Planning perfect, p.20
Planning Perfect, page 20
I sit with that for a moment. I don’t know a lot about Bubbe’s family; I never got to meet them. Mom tells stories sometimes but said stories are never very . . . warm. Was that because they were trying to protect her from the truth of what they had gone through? Is that why they always come across as distant in Mom’s stories? What had they gone through? I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to flee a country, especially during the Holocaust.
Bubbe straightens. She reaches out and smooths some of my hair, messy from sleep, then pats my cheek. “I just want you to have a good life. Understand?”
I nod.
“Good, motek.” She looks away. I wonder what exactly she’s looking at.
“Now, you can always call,” she continues. “I know your mother isn’t helping with any of the preparation. If you need me to buy anything, let me know.”
Sure, only problem is I’ve been banned from all that. Which is something I definitely can’t tell Bubbe.
She’ll be angry at my mom, and she’ll feel like I failed her. It’s easier to stay silent.
“I know you’ll be fine,” she adds. “I just feel terrible that it’s falling on you. Not that it will be a problem. My bubbeleh, so talented.”
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. “Thanks,” I say.
She kisses my cheek.
“Love you, Felicity,” she says. “You have a good head on those shoulders. I trust you.”
I’m not sure if that’s necessarily the right call, but I don’t protest.
“Love you, Bubbe,” I say. “Do you want me to take out your bag?”
“See,” she says, “just proving my point. I can do it by myself; don’t get up.” She gives me one last kiss before she walks to the door.
“You always know what to do, my perfect girl,” she says as her goodbye.
I wish that were true; it would make my life a lot easier.
With my no-work punishment in place, I have nothing to do, at all, but stress about Nancy’s confession.
I mean, yes, technically, I also have Netflix, but how many times can you watch The Legend of Korra before it gets out of hand?
The biggest problem is I can’t figure out how I feel now that I know Nancy likes me. Here are the facts: I love spending time with her, she makes me feel happy, and I’d like to keep feeling happy and spending time with her.
What’s the difference between a friendship and a romantic relationship, for someone like me? A lot of what Nancy and I have been doing could seem date-like. Would the difference be physical? If we started dating, would she expect more from me? Would she want to cuddle or hold hands or kiss or even more? Is that something I want too?
Theoretically, I’m fine with those things. I’ve never daydreamed about making out with a future partner, but I don’t hate the idea of doing that with someone like Nancy, who I’m comfortable with. Except maybe that’s all she’ll ever want to do, and then we’d never have time to just hang out or decide spur of the moment to design a miniature golf course. I know she cares about the physical parts of a relationship. My mind flashes back to our conversations about her ex. I lived through all of that, and I have the facts to back up my fears.
Except the more I think about it, the more I realize that Nancy has her facts as well. I might have heard how she talks about attraction and relationships, but she’s heard me talk too. I think back to that night at the retreat when we went up to the roof. I shared so much with her, things I haven’t even talked about with Roo. Nancy is so thoughtful and kind; there’s no way she hasn’t thought about the proverbial ace elephant in the room.
I’m just convinced she doesn’t fully understand what it would mean in practice.
Is it kinder to turn her down immediately? I know the kind of relationship she expects. If I don’t know whether I can ever give that to her, I shouldn’t lead her on.
I could be wrong; she might have changed her mind about liking the physical stuff. Or she might say that she changed her mind and be lying and eventually resent me for being the way I am. It’s entirely unclear.
If I say we should date, that puts our whole friendship in jeopardy. I can’t lose her.
Except I’m basically putting our friendship in jeopardy by isolating like this.
I should probably talk to her, even if I don’t know what to say just yet. She told me there wasn’t any pressure on answering; she wouldn’t lie about that. I need to stop being ridiculous.
I make it all the way to the main house before I chicken out.
“Felicity darling, can I help you?”
I jump. I had no idea Aunt Gwendoline was out here.
“Oh, I’m fine, I’m . . . getting some fresh air,” I manage.
She’s crouched down in her garden. She still has the sling, now paired with what I think must be a cocktail dress.
She must notice what caught my eye, because she says, “You know, this was stuck in the back of my closet.” She smooths the skirt with her free hand. “I never seem to get reasons to wear this sort of thing anymore. The day we met, I pulled out that gown as a little joke; I knew how Nancy would take it. But I always felt so glamorous in clothes like this. I hope you can indulge an old woman with a mere moment of fancy.”
“You do look fabulous,” I say. “I admire that,” I add. “The fact that you don’t care about what you’re supposed to wear or when you’re supposed to wear it.”
She looks at me, up and down like she needs to take in my outfit and maybe my entire being. I suddenly feel like my vintage-inspired sundress is completely inadequate.
“The thing about appearances,” she finally says, “is that you can’t stop other people from making assumptions. From judging and having opinions. How boring would it be, if we all looked the same or thought the same?
“You admire me; someone else says I’m too quirky or strange. It’s always going to be something.
“I was a Korean girl growing up in a small English town. My father moved us all for a job opportunity when I was three years old. I stood out; my family stood out. And then I fell in love . . . more than once. What a scandal.” She stands up. I notice some dirt along the side of her dress.
“You know, this orchard originally belonged to my third husband. Richard, the love of my life. He was on vacation when we met, backpacking through the English countryside. We got married before the week was up. When you know, it can be that simple,” she says with a smile. “We had twenty-two perfect years together. When he died, I couldn’t bring myself to leave this place. It was our home. I can still feel him here, his presence.
“It might have been easier to move somewhere less . . . homogenous. Or even to blend in, make myself smaller so other people would feel more comfortable. But I realized something. People would stare anyway, so why not give them a show? Why not have fun doing it? And I have a lot of fun.” She winks at that.
“A big personality, dear, is not a sign of weakness,” she adds. “There will always be people ready to shame you for having opinions, likes and dislikes . . . for having a voice. I’d love to say screw the haters, but it’s so hard to see that at your age. Sometimes it’s hard to see that at my age too. Remember to be your beautifully flawed self and know that others will be flawed too.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Would you like me to tell Nancy you’re out here?”
I shake my head.
Aunt Gwendoline lets out a little sigh. “Neither of you wants to talk, it seems.”
What does that mean? What’s going on with Nancy? Did I make her so entirely miserable that it’s obvious to her great-aunt and probably random passersby?
I should go inside and talk to her. I should fix this.
Except I have no idea what the solution looks like.
“I, um . . . I should head back,” I say.
She gives me that look again, like she can read my entire being. Without another word, she picks up her gardening tools and heads inside.
SIX DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
I’m sitting in the living room, in the middle of season two of The Legend of Korra, when Eric walks over.
“Want to go grocery shopping?” he asks.
“I don’t know, I’m only allowed to do fun things,” I say, voice flat. “Probably not allowed.”
“Get dressed, kid,” Eric says. “We’re going grocery shopping.”
I mean, I’d rather stay on this couch in my pajamas all day, but Eric is clearly not going to let that happen. I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re well past due for one of his classic heart-to-hearts.
He doesn’t pester me until we’re in the store. “So,” he starts, pushing the cart. “How are you doing?”
Not great, Eric, thanks for noticing, I think. “Fine,” I say out loud.
“Your mom, she means well. Your grandma too. I know it’s never fun to see the people you love fighting, but—”
“Eric, really. I’m fine.”
This doesn’t seem to stop him. “Spending time with your grandma is always hard for your mom. Your bubbe is really tough on her. I’m not sure there’s a choice they’ve ever agreed on.”
Like my general existence, I think.
“Like when your mom decided to freelance so she could spend more time with you,” Eric says.
I turn my head to face him, confused. “She did that because she wanted to,” I say. I look back to where I’m walking. I don’t want to barrel into a display of cereal.
Eric shakes his head. “Not entirely,” he says. “I mean, your mom, she’s been so successful, you know. Right out of college making all that money, and then she had this big job lined up. Long hours, serious corporate life ahead of her. It was everything your grandma wanted her to do, but she turned it down. Got in a huge fight with your bubbe about it.”
I knew she had other options after she left school, but the way she’s always told me the story was that she sold that software she made and decided she wanted to have me and that was it.
Eric keeps going. “Your grandma has never approved of writing, especially the kind your mom does. Even the Sleepy Dog stuff wasn’t the right kind of success. She was supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer or some kind of CEO. But she chose her own path. Kind of a rock star, if you ask me.”
“Are you just saying all this so I’ll stop being angry at her for this whole ‘go enjoy summer’ punishment?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Is it working?”
I don’t respond.
“She means well, is all,” Eric adds. “Her relationship with you, that’s the most important thing in her life. Just thought you might need a reminder.”
I sigh. He has to say all that; it’s like a soon-to-be-husband requirement.
Eric takes my silence as an excuse to change the topic. “So what are you up to this week? Anything exciting?”
No, I can’t do anything fun because Nancy told me she has feelings for me and I’m a monster who doesn’t know how to process that, and now I can’t even distract myself by planning your perfect wedding, I think.
I shrug, which feels like a better response.
“Your mom says you’ll go hiking with us,” Eric continues. “That’ll be fun.”
“Super,” I say, with as little emotion in my voice as possible.
He turns the cart down the next aisle. “I’m here if you need to talk,” he finishes.
I sigh. He’s trying so hard right now, I know he is, but I’m not about to dump all of my Nancy feelings on my soon-to-be stepfather. “Thanks,” I say, voice a little kinder. “Noted.”
He smiles, like maybe his talk made a huge difference. “All right, Lissy. What should we cook tonight?”
I’m happy he’s moved on. “Something sweet and objectively bad for us,” I say.
“I think we can manage that.”
We end up with the ingredients to make my favorite sweet empanadas, condensed milk and cream cheese and strawberries, so the grocery trip isn’t a total failure.
FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
It turns out that it’s hard to avoid a friend when you’re staying in her guesthouse for the summer.
“Lissy, Nancy’s here,” Mom calls from upstairs.
I don’t move from my spot at the desk. If I stay here, it might look like I’m working, even though I’m just watching YouTube, which apparently counts as mandatory fun.
I pause the video.
“Hey,” Nancy says, walking into the room. “Sorry to just drop by; I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’ve just been right here,” I say. “Nothing to report.”
“Is your grandma still here?” she asks. “I didn’t see her car earlier.”
Right, I told Nancy I was busy with Bubbe.
“She left,” I say, deliberately not specifying the when of it all. “She’ll be back for the rehearsal dinner.”
Nancy nods. She sits down at the edge of my bed. “Whatcha working on?” she asks.
“Oh, nothing really,” I say. I don’t add the fact that I’m currently mid-punishment for keeping the whole internship thing a secret, so I really am working on nothing. “We’re actually about to go on a hike,” I say.
“Wow, Eric finally roped you into it, huh?”
I nod. “Hard work and persistence pays off.”
She pauses, like she’s thinking about her next words. “Can we do a dinner sometime this week? Just the two of us. Hang out . . . talk.”
My throat feels tight. She wants to have a dinner with just the two of us so we can talk? What does that mean?
This should be a good thing, communication and all. I shouldn’t assume what Nancy wants.
I just can’t get over how loaded the word “talk” feels.
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
“We can work it around your schedule,” she promises. “Let me know, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I manage.
She smiles, but it looks fake. I can tell from her eyes.
“All right. Text me tonight to let me know when you’re free.”
“Yep.”
She gets up and walks over. What does she want, a hug?
I don’t have to worry. All she does is give my shoulder a light squeeze. “Have fun on the family adventure.”
“Thanks,” I say.
It’s not that I lied or anything. Eric really is taking us to see this fire tower thing, which he swears will be “so much fun” because we’ll get to see “basically all of Vermont” from the top.
I don’t think that’s technically possible, but he seems so excited. I’ll let him have that joy; at least someone in this house should be happy.
I close my computer. I should change for the hike. I’ve heard it’s best not to go in pajamas.
Mom and Eric look especially dorky when I get upstairs. They must have coordinated, from their matching blue baseball caps and army-green shirts all the way down to their navy bike shorts and too-white sneakers.
“Is there a dress code for this outing?” I ask.
Mom laughs. “Total mistake, but kinda cute, right?”
“I was going to say creepy.”
Eric does that thing where he looks right at Mom as though, by doing so, I can no longer hear. “She finds us adorable,” he tells her.
“She’s just embarrassed to admit it,” Mom agrees.
This better calm down once they’re officially married; I can’t live in a house filled with this much sickly sweet nonsense.
We head to the car. Mom asks me if I want to drive, which is a solid no. I’m not even sure if I can drive in a different state with only my permit. I haven’t looked it up.
“You’ve got to practice,” she warns, but then drops it. She gets in the driver’s seat.
The car ride is the right amount of long for my mind to wander. Nancy asked to do this dinner and sounded so nice when she said we could work it around my schedule, but I don’t like the fact that she made me commit to when I’d tell her. Telling me to text her tonight felt like a command. Like I was in trouble because I’ve been avoiding her.
I should be in trouble; it’s my fault. I have been avoiding her. Except maybe that’s not it. I’ve needed some space to work out my thoughts, to figure out why I reacted the way I did. Is that so terrible?
I don’t know.
It would be different if she knew what this was all about. I picture telling her over dinner, running through various possible reactions. Hi, Nancy. I don’t know how I feel, and I’m worried you won’t be okay with that. She’s angry, she’s accepting, she’s . . . Nancy. She’s my Nancy. I don’t have to be afraid about this.
Mom stops in a small parking lot in front of the trail.
We get out of the car and start walking along a wide, dirt-lined path. It narrows, curving around a lake and twisting into the woods. The farther we go, the more convinced I am that we’re going to get lost. It feels like we’re leaving our normal world behind. I bet there isn’t any cell service out here.
Mom and Eric are both talking as they go. They ask me a few questions, boring stuff like what’s been my favorite thing so far this summer and whether I know my class schedule yet for next year. It’s rude to try to uphold a conversation when the path gets steep. I can’t talk and breathe under these conditions.
Their chatter gets so out of hand, I actually have to say, “Guys, chill. These aren’t talking conditions.”
“Lissy, this isn’t a race,” Mom says. “You can slow down and have a conversation.”
I thought the whole point of this was to see all of Vermont, not have a flimsy discussion about whether or not I got into Civilizations of the Ancient World for my junior history requirement.
“What about your club?” Mom asks. “Are you excited for the . . . what is it? Halloween Haunted House?”
Is this really the time to bring up the Social Friends Committee? Why doesn’t she just invite Brody Wells, Junior Committee President position stealer slash arch nemesis, to come join us to really amp up my misery?
