She sucked on her lower lip for a second before answering. "So it's my fault that your room is a
mess," she said finally.
"No, I'm not saying it's your fault,'" I said, though I didn't exactly see whose fault it was if not hers. I mean, had the woman never heard of Ikea? "I'm just saying that normally, you know,
when I have a closet and a dresser and stuff, I'm a lot neater than this."
"Well, the fact is right now you don't have those things, and this is an unacceptable way to keep your room. I'd like to know what you're going to do about it. Or were you just planning to wait
until I can make time in my busy schedule to run around and shop for furniture for you?"
I love the idea that Mara has a busy schedule. It's like getting to her weekly mani/pedi and hair
coloring appointment makes her the CEO of a multinational corporation.
"But, Mara, you didn't want me to bring my stuff from San Francisco, and you keep saying you
want to be the one to furnish the house, so I don't see how I can go out and buy myself furniture."
Not to mention my lack of a car and several hundred dollars of disposable income.
"I'm not sure I like your using that tone of voice, Lucy," said Mara, raking a step toward the bed and pointing at me. In spite of myself, I leaned away from her advance.
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"I'm not taking a tone," I said. "I'm just stating a fact."
"Hello?" It was my dad calling from upstairs. "I'm home! Where is everybody?"
"I'm down here, Doug," Mara called. I'd been about to say, I'm in my room, Dad, but instead I just sat there.
He came bounding down the stairs, giving a low whistle when he saw Mara's dress. "Hi, honey,"
he said. Wearing jeans and a worn gray sweater, he looked relaxed and happy, like he was really
glad to be home. He kissed Mara hello and then came over and kissed me.
"How was your week?" he asked. Mara's joining in our phone conversations had finally gotten
too annoying to bear, so after Monday I'd just avoided talking to him when he'd called.
"We seem to have a little bit of a problem," said Mara, before I could answer him.
"Oh, yeah, what's that?" he asked, dancing toward her and slipping his arm around her waist.
"They found a cure for diabetes and the benefit's off?" Ever since we moved to New York,
Mara's been dragging my dad to all these fund-raisers. In theory, she hopes to cure every scourge
that threatens the planet. In fact, she just wants to show off her new man on the charity circuit.
"Lucy seems to be under the impression it's my fault her room is such a mess," Mara said.
"That is so not true!" I said. "I just said I couldn't
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put my clothes away until I had some furniture to put them away in."
"And then she took a very snotty tone that I did not appreciate," Mara continued, ignoring me.
"Oh my god, it's like unless I'm kowtowing to you every second I'm taking a snotty tone," I said.
I could feel tears brewing and I choked them back.
"Hey, hey!" said my dad, who wasn't smiling anymore. "I just got home. I don't want all this fighting." He put his arm around Mara. "Lucy, I'd like you to apologize to Mara, and I want this room straightened up."
"I'm going to straighten it up. I'll straighten it up tomorrow."
"No," said my dad, "you'll straighten it up tonight."
"Dad, I'm supposed to go to a basketball game tonight."
I was sure I could see my dad hesitating, but then he said, "I'm sorry, but you're not going out
tonight."
"WHAT?!" It almost wasn't a word, just a strangled yelp.
"We want this room cleaned up, and we want it cleaned up tonight." The way my dad said "we"
as they stood next to each other, his arm around Mara's waist, only highlighted how the two of
them comprised a perfectly coordinated team. I suddenly felt very conscious of being the only
person on my side of the room.
"Why can't I just clean it up tomorrow? If you let
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me go to the game, I promise I'll get up early and clean everything." I was fighting back panic.
My dad was about to relent, I could tell. He'd never been one of those parents who cared what
my room looked like, and I knew he wouldn't mind if I cleaned up in the morning. But just as he
opened his mouth to say something, Mara spoke.
"Lucy, your father and I said tonight, and we mean tonight," she said, turning on one heel and
heading upstairs. My dad took a step toward me just as Mara said, "Doug, we're going to be
late."
He hesitated a second and then said, "I'll see you in the morning, Goose."
"What?" I said, and I was crying for real now. "Are you saying this conversation is over?"
"There's no conversation," he said. "We asked you to do something and we want you do to it."
The way he repeated we almost took my breath away.
"And that's all you have to say?" I asked finally.
"Lucy, I'm sorry," he said. "But you need to do what you're told." Then he, too, turned around and headed up the stairs.
Trying to stop crying, I picked up my cell and dialed Connor's number.
"Yo, what's up? It's Connor. You know what to do."
"Um, hey, Connor, I--" a sob almost escaped, and I took a deep breath. "I can't come to the game tonight.
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I--this whole thing happened at home, and I'm grounded. I'm really sorry. So, good luck and ...
have fun at the party." The last part of my message nearly pushed me over the edge. I hit end call
as quickly as I could. Then I dialed Jessica's number.
"It's Jessica. Leave me a message and I'll call you back."
"Hi. It's me. My stepmother is trying to win some kind of bitch-of-the-year award, and I'm
grounded tonight. So have fun for both of us."
After I hung up I sat staring at my cell for a long minute, wondering what happens if Cinderella
never makes it to the ball. Does Prince Charming spend the night pining away for her, crying
into his royal beer? Or does he just meet someone else, some girl who doesn't have a wicked,
stepdaughter-grounding stepmother?
Some girl who no longer doesn't "go out with high school guys"?
The answer was too obvious. I turned my phone off and shoved it into my bag. That way I
wouldn't have to listen to it not ringing all night long.
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Chapter Eleven
I'd forced myself not to check my messages before I went to bed, knowing how bad I'd feel if
Connor hadn't called. But the first thing I did when I woke up in my immaculate room was check
voice mail.
Two messages. My hands shook so much I could hardly manage to dial in for them.
"Hey, Red." I let out a tiny, involuntary scream. "Do you need me to take out a hit on one of your family members? 'Cause I'll do it." Just the sound of his voice made last night's fight with my
dad seem like a bad dream. "You better not be grounded all weekend, Red. I'm picking you up at
seven on Saturday and taking you out for dinner."
I played the message three more times before saving it. The second call was from Jessica. "Can I
just say that your stepmother totally gets my vote for bitch-of-the-year?
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Call me when you wake up. We're going shopping tomorrow." I played that message again, too.