Alexis Gets Frosted (7 page)

“What happened?” I asked. “When did you get so neat?”

My mom laughed a little, like she was embarrassed, but my granny said, “After your granddad died—your grandfather Jack, I mean—your mom grew up a lot, and quickly.”

“I had to!” she protested.

My granny chuckled. “Well, I don't know about that. It wasn't like you didn't have anyone to look after you. You still had me!”

“I know, but I didn't want to make any trouble or more work for you,” said my mom. “And you always had that motto. . . . ”

My granny waved her hand, laughing. “Oh please! I only said that a few times.”

“What? No! You said it every day!” protested my mom.

Now this was fascinating stuff. They sounded like me and my mom. Or maybe more like Dylan and my mom.

“What was the motto?” I asked.

“ ‘You can't lay down and die just because he did,' ” said my mom. “That's what she always said.”

My granny gave an exasperated huff. “I only said it a few times. And I was saying it more for myself than for you.” She turned to me. “Your mother was a wild and carefree child, but when her dad died, she became very serious and hard on herself. She felt she had to be perfect and look perfect, so no one would feel sorry for her. It broke my heart. She already was perfect.” My granny reached over and gave my mom a hug.

Now my mom was kind of teary. Wow. This
was heavy stuff. It would definitely not be going in the time capsule!

“Oookaay . . .,” I said. “Awk-ward!”

They laughed.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” said my mom, grabbing a Kleenex out of her bag and then blowing her nose.

“All right, who wants to see the dollhouse?!” my granddad boomed, coming into the room, clueless to all the girlie drama going on.

“Me!” I yelled, relieved to be getting out of there. I am so not one for crying or being all huggy or anything. Plus, I was dying to see if this little house would solve all my problems.

“Let's go, champ!” said my granddad.

In the finished basement rec room, the dollhouse was set out on a waist-high table, with a sheet over it. My granddad said, “Close your eyes. I want you to get the full effect, just at first.”

So I closed my eyes, and I could hear him rustling, then I heard a click and another click, and when he told me to open my eyes, the overhead lights were out, but the dollhouse was lit up and glowing like a real little home!

“Oh!”
I gasped, and rushed across the room to see it.

It was three stories tall, with a wraparound porch, a stained-glass window, a turret, wrought-iron balconies, and very beautifully decorated rooms—seven in all, not counting the porch, which had wicker furniture and fake plants and flowers on it.

There was a kitchen and a formal dining room on the lowest level. Then a master bedroom and living room on the second floor, and at the top, a children's room, a bathroom, and a playroom with a little crib in it.

All the rooms were wallpapered in tiny patterns, there were beautiful needlepoint and knitted rugs on all the floors, and embroidered curtains at every window. The living room furniture was upholstered and actually looked comfy, and the master bedroom had a bed with an upholstered headboard and a high canopy.

I heard my mom and my granny enter the room.

“It still works!” cried my mom.

“Actually, Jim got it working again,” said my granny.

“It didn't need much,” said my granddad modestly. “Just some wiring that had frayed, and a new battery system.”

Listening to him talk, I began to formulate a
plan. “You're pretty handy, right, Granddad?” I said.

“Uh-oh!” He laughed. “What am I in for now?”

But I explained my project and what we needed, and he was thrilled to help. He had run a big construction company for many years, so building was his thing. I don't know why I didn't think of enlisting him earlier.

My granny scurried upstairs to get some paper, a pen, and a measuring tape and ruler. Meanwhile, my mom gave me a tour through the miniature house.

“Oh! I'd forgotten all about this! Look! Look at the tiny little plate of brownies, here in the kitchen! Gosh, we spent hours on this, my mom and I. And look at this! It's a real photo of me that my mom put in this itty-bitty frame. Wow. This really takes me back. I feel like I'm a kid again!”

I looked at my mom, smiling, her hair slipping out if its ponytail. She had a little smudge of dust on her chin, and her eyes were shining. For a second, I could picture her as a kid. I smiled at her. We would have been really good friends if we were the same age. I just know it.

“Hey, you need a plate of cupcakes for that kitchen!” I said, and we laughed.

My granddad helped me with the measurements, and it took about an hour. He gave me all kinds of instructions, which I wrote down, for Matt on how to input things into the CAD program. (Actually, he offered to do it himself, because he has CAD too, but I wasn't about to pass up an offer from Matt!)

Along the way, my mom and my granny got bored and went upstairs for coffee. I asked them to pull together a few photos I could have for my time capsule, plus anything that showed how my mom used to dress, just out of curiosity.

When we'd finished with the measurements, I threw my arms around my granddad and thanked him. He had really saved the day.

“Oh, I remember all about school projects,” he said, laughing and shaking his head. He winked at me. “Seems like they were always more work for the parents than anyone. Am I right?”

I laughed. “Usually, yes!”

“Now, if your friends have any trouble along the way with this, you'll call me up, okay? I can come and help you.”

“Thanks. That's really nice of you.”

We went upstairs to find my mom and my granny.

“Honey, anytime you want that dollhouse over at your place, I'd be happy to drive it in my pickup,” said my granddad.

“Thanks! It's true. It wouldn't fit in our car,” said my mom thoughtfully.

“Bring it home, Mom!” I cried. “I love it!”

She laughed. “I guess I should have tried again after that first time, with you and dollhouses. Maybe you were just too young and I was too eager to wait until you were the right age for it.”

I shrugged. “Anyway, it
is
really cool. And you should have it nearby. Maybe you'll work on it again!”

“I'll talk to Dad about it. See if we can find a spot. Anyway, look at these horrible photos Granny found for you.”

I sifted through the clutch of photos, laughing at the outfits my mom had on. The clothes were pretty ugly back in the eighties: plaid wool pants, stretchy leotardlike turtlenecks in rust colors. Ugh. Uncomfortable! Every time I giggled at one, I would hold it up for my mom to see, then she'd groan.

Then I came to a photo of her in a ballerina outfit—pink tights, pink leotard, ballet slippers, and her hair up in a tight bun.

“Hey! Was this for Halloween?” I asked.

My mom looked at it. “No, that was my ballerina stage.”

“Stage?” Granny hooted. “That was a long stage! What was it, six years? Seven?”

“Wait, you were a dancer?” I asked my mom. I was shocked. “I mean, I knew you loved ballet, but I thought you loved watching it! I didn't know you
danced
! How come you never mentioned it?”

FYI, I am a great dancer. Not ballet, but I take modern dance after school a lot, and I am obsessed with ballroom dancing. My dad and I love to dance together. And I love the
Nutcracker Suite
, which my mom takes us to see in the city every year. You would think the fact she'd danced for so long would have come up. It seems like everything else has.

My mom waved her hand. “Oh, you know. I'm sure I mentioned it somewhere along the way. I didn't bring it up much, because I didn't want you girls to feel pressured to follow in my footsteps. You both tried ballet and weren't interested.”

That was true. But still!

“She was a wonderful dancer,” said my granny. “So graceful. So disciplined!”

I laughed. “That's not exactly a surprise!”

Granny looked thoughtful. “I think she liked
the structure, the rigidity. It gave her confidence. Right, honey?”

“Something like that,” agreed my mom. “I really just liked to dance, though.”

“Mom! You should do it again!” I cried. “Why did you stop?”

“Well, with ballet, you get to a point where you really have to commit to doing it full-time, and I didn't want to do that,” she said. “Plus, a lot of the other dancers were mean.” She winked at me. “It wasn't that healthy of a lifestyle, and very competitive.”

“But you're competitive!” I said.

My mom laughed. “Thanks . . . I think! I guess I just channeled my competitiveness into school and then work. . . . ”

“And Scrabble!” I reminded her. She never lets us beat her at that game, even when we were young.

“Right! And Scrabble!”

“Wow.” I sat there, shaking my head in disbelief. I'd learned a lot about my mom today. “We've got to do this more often!” I declared.

My mom and my granny laughed.

“Anytime!” said my granny. “We love having you here!”

“We love being here,” said my mom.

“Granny, can I take a couple of these and scan them for a project I'm working on? I'll return them to you,” I said.

“Of course! What's this project, now?”

“A time capsule,” I said. “My friends and I are making one, all about ourselves and a little bit about our moms, too.” For some reason that second part was embarrassing. Like we were a fan club or something. I glanced sideways at my mom to see what she'd think.

“That's so sweet,” she said, and I felt my shoulders sag in relief.

“You and your friends are just full of the best ideas!” said Granny.

“I know,” I said with a grin. And I pocketed the photo of my mom as a ballerina, and the one of her all messy in the pear dress. They seemed to sum up everything anyone would need to know about her childhood.

On the way home in the car, I was kind of tired, so I mostly thought. I was surprised by some of the stuff I'd learned about my mom today. Well, some of it was unsurprising, like the perfectionism and whatever, but it was weird to learn new things about my very own mom after all these years. It made me
wonder what else there is that I didn't know.

“Mom? What else don't I know about you?” I asked finally.

She laughed. “Oh, honey, I have no secrets. It's just . . . Things come up as they come up, you know? It's not like it's easy to work things from my childhood into everyday conversation. They just come up as needed.”

“Like Susan?” I said.

She laughed again. “Yes, like Susan.”

“How did your dad die again?” I asked quietly. I can never remember this information. It's like I block it out.

“Meningitis. It was really sudden. They think he got it from a mosquito bite,” she said.

“What's meningitis?”

“An infection that rapidly travels to your spine and then shuts down your body. Its main symptom is a really high, sudden fever.”

Aha! No wonder my mom was always obsessing over whether we had fevers.

“Was it really hard for you guys when your dad died?” I asked. I didn't want to make her sad, but I felt so sorry for her after hearing what Granny said about her today.

She was quiet for a second, then she said, “You
know, it was really hard. My dad was a great guy. I felt vulnerable. All my friends had two parents, and I only had one. And I was scared that if something happened to Granny, then I would be without any parents at all. But it worked out okay. We were really lucky Granny and Jim found each other. He's been great for all of us, and he's a great granddad to you girls.”

“He's really nice,” I agreed. It was time to change the subject; enough of the sad stuff. “Mom. One more serious question.”