Page 20 of The Rebel
“When?”
“They’re leaving tomorrow,” Mom said.
My eyebrows shot up. Wow, that wasn’t much of a warning. Though did I need a warning that Valencia was about to stay?
“She’s not particularly happy about it,” Mom said.
“What? Staying with us?”
“No. More that she isn’t going,” Mom said. “Missing out on the trip.”
“Fair,” I said.
“Kristin doesn’t want her missing out on so much school. And they want to focus on Paris, they’ve got like five countries to cover.”
“Wow.”
“So,” Mom said, “I would appreciate it if you would make her feel welcome. Maybe take her to school if she needs it? Kristin said she usually rides with a friend. But if you could help out? Plus, she’ll be able to go home and feed her cat everyday. That should help. She’s cat mad.”
“Isn’t it Paris’s cat?”
“It might have been,” Mom said, now smiling. “Apparently the first thing she did when she got back from Florida is check that I didn’t starve him.”
I laughed, looking around the room at the pastel bedcover, the floral prints on the wall and the decorative clock and ornaments which were more suited to my grandparents’ taste. “Ahh, it doesn’t really look like a girl’s bedroom, though?”
“And how many girls bedrooms have you been in?” Mom cocked her head with a teasing smirk.
A flush of heat colored my neck. “No, I meant, you know, it’s a bit...”
“Blah? Old fashioned?” Mom offered.
I merely nodded and dropped my head, hoping she hadn’t noticed. For all my worldly travels and independence in the past few months, I was shy talking about that stuff with Mom.
Thankfully, Mom turned her attention to the closet. “Well, I can brighten it up with a new cover and pillows,” she said, “but can I get you to take these suitcases out to the garage? That will give her more space.”
“Sure. What about those clothes?” Three heavy winter coats and a bunch of shirts hung at one end. My heart kind of jolted as I recognized the long black woolen one, gray peabody and blue ski parka as being Dad’s. Because he’d been dead for eighteen months now. “Are those—?”
I didn’t get the chance to finish my question, Mom cutting in. “You take the suitcases,” she instructed, disregarding the clothes and pushing two empty suitcases in my direction. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I’ll finish up here.”
I wheeled them down the hallway, a little shaken. Obviously I’d had no need to go into the guest room closet, but the thought that Dad’s clothes were still hanging in there threw me. I wondered if Mom had forgotten they were there, had never gotten around to getting rid of them. They were top quality brands so did she think they were too good to throw away? Or that Oliver or I would want to wear our dead father’s clothes someday?
Or did she need something to hold onto?
I stuffed the suitcases up on the storage rack above our bikes and skis and Dad’s golf clubs. Yeah, there were reminders of him everywhere, the process of letting go a long and timely affair. Sports equipment was one thing, buthis clothes?Was it weird to keep them?
“Anything else need doing?” I called out as I came back to the room. But Mom had gone, the clothes cleared out and the vacuum cleaner nowhere in sight.
“No, it’s all done,” she said from the dining room where she was now setting the table. “How was school?”
“Yeah, good. Principal Portman wants me to speak at assembly next week.” I attempted an English accent, “About my experience in London.”
“Jolly good,” Mom said, laughing at her own attempt which came out sounding more like Santa Claus. “Hey, we’ll have to have our British night.”
“Yeah, Lucy keeps reminding me,” I said, having a nostalgic moment of some of the different foods my host family had served, like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips with vinegar, and an English breakfast every weekend. It was a feast of sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, toast, baked beans, and something called black pudding, a weird blood sausage type of thing. I did try it, but I can’t say I enjoyed the taste. “Mom, are you sure?”
“Yes, just let me know what’s on the menu.”
But that’s not what I was talking about. “No, I mean...” I paused and proceeded with caution, “about having Valencia stay over.”
