So?” Gigi prompted.

“So, this is good,” her mom said. “Although I didn't know you had any interest in pet shelters.”

Gigi's cheeks pinked. “I didn't either. But now I think it sounds like a really great idea. So what's next?”

Her mother shrugged. “That, my dear daughter, is entirely up to
you
.”