What We Keep - Elizabeth Berg [43]
She shrugged.
I took a fat ear from her, shucked it carefully. It was so easy to be wonderful to others when someone thought you were special. Ginny Meyers, I thought. I didn’t like the sound of it, really. But that was small, that was a very small thing, compared to the expanding personal universe inside my chest.
My mother was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking out the window and daydreaming. “Hey, Mom,” I said. I didn’t like it when she daydreamed; it made her not continuously available to me. “Mom!”
She startled, looked over at me. “What?”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She began washing the dishes that were piled in the sink.
“It’s your birthday soon,” I said. “And then mine.”
She smiled. “Yes, it is. Are you sure you want the same thing for dinner again?”
In our family, you got to have anything you wanted to eat on your birthday. You got to not make your bed, to forgo all of your chores and lessons, in fact—I was living for the day my birthday fell on a dance class day. You also got to skip school if you wanted. Since my birthday fell in the summer, I got to skip any day of the school year. I always wanted to pick the first day, but never could. Therefore I usually picked the last. And, since age four, I had always picked the same thing for my dinner.
“I want what I always have,” I said. I loved my mother’s enchiladas. I always got to eat one of mine when she had just wrapped them, before they were baked. “Can I eat all of mine raw this time?” I asked.
“It’s your birthday.”
“Then I won’t have any dinner when you eat yours.”
“You’ll have some rice and beans.”
“Okay. And I want caramel frosting on my cake. Caramel.”
“I know. And a white cake, in the shape of a star. And pink candles.”
Well, I had to be sure. She’d been so dreamy lately. I thought maybe she’d better start getting more sleep.
She poked at the chicken, then took off her apron. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Sharla asked.
“Just to borrow something from Jasmine.” She turned down the flame under the chicken, covered it. “This should be fine, but keep an eye on it.”
We watched from the window as she knocked on Jasmine’s door, then entered without waiting for Jasmine to open it. “They’re best friends now,” Sharla said, sighing.
“I know.”
“I wish I had a best friend like her.”
“Me, too.” I thought of Wayne; maybe I had found a friend like her. Only more.
Sharla turned to me, spoke in a low voice. “Jasmine gave me a gold bracelet, don’t tell Mom.”
“She did?”
Sharla nodded. “It has a diamond on it.”
“Huh. I doubt it.”
“It does. It’s real, too, she told me.”
“Can I see it?”
“After we go to bed.”
“Well … okay.” I was worried. I had something to do after we went to bed: get married. I’d make sure Sharla showed me the bracelet right after we turned in; then she’d be asleep by midnight.
After about ten minutes, my mother returned from Jasmine’s empty-handed. “What did you get?” I asked.
“Pardon?” She lifted the lid on the chicken, covered it again.
“What did you get? From Jasmine. You said you were going to borrow something.”
She stared at me blankly. Then she said, “Before a birthday, some things are secret.”
“All we talk about is her birthday,” Sharla said. “Everybody has a birthday.”
“Shut up,” I said quietly.
“What did you say?” my mother asked.
“She said, ‘Shut up,’” Sharla answered.
“I have told you I do not want to hear that kind of talk in this house.”
I shrugged.
“Apologize to your sister, Ginny.”
“Sorry,” I said. And, actually, I was. I felt bad for Sharla. She didn’t have a boyfriend and her birthday wasn’t until December.
“Jasmine asked if you girls wanted to go to the movie with her and Wayne tonight.”
“I do,” I said quickly.
“What a shock,” Sharla said. And then, “I’ll go, too. If you don’t mind.” She smiled at me then, a small, sad smile, and I knew she was giving him to me completely.
“Yes, of course I want you to come,” I told her. I sat back in my chair, pleased with myself.
“Want to make me a