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“I’ll have the lemon sorbet,” I tell Dean, because I ache to pass her tests, every single one.
•••
THE LONGER WElive with Dean, the guiltier I feel, which helps with my hunger level. I have a hard time eating when I feel like we’re getting to the end. I think about telling Dean the truth about who we are all the time, but I can’t.
If he believes me, what would happen to Mother? Nothing good. And if Deandoesn’tbelieve what I tell him about Mother, then whathappens to me? I don’t even want to think about how Mother would react. Betrayal by her own daughter? And even if Dean promises not to tell Mother about our conversation, I know she’ll find out anyway. She knows everything.
What would I even say to him?
Dean, my mother is not Denise.
Dean, I am not Danielle.
Dean, you are in serious danger.
Dean, I do not think I am like her, as much as she wants me to be.
Dean, maybe we can help each other.
Honestly, I just want to stay with him. Mother can go on without me and I think I can go on without her. Then it’ll just be me and Dean, eating ice cream together in Sausalito, no sorbet. Mother will find a new family, and another one after that, and another one forever, wouldn’t she? But would she find another teammate?
I hate the thought so I make myself stop eventhinkingabout telling Dean the truth. I decide to be grateful for a second school year ahead in the same place, sort of in disbelief that it’s really happening. I’ve never had more than one school year in the same place before. Mother’s snort-laughs continue, making me wonder, does she really like Dean, too? I can never ask her; I’ll just have to wait and see.
She keeps up the snort-laughs for a while longer.
But then I hear Dean tell her that he likes them, thinks they’re cute, those snort-laughs, those ugly snort-laughs, and I realize it must not be the first time he’s said that to her. The snort-laughs aren’t real after all, they’re just to keep it all going, she needs more time, but I don’t know how much more. She never tells me.
Dean gives Mother a sports car for their first wedding anniversary, a big red bow atop the hood, like a commercial coming to life in our driveway.
“It’ll be your turn when you get to be sixteen, Dani,” he whispers to me. “Don’t you worry. Dean’s always gonna take care of his girls.”
I believe that he believes such a thing, so I just smile at Dean, receiving his arm around my shoulder, a gentle, paternal squeeze on my arm.
•••
MOTHER IS BECOMINGmore irritable with me than usual, picking at me more aggressively, right in front of Dean. She never does that in front of men. Constantly poking and prodding me about my weight, even though I hardly indulge in anything, even when Dean insists. I don’t want to eat at all in front of her anymore, not even a salad. When we all eat together, instead of matching her bite for bite, I alternate, to get her off my back. I see her notice my efforts. Dean doesn’t like any of it. A chill between them is growing. The warmth is leaving the house.
“You’re still thick in the middle,” she says to me after dinner, entering my bedroom while I put on my nightgown. I race to get the silky fabric over my body, fully taken by surprise. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t had your period yet.”
She’s right. I’m the right age.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, feeling like I’ve failed her.
“I was eleven when I got mine. I figured you’d be around the same time,” she says, not realizing what she’s just given me. She offers so little of her past that a casual drop about her first period is irresistible. I hardly ask her questions anymore, but I’m dying for more details about my mother’s youth.
“Eleven,” I whisper. “Did your mother help you?”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” Mother scoffs. I’m stunned she even acknowledges she has a mother of her own.
After a moment, when I realize she won’t give me any more, I ask, “Does it hurt?”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “You’ll be fine. You’re growing up, but this in-between stage isn’t ideal for us. You’re not young-looking enough to be cute anymore, but you’re not old enough–looking to be enticing. When you get your period, your weight should start migrating to the right places and we can finally move on.”
But I don’t want to move on.
“I guess we’ll just have to stay here a little while longer,” she continues, voice full of disappointment, to make me feel ashamed. I am ashamed, but also relieved because I want more time with Dean.
“Where are we going next?” I ask her, not sure I really want to know the answer.
