today?”
“Great.” We hung up and I picked up the remote and the ice cream and the spoon, thinking maybe my luck hadn’t completely run out after all.
15
S UNDAY WAS GRAY AND GROSS OUT , much cooler than it had been. So much for the heat wave that fooled us into thinking summer had come early this year. Plus my sisters weren’t home, Gosia had her day off, and mom was gone before I stumbled down for breakfast. Dad was at the counter, reading the paper, drinking his tea, made from the new stainless-steel teapot Mom had bought him—one with an out-pointing spout.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said. He gave me a kiss on my forehead.
“Do you like that tea kettle?”
He looked, then shrugged. “Sure. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“How about some omelets?”
He and I make killer omelets. “Yeah!” I said, and started getting out the ingredients. We make them loaded—cheese, sautéed onions and mushrooms, freshherbs. I checked the herb drawer—yup, both dill and cilantro. Yum. Daddy had obviously planned ahead, stopping at the farmers’ market Friday and done the only kind of shopping he likes to do. He flipped on the radio on his way to getting out our favorite omelet pan.
“I thought you were never gonna wake up,” he complained, dancing his goofy Dad-dance with the pan in one hand and a whisk in the other. The secret, he always says, is whisking the eggs.
I toasted some fresh bread and whisked the eggs, while he scrubbed and chopped. When we finally sat down, after singing “Natural Woman” really loud together, the whisk and spatula as microphones, we had worked up a big enough appetite to eat most of what we’d made.
While we washed the dishes, he sprang it on me: “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”
“If you love me and I’m beautiful,” I said.
“I love you and you’re beautiful.” He handed me the pan to dry.
“Yes, then.”
“Come with me to bring in the Salvation Army bags.”
I groaned. “I hate doing that.”
“I know,” he said. “But just think, you’ll be doing good, and we’ll work on our harmony.”
I rolled my eyes. “We could use it.”
“Yes, we could.” He shut off the sink. “Great. Fifteen minutes?”
I groaned again and headed upstairs to get dressed.
We loaded up his car with about twenty bags, then got in and sang the whole way there. He sounded good. I am pretty tone-deaf. Luckily, neither one of us cared.
In the Salvation Army parking lot, I got a big gray bin and he loaded the bags into it, and we pushed it in, together. Up at the desk, while Daddy was telling the guy with the clipboard his estimate of what all that stuff was worth, I noticed that Quinn’s jeans with the cool back pockets were on top of one of the bags. “Hey,” I said. “I love these.” I pulled them out of the bag and held them up to me. They looked like they might fit. “Can I keep these?”
“I guess so,” Daddy said, not even looking. “Gosia just put in all the stuff you guys don’t wear anymore.”
I glanced over at the other bags. What other things were they giving away without asking me if I wanted them? One bag had some of Allison’s shirts in it. I picked the ugly top one up, to see what was under it. The really cute purple one! I knelt down next to it, to find more treasures.
Somebody next to me started digging through another bag. I looked up. It was Bridget Burgess.
She looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. She had Allison’s pink tank top in her hand.
I forced myself to smile and say hi.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you taking those jeans?”
I looked at Quinn’s jeans in my hand, scrunched up with Allison’s purple shirt. “No. I mean, I am, but…”
“They’re really cute,” she said softly. “If you decide you don’t want them, let me try them on, okay?”
I nodded, trying to think of how to explain that I wasn’t actually shopping, I was donating, without sounding like a judgmental jerk and completely embarrassing her. And
“Great.” We hung up and I picked up the remote and the ice cream and the spoon, thinking maybe my luck hadn’t completely run out after all.
15
S UNDAY WAS GRAY AND GROSS OUT , much cooler than it had been. So much for the heat wave that fooled us into thinking summer had come early this year. Plus my sisters weren’t home, Gosia had her day off, and mom was gone before I stumbled down for breakfast. Dad was at the counter, reading the paper, drinking his tea, made from the new stainless-steel teapot Mom had bought him—one with an out-pointing spout.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said. He gave me a kiss on my forehead.
“Do you like that tea kettle?”
He looked, then shrugged. “Sure. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“How about some omelets?”
He and I make killer omelets. “Yeah!” I said, and started getting out the ingredients. We make them loaded—cheese, sautéed onions and mushrooms, freshherbs. I checked the herb drawer—yup, both dill and cilantro. Yum. Daddy had obviously planned ahead, stopping at the farmers’ market Friday and done the only kind of shopping he likes to do. He flipped on the radio on his way to getting out our favorite omelet pan.
“I thought you were never gonna wake up,” he complained, dancing his goofy Dad-dance with the pan in one hand and a whisk in the other. The secret, he always says, is whisking the eggs.
I toasted some fresh bread and whisked the eggs, while he scrubbed and chopped. When we finally sat down, after singing “Natural Woman” really loud together, the whisk and spatula as microphones, we had worked up a big enough appetite to eat most of what we’d made.
While we washed the dishes, he sprang it on me: “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”
“If you love me and I’m beautiful,” I said.
“I love you and you’re beautiful.” He handed me the pan to dry.
“Yes, then.”
“Come with me to bring in the Salvation Army bags.”
I groaned. “I hate doing that.”
“I know,” he said. “But just think, you’ll be doing good, and we’ll work on our harmony.”
I rolled my eyes. “We could use it.”
“Yes, we could.” He shut off the sink. “Great. Fifteen minutes?”
I groaned again and headed upstairs to get dressed.
We loaded up his car with about twenty bags, then got in and sang the whole way there. He sounded good. I am pretty tone-deaf. Luckily, neither one of us cared.
In the Salvation Army parking lot, I got a big gray bin and he loaded the bags into it, and we pushed it in, together. Up at the desk, while Daddy was telling the guy with the clipboard his estimate of what all that stuff was worth, I noticed that Quinn’s jeans with the cool back pockets were on top of one of the bags. “Hey,” I said. “I love these.” I pulled them out of the bag and held them up to me. They looked like they might fit. “Can I keep these?”
“I guess so,” Daddy said, not even looking. “Gosia just put in all the stuff you guys don’t wear anymore.”
I glanced over at the other bags. What other things were they giving away without asking me if I wanted them? One bag had some of Allison’s shirts in it. I picked the ugly top one up, to see what was under it. The really cute purple one! I knelt down next to it, to find more treasures.
Somebody next to me started digging through another bag. I looked up. It was Bridget Burgess.
She looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. She had Allison’s pink tank top in her hand.
I forced myself to smile and say hi.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you taking those jeans?”
I looked at Quinn’s jeans in my hand, scrunched up with Allison’s purple shirt. “No. I mean, I am, but…”
“They’re really cute,” she said softly. “If you decide you don’t want them, let me try them on, okay?”
I nodded, trying to think of how to explain that I wasn’t actually shopping, I was donating, without sounding like a judgmental jerk and completely embarrassing her. And
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