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“What do you mean, he’d never like someone like you?” my father demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Duh, Dad,” I said. “I practically flunked Algebra, remember? Michael is going to an Ivy League school in the fall, for crying out loud. What would he want with a girl like me?”
Now my dad was really annoyed: “You may take after your mother as far as your aptitude with numbers is concerned, but you take after me in every other respect.”
This was surprising to hear. I stuck out my chin and tried to believe it. “Yeah,” I said.
“And you and I, Mia, are not unintelligent,” my dad went on. “If you want this Michael fellow, you must let him know it.”
“You think I should just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey, I like you’?”
My dad shook his head in disgust. “No, no, no,” he said. “Of course you must be more subtle than that. Tell him by showing how you feel.”
“Oh,” I said. I may take after my father in every respect except my math aptitude, but I had no idea what he was talking about.
“We’d better get back in,” my father said. “Or your grandmother will suspect us of plotting against her.”
So what else is new? Grandmère is always suspecting somebody of plotting something against her. She thinks the launderers at the Plaza are plotting against her. She blames the soap they use on their linens for making all of Rommel’s fur fall out.
Reminded of plots, I asked my dad, “Do you think Sebastiano’s plotting to kill me so he can ascend the throne himself?”
My dad made a strangled noise, but he managed not to burst out laughing. I guess that wouldn’t have seemed very princely.
“No, Mia,” he said. “I do not.”
But my dad, he really doesn’t have much of an imagination. I have decided to stay on alert about Sebastiano, just in case.
My mom just poked her head into my room to say that Kenny is on the phone for me.
I suppose he wants to ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Really, it is about time.
Sunday, December 7, 11 p.m.
Okay. I am in shock. Kenny so did NOT ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Instead, this is how our conversation went:
Me: Hello?
Kenny: Hi, Mia. It’s Kenny.
Me: Oh, hi, Kenny. What’s the matter?
Kenny sounded funny, which is why I asked.
Kenny: Well, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I mean, if your tongue was okay.
Me: It’s a little better, I guess.
Kenny: Because I was really worried. You know. I really, really didn’t mean to—
Me: Kenny, I know. It was just an accident.
This is when I started realizing I’d asked my dad the wrong question. I should have asked him what’s the best way to break up with somebody, not what’s the best way to let someone know you like them.
Anyway, to get back to what Kenny said:
Kenny: Well, I just wanted to call and wish you a good night. And say that I hope you feel better. And also to let you know . . . well, Mia, that I love you.
Me: . . . .
