Talia Talk Read online

  Her lips crept into a smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know,” she said.

  “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” I teased. “Call him.”

  Mom bit her lower lip and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have to give this some thought,” she said, as much to herself as to me. “And I’m sure he’s not sitting around waiting for me to…” She waved her hand through the air. “I have some thinking to do, Talia. Can’t we please watch a sappy movie and just chill for now?”

  I studied her for a second, then sighed. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for sappy,” I said. “Scary, maybe.”

  “Scary it is,” Mom said, reaching around me to turn on the lamp. “But only if we keep all the lights on. You know I can’t handle scary in the dark.”

  “I’ll keep you safe,” I said, then turned toward her abruptly and shouted, “Boo!”

  She laughed and jumped in her seat.

  “Betcha you wouldn’t be scared if Jake was here,” I murmured, jabbing at her side.

  “Betcha you better butt out of my love life,” she teased, poking me back.

  “Dream on,” I responded. I stood up to pop a movie into the DVD player, then settled back on the couch by Mom’s side. “Quit hogging the popcorn.”

  28

  Talia13 has logged on.

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters has logged on.

  Talia13: We’ve got 2 talk. U know how I’ve spent the last couple of weeks ruining everybody’s life, mostly my own?

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: So noted. Proceed with tale of woe.

  Talia13: My mom broke up with Jake b-cuz of me.

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: No way! What did U do?

  Talia13: Remember when they picked me up from Mer’s party and I was in such a bad mood? It freaked Mom out and it probably made Jake think he would rather eat glass than have to deal w/me. I screwed everything up.

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: So do you get, like, a commission for destroying people’s lives?

  Talia13: HELP ME! I have 2 fix this!

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: R U sure we shouldn’t leave well enough alone? Maybe Jake is an ax murderer.

  Talia13: I think I’ve ruled that out. I Googled his name and didn’t come up w/ any felonies. He’s really nice. Plus, I know Mom likes him. I can tell. Then I come along and ruin everything. I am the most dispickable person in the whole world.

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: U R not a very good speller, either.

  Talia13: How do U spell dispickable?

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: Let’s just say evilin stead.

  Talia13: Will U help me?

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters: OK.

  Talia13: Hurry, hurry! C U soon.

  Talia13 has signed off.

  BridgetOverTroubledWaters has signed off.

  Mom had left for the store by the time Bridget got to my house an hour later. I greeted her at the door with my finger holding a place in the phone book.

  “Jake’s phone number,” I said, holding up the book.

  Bridget nodded as she shut the door behind her. “Good sign. Ax murderers probably don’t list their numbers in the phone book.”

  “I told you, I ruled out felonies.” I sat on the couch and opened the book to the place I was holding. “Should I call him?”

  Bridget plopped down next to me and studied the phone book intently, like she was deciphering a secret code. “That’s one possibility,” she murmured, still staring at the phone book.

  “What are the others?” I asked.

  “I don’t know…. Hmmm. You said he had a dog. Maybe we could kidnap the dog, arrange a ransom delivery, then be waiting for him with the dog, at which point he’d be so happy to see his dog, he’d transfer his happy feelings onto us, and then—”

  “Bridget!”

  She pouted. “No dognapping?”

  “I want to help my mom, not call her from jail for bail money.”

  “They go easy on minors, you know.”

  “We’re not kidnapping E-bay!”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “Fine! Geez, you don’t have to be so sensitive. Frankly, a phone call seems a little…I don’t know…underdramatic.”

  “I’ve had way too much drama in my life lately,” I muttered, picking up the phone. “Underdramatic suits me just fine.”

  “Wait, wait!” Bridget said, jumping up. “Let me get on the other line.”

  I tightened my lips. “Why?”

  “So I can help you convince him to un dump your mom.”

  “Mom dumped him, remember?”

  “Whatever. I’m very persuasive.”

  I tapped my index finger against the phone. “Okay,” I finally said. “You can listen in on the other line. But don’t say anything unless I ask you to.”

  “Yeah, like that’ll happen,” Bridget murmured, already headed toward the kitchen to pick up the other phone.

  “Bridget!” I called after her. “I mean it! This is a delicate situation.”

  “Just dial,” she called back.

  I took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing….”

  I pressed the numbers one by one, then held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut as I listened to his phone ring one, two, three times. Maybe he wasn’t home and his answering machine would pick up. Maybe he was so devastated by Mom’s rejection that he’d packed up and moved to Guadalajara in the middle of the night. Maybe he already had another girlfriend and she was standing next to him, ready to laugh her head off. Maybe—

  “Hello?”

  I gulped. “Uh…”

  “Hello?” Jake repeated, this time sounding annoyed.

  “Yeah…,” I said quickly. “Um…Jake?”

  “Yes, this is Jake. Who am I speaking to?”

  Dead silence.

  “It’s Talia,” Bridget blurted from her extension.

  I hissed in Bridget’s general direction.

  “Talia?” Jake repeated, his voice softening.

  Dead silence.

  “Yes, Talia,” Bridget said.

  “Bridget!” I moaned.

  More silence. “What’s going on?” Jake asked slowly.

  “Um…,” I said.

  “I see I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands,” Bridget said briskly. “Jake, we’ve never met, but I’m Talia’s best friend, Bridget. Perhaps she’s spoken of me? I’m the one she’s spent the last couple of weeks treating like a cretin? Right, that’s me. Well, here’s the thing—”

  “Is this some sort of a put-on?” Jake asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

  “No, no put-on,” Bridget continued. “Talia wanted to talk to you, but for some reason, she’s been rendered mute all of a sudden, and I’m in her kitchen on the other line, so—”

  “Bridget, please!” I sputtered. But I didn’t know what to say after that, so more silence followed.

  “O-kay,” Bridget said. “Jake, don’t judge Talia by her conversational skills. She’s got many other nice qualities.”

  “This is a put-on,” Jake said evenly.

  “No!” I blurted. “It’s not a put-on. Jake, I have to say this fast, or I’ll lose my nerve. My mom would kill me if she knew I was calling you, but you need to know that the only reason she broke up with you is that I was being such a—”

  “Cretin,” Bridget offered.

  “Okay, cretin,” I said, “but here’s the thing: she really likes you.”

  I held my breath for a second, then blew it out like air escaping from a popped balloon.

  “Your mom doesn’t know you’re calling me?” he asked.

  “That would be a no,” Bridget said. “You do like her, right?”

  Jake cleared his throat. “Can I plead the Fifth until I’ve had a chance to talk to her?”

  “Talk is highly overrated,” Bridget said. “It’s time for action. Come to dinner tonight. Talia and I are cooking.”

  “We—wha-a-a?” I stammered.

  “We’ll cook, then get ou
t of your way and let you two have some alone time.”

  “Bridget!” I shrieked. “We can’t cook!”

  “Can you come?” she asked Jake.

  Jake paused, then said, “I really need to talk to your mom first, Talia.”

  “So talk! Talk when you come to dinner tonight,” Bridget said.

  “Hmmmm…,” he responded. “I guess there’ll be plenty of time for talk, since you two can’t cook.”

  “We’ll improvise,” Bridget said.

  “What if Chelsea doesn’t want me to come over?” Jake asked.

  “Talia,” Bridget responded, “have you ever in your whole life invited a friend over that your mom kicked out?”

  “Never,” I replied.

  “I’m guessing Talia’s guests have never included her mother’s friends,” Jake murmured. “Okay, here’s the deal: I have to cover a football game later today for work. So if the game doesn’t end too late, and if Chelsea knows I’m coming and doesn’t mind, and if she doesn’t decide to give up her scheming daughter for adoption, and if you two don’t set the kitchen on fire…then I’ll come.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Bridget said. “But Mrs. Farrow can’t know you’re coming. She might put the ol’ ix-nay on our plan.”

  “Yeah, that’s something I’d kinda like to anticipate in advance,” Jake said. “Rejection isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

  “She won’t reject you,” I said. “She really, really likes you, Jake.”

  He sighed. “The game should be over by seven. I’ll casually drop by your house when it’s over—‘Hi, Chels, just happened to be in the neighborhood’—then try not to look too pathetic if this little plan implodes.”

  “Works for us!” Bridget said.

  “Did I mention I like homemade manicotti?” he said.

  “Don’t push it,” Bridget replied.

  29

  I’d been watching from the window, and as soon as I saw Mom pulling into the driveway, Bridget and I ran out to greet her.

  “Will you take us to the mall?” I asked her as she unloaded groceries from the trunk.

  “Please?” Bridget said. “I’ve been dying to go. I heard Threads is having a sale.”

  Mom cocked her head skeptically. “Since when are you interested in Threads?” she asked Bridget, handing us bags as she pulled them from the trunk.

  “Oh, I’ve started a registry there,” Bridget said. “My birthday’s not until January, but you never know when people might want to buy me a gift. I think Armistice Day is coming up.”

  Mom smiled and tousled Bridget’s hair. “I’m so glad you made up with Talia,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Then take us to the mall and spend all day with her!” I said.

  Bridget and I weren’t convinced that Jake wouldn’t try to call Mom, and we didn’t want to take any chances. We’d keep her out of the house all afternoon, and I’d slip into her purse when she wasn’t looking to turn off her cell phone.

  “Mall! Mall! Mall! Mall!” Bridget chanted.

  “Well,” Mom said. “Okay. Let’s unload the groceries and I’ll take my material girls shopping.”

  By the time we got home almost four hours later, Bridget and I realized we had slightly over an hour to cook a romantic dinner for two, minus any skills or ingredients to speak of.

  We had talked Mom into buying some froufrou soaps and lotions at the mall, so we insisted she go take a long, hot bath and try them out.

  “You girls are acting awfully strange today,” she said, but she didn’t need much coaxing.

  We scooted her off to the bathroom, then huddled in the kitchen to plot our next move.

  “Do you know how to make manicotti?” Bridget asked in a hushed voice.

  “Of course I don’t know how to make manicotti!”

  “Shhh!”

  “I don’t even know what manicotti is,” I said grumpily, lowering my voice to a whisper.

  “Well, we have to come up with something,” Bridget said, glancing nervously around the room as if a gourmet dinner might magically materialize.

  “It was your bright idea to cook,” I reminded her, furrowing my brow. “I don’t even make my own peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”

  “It’s high time you learned,” Bridget said, walking over to the pantry and burying her head inside.

  I started absently opening cupboards, drawers and refrigerator crispers. Every once in a while, I’d pull out a spatula or a can of shortening, having no idea how they might fit into our meal.

  “Bridget, the only thing I know how to use in the kitchen is the phone,” I moaned. “Can we just order pizza?”

  “Nope. We said we were cooking, and we’re cooking.”

  By now, the kitchen counters were filling with boxes, jars and cans, none of which looked like they could combine to make a meal, but, really, what did I know? Bridget and I bustled about for the next forty minutes, opening cans, stirring pots, clattering pans, mixing ingredients and setting a table for two in the dining room. I stuck a couple of tapered candles in candlesticks, but they kept tilting, so Bridget took the gum from her mouth, divided it in two and spread it around the base of each candle.

  “I’m a genius! It works!” she said with her hands on her hips as we surveyed the results.

  “It looks a little messy,” I said skeptically. “And besides, how’s Mom going to get the gum off the candlesticks?”

  “You reuse candlesticks?” she said. “Well, the gum will be there to help her keep the next set of candles in place.”

  We jumped with a start as we heard Mom’s bedroom door open down the hall. “Do I smell something burning?” she called.

  “Bridget! The cornflakes!” I said, and Bridget rushed to check her cornflakes on the stove, stirring them and lowering the heat.

  “It’s five till seven,” Bridget said, her hands fluttering as she ran back into the dining room. “Go tell your mom to put on a ball gown or something.”

  We glanced up to see Mom padding down the hallway toward the dining room, smoothing her damp, shampoo-scented hair.

  “Mom!” I said, surveying her flannel pajama pants, Myrtle Beach sweatshirt and bunny slippers.

  “What,” she said, furrowing her brow as she came closer, “is going on?”

  Bridget and I beamed proudly. “We cooked dinner,” I said.

  “You? Cooked dinner? You cooked dinner? You?” Mom peered over our shoulders into the kitchen. “What in the world…?” Her eyes darted to the table. “Candlelight? We’re eating by candlelight?”

  “Not exactly us,” I said, picking a piece of lint off Mom’s sweatshirt. “Mom, you have to change.”

  “Something flouncy,” Bridget instructed. “Girly and flouncy. Like a party dress.”

  Mom’s jaw tightened. “It’s time,” she said in her calm-on-the-verge-of-hysterical tone, “for you two to tell me what’s going on.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “What,” Mom repeated through gritted teeth, “is going on?”

  “I’ll get it!” Bridget said cheerfully, headed toward the front door.

  “Don’t be mad,” I beseeched Mom.

  Her eyes widened.

  We heard the front door shut. Bridget rejoined us in the dining room. A couple of seconds later, Jake followed her into the room carrying a handful of wildflowers. He smiled sheepishly at Mom, who looked too stunned to speak.

  “Hi, Chels,” he said. “I was covering a ball game nearby, so I was kind of in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d…oh, never mind.”

  Mom’s eyes darted from the flowers to the candles to the kitchen, then back to the flowers. She opened her mouth to speak, but squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head instead.

  “We cooked you guys dinner!” Bridget said triumphantly.

  “Uh, us?” Mom stammered, waving her finger back and forth from Jake to herself.

  “Right,” Bridget said. “It’s Saturday night, and Talia and I thought, How ca
n we keep the old folks out of our hair while we try out explosive devices in the garage?”

  “So you knew about this,” Mom said slowly to Jake.

  He shrugged. “They called me a few hours ago. I tried to call you to make sure it was okay that I stopped by, but—”

  “Details, details!” Bridget said quickly, waving her hand through the air. “What does it matter who called who, or when, or why? You’re here, Jake’s here, the table is set, the candles are lit, the flowers are beautiful, dinner’s on the stove—”

  “So to speak…,” Mom murmured, peering anxiously into the kitchen.

  Bridget took the flowers from Jake, handed them to me, then cleared her throat dramatically. “Sir and madam,” she intoned, “your evening will begin with appetizers in the drawing room.”

  “The drawing room,” Mom repeated numbly.

  Bridget took each of them by the arm and walked them toward the living room. I scanned a kitchen cabinet for a vase, settled for a mason jar, filled it with water, put the flowers inside and placed it on the dining room table.

  “Champagne! We need champagne!” Bridget whispered, rushing back into the dining room.

  “Champagne? Oh, sure. We keep it around all the time,” I said. “Are you crazy? We don’t have champagne!”

  “Wine?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “You people are hopeless! Oh, well. I saw some apple juice in the refrigerator. Open it and I’ll get a couple of wine glasses from the china cabinet.”

  I grabbed the apple juice, which she poured into crystal goblets. She frowned, then retrieved some cinnamon-flavored sprinkles. She shook the sprinkles into the goblets and gave a satisfied nod.

  “Looks elegant,” she said, then whisked the glasses into the living room.

  “Are they sitting close to each other?” I whispered when she came back into the kitchen.

  “They’re on the same couch, but considering that your mom’s wearing bunny slippers, I’m not sure how much romance we can pull off,” Bridget said. “Never mind. Help me with these appetizers.”