right beside her so it’s hard not to hear.”
The girls find Olivia’s dad’s car and slip in the back.
“Have fun?” Tom asks.
“Loads,” Olivia says.
“Dance with any boys?”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “No, Dad. I only danced one dance and it was fast and there were a lot of people on the dance floor.”
Tom smiles.
“But,” Emma says, “Libby’s one dance was the talk of the night. An eighth-grader even asked her to dance with him sometime.”
“Eighth-grader? Isn’t that a little old?”
“It’s one year, Dad. You’re four years older than Mom.”
“True,” Tom says. “But I was a lot older when I met your mom. Four years when you’re twenty-six is different than four years when you’re twelve.”
“Well, I’ll soon be thirteen.”
“Yes, I know,” Tom says. “You keep reminding me that you’ll soon be a teen.”
Chapter 19
Emma and Olivia are in Olivia’s bedroom. Magazines are scattered on the bed. The girls look through the glossy magazines, commenting on the fashions and hairstyles of the models.
“I like her hair,” says Olivia, showing the page to Emma.
“I don’t like the bangs,” Emma says.
“But bangs are in.”
“Still, not for me. What about this one?”
Emma flips her magazine over so Olivia can see the picture of a girl with stick-straight hair cut on an angle.
“I would never be able to get away with that,” says Olivia, shaking her curls. “Remember that time you straightened my hair with your flat iron?”
Emma laughs. “Yeah, it curled up at the ends. I couldn’t get it to stay straight.”
“Do you think I have a big nose?” asks Olivia, changing the subject before Emma has a chance to finish her thought.
“No. Do I?”
“No,” Olivia says.
“What about my ears?”
“Your ears are fine. Mine are pointy,” Olivia says.
“Just a little, but they’re cute. And your ears are attached to the side of your head. Not like mine, which dangle. I’d rather have attached lobes like you.”
Olivia feels her earlobes. “Never noticed that before. You’re weird.”
“Not any weirder than you.”
The girls laugh.
Watching Olivia and Emma becoming teens makes me happy and sad at the same time. Now I know how Grandma must have felt when I was growing up. One day Olivia was playing with dolls and the next day she’s putting on makeup and thinking about boys. I know that I’m just her moment keeper but I can’t help worrying about her. She’s getting older and her parents have less and less control over her life. I want her to make good decisions, and yet I know from experience that not all of the decisions she’ll make will be good ones.
I remember the speech Grandma gave me about making choices. I was around thirteen.
“It’s like driving a car,” Grandma said. “You come to an intersection and you got to decide which way you’re gonna go. Right, left or straight. And no matter which way you choose, you’ll have to deal with what lies ahead. Sometimes there’s a pothole. I hate those. Or a treethat fell during a bad storm. Doesn’t matter what’s blocking your way, you got to figure out how to get around it. I’m not saying it’s easy. And it’s definitely not fun, but it will make you stronger and wiser. Why, look at me. I had so many trees fall in my life that I was beginning to think I wasn’t supposed to keep going. Turned out those trees helped me build one heck of a fire that couldn’t be doused by misfortune and bad luck. After all, I got you.”
Guess I had forgotten this speech when I decided to kill myself. Guess I allowed the pothole to become a sinkhole and swallow me whole. Grandma wouldn’t have been proud.
Emma looks into Olivia’s mirror. “I think I’m getting a zit.”
Olivia gets up. “Let me see.”
Emma sticks out her chin. She points to it with her finger. “Right there. See?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Think I should pop it?”
“No. Mom says that’s bad. Here, you can use this
The girls find Olivia’s dad’s car and slip in the back.
“Have fun?” Tom asks.
“Loads,” Olivia says.
“Dance with any boys?”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “No, Dad. I only danced one dance and it was fast and there were a lot of people on the dance floor.”
Tom smiles.
“But,” Emma says, “Libby’s one dance was the talk of the night. An eighth-grader even asked her to dance with him sometime.”
“Eighth-grader? Isn’t that a little old?”
“It’s one year, Dad. You’re four years older than Mom.”
“True,” Tom says. “But I was a lot older when I met your mom. Four years when you’re twenty-six is different than four years when you’re twelve.”
“Well, I’ll soon be thirteen.”
“Yes, I know,” Tom says. “You keep reminding me that you’ll soon be a teen.”
Chapter 19
Emma and Olivia are in Olivia’s bedroom. Magazines are scattered on the bed. The girls look through the glossy magazines, commenting on the fashions and hairstyles of the models.
“I like her hair,” says Olivia, showing the page to Emma.
“I don’t like the bangs,” Emma says.
“But bangs are in.”
“Still, not for me. What about this one?”
Emma flips her magazine over so Olivia can see the picture of a girl with stick-straight hair cut on an angle.
“I would never be able to get away with that,” says Olivia, shaking her curls. “Remember that time you straightened my hair with your flat iron?”
Emma laughs. “Yeah, it curled up at the ends. I couldn’t get it to stay straight.”
“Do you think I have a big nose?” asks Olivia, changing the subject before Emma has a chance to finish her thought.
“No. Do I?”
“No,” Olivia says.
“What about my ears?”
“Your ears are fine. Mine are pointy,” Olivia says.
“Just a little, but they’re cute. And your ears are attached to the side of your head. Not like mine, which dangle. I’d rather have attached lobes like you.”
Olivia feels her earlobes. “Never noticed that before. You’re weird.”
“Not any weirder than you.”
The girls laugh.
Watching Olivia and Emma becoming teens makes me happy and sad at the same time. Now I know how Grandma must have felt when I was growing up. One day Olivia was playing with dolls and the next day she’s putting on makeup and thinking about boys. I know that I’m just her moment keeper but I can’t help worrying about her. She’s getting older and her parents have less and less control over her life. I want her to make good decisions, and yet I know from experience that not all of the decisions she’ll make will be good ones.
I remember the speech Grandma gave me about making choices. I was around thirteen.
“It’s like driving a car,” Grandma said. “You come to an intersection and you got to decide which way you’re gonna go. Right, left or straight. And no matter which way you choose, you’ll have to deal with what lies ahead. Sometimes there’s a pothole. I hate those. Or a treethat fell during a bad storm. Doesn’t matter what’s blocking your way, you got to figure out how to get around it. I’m not saying it’s easy. And it’s definitely not fun, but it will make you stronger and wiser. Why, look at me. I had so many trees fall in my life that I was beginning to think I wasn’t supposed to keep going. Turned out those trees helped me build one heck of a fire that couldn’t be doused by misfortune and bad luck. After all, I got you.”
Guess I had forgotten this speech when I decided to kill myself. Guess I allowed the pothole to become a sinkhole and swallow me whole. Grandma wouldn’t have been proud.
Emma looks into Olivia’s mirror. “I think I’m getting a zit.”
Olivia gets up. “Let me see.”
Emma sticks out her chin. She points to it with her finger. “Right there. See?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Think I should pop it?”
“No. Mom says that’s bad. Here, you can use this
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