as usual, she’s not answering. “Hey, Geneva,” I say as cheerfully as I can for the recording. “I really miss you and wish you’d return my calls. I made varsity squad and have lots to tell you, and I want to hear how life is treating you too. So call me, okay?” Then I hang up and for some reason I don’t expect her to call. I don’t think she has time for a friend who lives so far away. I wonder who she’s replaced me with.
I feel sorry for Nana as Mom drives us across town. She’s just happily chattering away in the front seat. She always notices interesting-looking people and signs and vehicles and just whatever as she looks out the window. She sees things that most people miss. Like the short elderly lady with curly white hair walking her little white poodle. “Look at the twins,” says Nana, pointing at the pair. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Yes,” I agree. “They even walk alike.”
“I want a little dog,” says Nana in a childlike voice that’s filled with longing.
“Good grief,” says Mom. “What would you do with a dog, Mother?”
“We would dress alike,” says Nana.
Mom sort of laughs, but I know exactly what she’s thinking. I can guess what she really wants to say. And if we weren’t on our way to a place that she hopes we will all approve of, she would probably snap at Nana. She’d say something like, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother, you can’t even take care of yourself. How can you possibly take care of a pet too?” And then Nana would clam up or even start crying. And I would get mad and start sulking, but I wouldn’t say anything because I’d know that it could only get worse. Both Nana and I are well aware that there is no point in arguing with my mother. That woman always wins. When it comes to power in this family, Mom has it all. Especially right now when I need money for a cheerleading uniform. No way will I rock Mom’s boat today.
As Mom turns into a parking lot next to an institutional-looking building, I realize how much I’ve liked having Nana as part of our family. I think of all the times when Mom was on a business trip or working late or attending some social function, and Nana and I hung out and had a good old time at home — just the two of us. Nana never worried about having the music up too loud or making messes doing craft projects or trying weird new recipes that usually tasted horrible. But I always made sure things were cleaned up and put away before Mom got home. It just wasn’t worth the fuss if I didn’t. I can’t even imagine what it will be like with just Mom and me sharing a house. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
After touring the building, which smells like a mixture of pine-scented disinfectant, overcooked vegetables, and pee, I tell Mom that I’m going outside for some fresh air.
“Me too,” says Nana, taking my hand.
Fortunately, there’s a courtyard that’s not too bad. It’s warm and sunny out here, and September roses are blooming profusely. It looks like someone puts some time and care into this garden.
“This is pretty,” I say as Nana and I stroll along a cement path that only goes in a circle since the courtyard is all neatly contained within the confines of the surrounding buildings.
Nana pauses in front of a rosebush and points at a bright pinkish-orange bloom. “That’s a … a …” She pauses and scratches her head. I can tell she’s searching for the right word.
“A rose?” I offer and she laughs.
“Yes, silly girl, I know it’s a rose.” She sighs and thinks for a full minute while I wait. “Tropicana,” she finally proclaims happily.
“That’s the rose’s name? Tropicana?” Okay, I’m thinking of orange juice and wondering if she really knows what she’s talking about.
“Yes.” She smiles, proud of herself. “I remembered something.”
“So what do you think of the place?” I nod toward the building, where I suspect Mom is talking to someone, perhaps even making
I feel sorry for Nana as Mom drives us across town. She’s just happily chattering away in the front seat. She always notices interesting-looking people and signs and vehicles and just whatever as she looks out the window. She sees things that most people miss. Like the short elderly lady with curly white hair walking her little white poodle. “Look at the twins,” says Nana, pointing at the pair. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Yes,” I agree. “They even walk alike.”
“I want a little dog,” says Nana in a childlike voice that’s filled with longing.
“Good grief,” says Mom. “What would you do with a dog, Mother?”
“We would dress alike,” says Nana.
Mom sort of laughs, but I know exactly what she’s thinking. I can guess what she really wants to say. And if we weren’t on our way to a place that she hopes we will all approve of, she would probably snap at Nana. She’d say something like, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother, you can’t even take care of yourself. How can you possibly take care of a pet too?” And then Nana would clam up or even start crying. And I would get mad and start sulking, but I wouldn’t say anything because I’d know that it could only get worse. Both Nana and I are well aware that there is no point in arguing with my mother. That woman always wins. When it comes to power in this family, Mom has it all. Especially right now when I need money for a cheerleading uniform. No way will I rock Mom’s boat today.
As Mom turns into a parking lot next to an institutional-looking building, I realize how much I’ve liked having Nana as part of our family. I think of all the times when Mom was on a business trip or working late or attending some social function, and Nana and I hung out and had a good old time at home — just the two of us. Nana never worried about having the music up too loud or making messes doing craft projects or trying weird new recipes that usually tasted horrible. But I always made sure things were cleaned up and put away before Mom got home. It just wasn’t worth the fuss if I didn’t. I can’t even imagine what it will be like with just Mom and me sharing a house. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
After touring the building, which smells like a mixture of pine-scented disinfectant, overcooked vegetables, and pee, I tell Mom that I’m going outside for some fresh air.
“Me too,” says Nana, taking my hand.
Fortunately, there’s a courtyard that’s not too bad. It’s warm and sunny out here, and September roses are blooming profusely. It looks like someone puts some time and care into this garden.
“This is pretty,” I say as Nana and I stroll along a cement path that only goes in a circle since the courtyard is all neatly contained within the confines of the surrounding buildings.
Nana pauses in front of a rosebush and points at a bright pinkish-orange bloom. “That’s a … a …” She pauses and scratches her head. I can tell she’s searching for the right word.
“A rose?” I offer and she laughs.
“Yes, silly girl, I know it’s a rose.” She sighs and thinks for a full minute while I wait. “Tropicana,” she finally proclaims happily.
“That’s the rose’s name? Tropicana?” Okay, I’m thinking of orange juice and wondering if she really knows what she’s talking about.
“Yes.” She smiles, proud of herself. “I remembered something.”
“So what do you think of the place?” I nod toward the building, where I suspect Mom is talking to someone, perhaps even making
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