BFF* by Judy Blume Page A

with Mom.”
    I’ll discuss it with Mom
is Dad’s version of
We’ll see
.
    When Bruce started telling Dad about his computer teacher my mind drifted. It would be great to have my own phone. I’d get a pink one with a really long cord so I could carry it from my desk to my night table. And I’d get a name number so my friends could just dial 662-STPH, the way you can dial 662-PIES when you want to order a pizza.
    â€œSo what do you think, Steph?” Dad asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShe wasn’t listening,” Bruce said. “Her mind was someplace else.”
    â€œI was talking about our weekend plans,” Dad said, “about staying at a hotel in the city. I thought we’d get out early to see the windows on Fifth Avenue. You know how crowded it gets over Thanksgiving. Then we could head up to the Museum of Natural History … and maybe to the Metropolitan … see a play on Saturday night …”
    â€œThat sounds great!” I said. “I didn’t know we were going to the city for the weekend.”
    â€œThat’s because you were busy daydreaming,” Bruce said.
    â€œI wasn’t daydreaming,” I told him. “I was thinking.”
    â€œThat’s enough!” Dad said. “All that matters is that we have a good time together. And that means no fighting.”
    â€œWe hardly ever fight anymore,” Bruce told Dad.
    â€œWell, that’s good news,” Dad said.
    I wished I could call Rachel and Alison that minute and tell them about our plans, but Alison had already left for Sadie Wishnik’s and Rachel had gone to her aunt’s house, in New Hampshire.
    As soon as we got home Bruce ran for the bathroom. Dr. Klaff says he has a small bladder. So if he drinks a lot he has to pee a lot. And he had two glasses of water plus a Coke at dinner. Dad says when he was a kid he had the same problem.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” Dad said, kissing my cheek.
    â€œWhat do you mean, tomorrow?” I asked.
    â€œI’m driving down to the city now. I’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning.”
    â€œYou’ve got a meeting on Thanksgiving morning?”
    â€œYes,” Dad said, “a breakfast meeting. It’s the only time we could get together. But I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
    â€œWhat about Mom?” I asked.
    â€œWhat about her?”
    â€œShe’s going to be so disappointed. You two haven’t seen each other since summer.”
    â€œDid she tell you that?”
    â€œNot exactly,” I said.
    â€œShe knows about my meeting,” Dad said. “And she’s going to be busy with Thanksgiving dinner.”
    â€œNot that busy!”
    â€œDon’t worry about it … okay?” Dad kissed me again, this time on top of my head. “I’ll be here tomorrow by two, at the latest.”
    Bruce had a nightmare that night. I heard him calling for Mom. I heard Mom padding down the hall to his room. I heard her talking softly to him. I guess I must have fallen right back asleep because when I opened my eyes again it was morning and I could smell the turkey roasting.

T-Day
    Dad drove Carla and Katie up from the city. They got here before two, just as Dad had promised. Carla is tall and thin with wispy blonde hair. She wears suede and leather clothes, even in summer, and silver jewelry.
    â€œStephanie … look at you!” she said. Her voice was breathy, making her sound as if she’d just run around the block. “Aren’t you something!” When she hugged me I could smell her perfume. Then she reached into her bag for a Kleenex and blew her nose. Mom says Carla developed allergies right after her husband died. She sneezes all year round.
    â€œCan I help in the kitchen?” Carla asked Mom.
    â€œEverything’s ready,” Mom said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “except me.”
    â€œI’ll