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to my ear. "I just had to navigate some Long Island lunacy."
When my dad and Mara decided to get married, there was this whole debate about where we
should live. Because the Princesses' dad lives the next town over and they have about twice as
much time left in school as I do, the decision was made that my dad and I would depart San
Francisco rather than subjecting the Princesses to a potentially traumatic relocation across the
Mississippi River. If you ask me, this was a huge mistake, since leaving the 516-area code is the
only thing that could have saved my stepsisters from growing up to be Humvee-driving, acrylic-
nail wearing, soap-opera addicted housewives.
Unfortunately for them, nobody asked me.
"So," said my dad, "did you see the Times? Stanford's looking pretty good. I think this could be their year." My dad, who went to Stanford, has a loyalty to his alma mater that I can only
describe as perverse. In spite of the fact that their team has not even made it close to the NCAA
finals in decades, he continues to bet on them year after year.
Before I could answer, I heard a click, which meant Mara had picked up the extension in the den.
It's this totally annoying thing she does--getting on the phone with me and my dad. It's like she's
afraid if she doesn't supervise him every second, he'll realize what a mistake he made marrying
her.
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"Hello, darling," she said. "Hi, honey," he said. Gag me.
I did what I always do when Mara butts in on our conversations: I ignored her.
"It's only February," I said to my dad. "I can't start thinking NCAA yet."
"Wait," said Mara. "I just got used to NBA. What's NCAA?"
My dad laughed as though Mara had just said the most amusing thing he'd ever heard. "We'll
cross that bridge when we come to it, Mrs. Norton," he said, still chuckling. "Sweetheart, you are officially cute."
I cleared my throat to remind him he wasn't exactly having a private conversation.
"Lucy, I'm just telling you," he said, "Stanford is having a killer season."
I groaned. The truth is, even if I thought Stanford had a chance of winning the NCAA, which
they don't, I could never root for the school that is responsible for my current state of misery.
Had my father and Mara's brother not been on the same floor together freshman year at Stanford,
and had Mara's brother not decided to look up his old classmate two years ago when he had
business in San Francisco, and had my dad not, shortly thereafter, had a conference at his firm's
New York office, and had he, after that conference, not met his old classmate for a drink, and
had his old classmate not
25
brought his divorced sister to said drink, and had said old classmate's sister not been totally on the prowl for a new husband, and had my dad not fallen for a woman who thinks interior
decorating is a liberal art, I would not currently be living in social exile, related by marriage to
twelve-year-old twins who believe getting a cut and color is a spiritually enriching experience.
"Stanford's going down, Dad. Take a reality check." It may have been cold comfort that Stanford
had zero chance of taking the NCAA title, but it was comfort nonetheless.
"It's incredible," said Mara. "If you had told me a year ago that I'd have a daughter who was a sports fanatic, I never would have believed it."
I didn't say anything. If you ask me, it's totally weird how she's started referring to me as her
daughter. This summer, right before they got married, Mara took me out for dinner and gave me
this whole speech about how she would never try to replace my mother and how she totally
understood I could never love her the way I had loved my real mother, but she hoped she could
play a role in my life. I told her that I didn't really remember my real mom all that well
considering she died of cancer when I was only three, so it wasn't exactly like there was anything
to replace. I meant I didn't really feel like I needed a mother, but it's become clear that Mara thinks I meant I wanted her to be my mother.
"MOM!" screeched the Princesses.
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"What is it?" I could hear Mara in both my right ear, through the phone, and in my left, from the den. She was everywhere at once.
"We need you!"
"Coming." I heard the click of the phone as she hung it up
"Hey, Dad," I said, taking advantage of our having a minute to talk without Mara listening in.
"You want to go to the Guggenheim with me next Saturday?"
"Sure, Goose. That would be fun. We haven't been to a museum in a while."
I couldn't believe how easy that had been. Why hadn't I suggested we do something alone
together before?
Mara came running into the kitchen. "Yes, girls?"
"Never mind," said Princess One, not bothering to look up from the screen. "It's working now."
Mara wasn't even mad that she'd run all the way across the house for nothing. She just walked
over to where I was still on the phone.
"Lucy, could you finish helping to clear the table?" I loved how she said "helping," like anyone besides me was doing it.
"Well, bye, Dad," I said, taking Mara's not-so subtle hint.
"Bye, Goose. See you tomorrow." I gave Mara the phone and headed into the dining room,
where I discovered neither of the Princesses had cleared so much as a
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fork from her place. When I went back into the kitchen carrying their stuff, I almost made a joke
about how Cinderella should know better than to think her stepsisters might actually clean up
after themselves, but I knew nobody but me would think it was funny.
People never think things that are true are funny.
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Chapter Four
"Lucy, I just know we're going to find some lovely furniture for your room on this trip. I'm sooo glad you could come with us today."
It was Saturday morning, and we were walking along the main street of Lomax, New York, a
Hudson River Valley town that's cute with a capital K. Every place we passed was either a bed
and breakfast or an antique furniture store. When we first arrived, I'd asked a salesman at Jane's
Junk and Valuables if there was a place in town that sold CDs, and he looked at me like I'd
inquired about purchasing a hand-held rocket grenade launcher.
"Doug, honey, look at this." Mara pulled my father toward a picture window that held a gigantic
piece of furniture I now knew was called a breakfront. "Wouldn't that just look yummy in the
foyer?"
"It's nice, sweetheart," said my dad. "You want to go inside and have a look at it?"
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Mara's eyes lit up. "How do you know me so well? Of course I do." He held the door open for her and she practically danced across the threshold. (At least he didn't carry her.)
"You coming, Goose?" asked my dad. He asked like I had a choice, like if I said no I wouldn't be accused of Having a Bad Attitude. Apparently if you don't think examining ancient wooden
furniture in tiny little towns is just the dandiest way to spend your free time, you Have a Bad
Attitude. You also Hurt Mara's Feelings, which is a very, very bad thing to do. That's why I was