41
beth
The PX tended not to be too crowded on Sunday evenings. The rest of the weekend was the worst time to go because all the soldiers were off work, but Sundays were sort of a family day around military bases. Mom and I came to the PX to get batteries and a few pair of jeans for my dad right after Amy broke the laptop in front of everyone, including Laurie.
Meredith was quiet most of the drive, and driving much slower than usual. I figured maybe she was tired. We all had so much going on, I didn’t blame her. It used to take me over an hour to fall asleep every night. Not anymore; I fall asleep ten minutes after my head hits the pillow.
“Do they have thirty-six, thirty-six of the dark ones?” my mom asked me.
We were searching through stacks of folded jeans for my dad’s size. She had just told me the latest drama. Denise Hunchberg was being accused of taking some of the money from the fund-raiser. No one seemed to have proof, but Mateo Hender’s mom claimed she did and posted on the FRG Facebook page that she was going to expose her. Since the women’s children were dating, that would surely cause drama at Jo’s school.
“Got them.” I grabbed a pair of dark wash jeans and dropped them into the cart.
We were almost done with our small list, and I was getting so hungry. I had a Language Arts assignment that I had to finish by the time I went to bed, and I was pretty sure nobody else was doing anything about dinner. I would need to make something, and quick. It wasn’t going to be hard, just time-consuming, and I had been hoping I could get some quiet time when I got home before Amy came into the room for bed.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked.
My mom picked up a dark gray shirt and held it up in the air. A Nike check was on the little pocket. “They want forty dollars for this?” She gawked at the price tag in her hand and slid the hanger back onto the metal rack and grabbed a similar T-shirt from another rack. “I thought we could get Little Caesars when we stop by Kmart. I’m going to get the batteries there. I have a coupon.” She pushed the cart toward the checkout line.
When Meg was in high school, she worked at Kmart for like two weeks before she quit. In that short time we became obsessed with the pizza at the Little Caesars inside the store. I smiled at my mom and my stomach ached. The checkout line took a few minutes longer than usual, even though not many people were shopping. I zoned out while my mom was making conversation with the thickly mustached clerk who scanned our stuff.
I started thinking about how fast this weekend had gone downhill. Between the festival, with Meg and Bell Gardiner, and Meg and Jo, and Jo and Amy at each other’s—
“Uhm, it didn’t go through. Try to swipe it again,” the cashier told my mom.
My mom was startled, instantly panicking. “Okay.” She swiped the card again.
A few seconds later there was an awful beeping noise and he shook his head. “Do you have another card?”
My mom lifted her purse onto the counter and dug for her wallet. She looked mortified, but I could tell she was trying hard not to. “I think I have my Star card.”
She found it and it worked, so she bought a few Visa gift cards with it in case the other card continued not to work until payday, she said.
Wait . . . I realized. It was just payday.
The Star card, even though it could only be used on post, was a lifesaver back when my dad was enlisted and Meg and Jo didn’t have jobs.
Neither of us talked until we got to the car. My mom started the engine, turned down the radio, and sat behind the wheel for a few seconds. She looked so much like Amy and Meg with their heart-shaped faces and the set of their mouths.
Over the soft purring of the car coming alive, my mom calmly asked, “Can I ask you a favor that I really shouldn’t be asking of you?”
I nodded but she didn’t turn her head. “Yeah,” I spoke.
“Please don’t mention this to your dad. I’m figuring it out.” She sighed, dragging her hand over her mouth like she was wiping off the truth.
“Mom, you know I will try to help you any way that I—”
She held her hand up, “This isn’t something you should be worrying about, and I’m sorry for putting you in the middle of it. Sometimes I forget you’re a child.”
I wouldn’t say I was a child. I helped manage the household, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up. “If you asked Meg and Jo for help, they would.”
“Beth . . .” She smiled. “That’s not their job. I’m the parent. I know it doesn’t seem like it lately.” She looked down at the steering column.
“It’s fine, there’s so much going on. I get it.”
She grabbed my hand on my lap. “Your generosity scares me sometimes, if I’m honest.”
“Why?”
She shifted her legs and turned the headlights off. Not many cars were in the lot, and the store was about to close. The gas station next door looked like a ghost town.
“Because the world is just so big, Bug.” My mom would sometimes call us bugs when we were young, but hadn’t in years. “I worry about what will happen to you when your sisters all move out.”
I half laughed, unsure how to take what she was saying. “What?”
“What do you plan to do after graduation? Or even for graduation—are you going to stay home until then?”
I nodded. “Yeah. If you guys will let me.” I was honest, even though it made me feel like what I imagined a hangover would feel like.
She puffed out her cheeks and blew a mouthful of air into the car. “Of course, we will let you. I would never force you to go to school if you hate it so much. I just need to make sure you’re okay. Even staying home, are you okay? Am I doing what I should be doing as your mom for you?”
My mom’s guilt was evident. And honestly, the Spring household wasn’t perfect. But I believed that she was doing everything she could. Her nerves seemed to be getting the best of her lately. I’d seen her this sad before so it didn’t shock me, but it was a different feeling to be the center of it. Part of me felt guilty that she was so upset over me, but a small part of me was desperate for the attention.
“I’m fine. I just learn differently than my sisters. Everyone’s different, you know?”
She laughed. “Oh, I know. I’m serious, Bethany. If you need to talk to someone or maybe feel like seeing a doctor or something, that’s okay. There’s nothing, nothing, nothing, wrong with it. I will do what I can to get you whatever you—”
“Mom”—I squeezed her hand—“I’m okay. Thank you.”
I looked at her. She looked more like the Meredith Spring I knew before this spring. The one with the sharp tongue and dark humor. The warrior with a whole world already on her shoulders who would still dance in the living room to old Luther Vandross songs.
“I love you and I’m fine. I just really need you and Dad to be okay with me not being at school.”
“And you know if you like someone, whether they’re purple, black, white, tan, or blue, or we call them a she, a he, or a who . . .”
“I know. I know.” I smiled. She had been singing that little jingle since I was a kid. She always came up with little songs for random stuff. “I’m not dating anyone, I barely leave the—”
“My point exactly.” She tilted her head down, giving me the look.
“Seriously, I’m fine for now, and if that changes, I’ll tell you.”
She linked her pinkie into mine. “Pinkie promise?”
“Deal.” I nodded and she smiled at me.
“Deal.”