Three Wishes

“You know I can’t stand Diane! I would never, ever make you live in the same house with her.”

Mom pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, she said in a maddeningly calm voice, “It’s not exactly the same situation. I won’t say she’s one of my favorite people, but four months with her will not kill you.” She stood and took the dishes to the garbage can.

I could think of a whole lot of things my mother had said about Diane. And a lot of them involved words she’d punish me for saying. Somehow I kept from mentioning those tirades. The reminder would only trigger one of those therapist-induced-apology-slash-lectures I’d heard too many times lately.

Mom had spent most of the last two years in therapy. She’d progressed from crying most of the day to behaving somewhat like a normal person. Unfortunately, her total immersion in Dr. Phil and friends had not managed to make my quality of life any better. I mean, at least she cried on the couch in our house in Charlotte. Not two thousand freaking miles away. Okay, I knew I’d feel guilty about wishing her back to the crying stage, but right now, I was totally entitled to be obnoxious. The woman was wrecking my life, and it wasn’t that great anyway.

She walked back to the table and sat down. “Ally, Seattle is supposed to be a really cool place for young people. That’s where Starbucks and those grunge bands started. The birthplace of Nirvana?”

Oh, come on! “The lead singer was an addict who shot himself in the head. If that’s your example of a good reason to move, you’ve got serious parenting deficits.” I stopped short of asking what Dr. Phil would say. Even my mother had limits.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your life, but—”

And that’s when I tuned out, because that’s the beginning of the speech I’ve heard a hundred times before about how my mother can’t keep putting herself last. I nodded and uh-huhed at all the right spots while I tried to wrap my mind around the chaos that had taken over my life.

One, my mom was moving to Seattle.

Which meant, two that I’d have to live with my dad.

Who, three lived with the home-wrecking hag he’d married.

Who, four had a daughter my age who was ridiculously beautiful.

Which meant, five, that I was living the next four months as the ugly stepsister.

On the bright side, my self-esteem wasn’t all that high anyway, so this experience should serve well to bottom it out. And once I was a total wreck, psycho, blubbering idiot, it would finally be my turn for my needs to come first. Because in my family, the one closest to the ledge got to make the choices.

Mom definitely looked like a woman on the edge. She had finally stopped lecturing, and she had her hand on her throat like she does when she’s about to throw up. She didn’t deal with stress very well, and she obviously felt bad about the whole thing. But that hadn’t stopped her. If I didn’t think fast, she’d be on a plane to Seattle, and I’d be living with the stepmonster.

Unless… “Dad and Diane probably won’t want me to live there. They don’t have a very big house. And Dad is gone so much. Diane won’t go along with this.”

Her hands flew to her hips and she harrumphed. “I knew you weren’t listening, Ally. I just told you that they’re looking forward to it. Your father thinks it’s a great way for you to get to know Diane better.”

Well, there goes that theory. The anger finally bubbled over. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know about this before I do?” I shouted. “Have you talked to everyone but me?”

“Ally, I had to make arrangements. I’m leaving in two weeks. It couldn’t all wait until the last minute—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I said, jumping up and leaving the kitchen.

I ran up the stairs, waited for my dog to follow me into my room, slammed my door, locked it, and plopped down on my bed. I was literally seeing red. And it was only partly because my curtains and bedspread were red. Mostly, it was rage. With a little dread and fear thrown in. Luckily for me, the tears washed some of it away. Mojo jumped up and licked at my face, but I finally got him to settle down and lay down beside me. Mojo understood my pain. He was the best dog in the world. I’d found him at the pound three years earlier, and we’d been inseparable ever since.

After I’d soaked my pillow with various bodily fluids (Why does crying make your nose run, anyway?), I rolled over onto my back and called Madison on my candy apple red cell phone.

I folded the pillow in half, damp side down, and shoved it under my neck. “You won’t believe this,” I said, and I told her what was happening.

“Oh my God,” Madison said when I finished.

Her reaction confirmed just how horrible this was. Usually I couldn’t get her to shut up. Now she couldn’t think of anything to say. There was a really, really long pause. Then she said, “How could she do that to you?”

“I know!” I scratched behind Mojo’s ears and looked into his big, brown eyes. Poor homeless mutt. Poor abandoned me.

“Are you sure you aren’t being punk’d? I just can’t see your mother leaving you, um, I mean leaving here, to live on the other side of the country.”

Ouch. Leaving me. I could count on Madison to say it like it was. “Do you really think there’s a show where mean mothers make their daughters cry?”

“No.” She sounded disappointed as if she was hoping to meet Ashton. “I guess not. But your mom is usually so nice. She lets us sleepover all the time. She seems kind of sad sometimes, but not mean.”

Mom was definitely sad. Luckily, I was too angry to feel guilty about it.

“Maybe it will be cool to live with Caroline,” Madison said, taking a shot at lifting my spirits.

Madison admired my stepsister Caroline. Everyone did. Even I liked Caroline. I just didn’t like myself when I was around her. “I’m sure she’ll be just thrilled to have me dumped into her space all of a sudden.”

“It’s your space too. Your dad lives there.”

True, but he lived there because he’d moved away from me and my mom. That little tidbit didn’t increase my comfort level. “How about you and me just trade lives for four months?”

Madison laughed. “My life isn’t so great either. Even with soccer, my mom won’t let me quit choir this year. And you know I can’t sing.”

She really couldn’t. Our school let everybody in the choir. Madison just stood there moving her mouth. The few times she actually tried to sing, people around her thought a sheep was getting strangled. “Can your mom sing?”

“She thinks she can,” Madison said. “At mass it’s all I can do not to run screaming for the door.”

“You’re probably getting double credit for going then. I think I’ve got enough credits to stop going to mass until I’m thirty, so God will probably spot you another ten years for your suffering. It’s like you’ve got a bank full of prepaid penance.” I looked at Mojo and he panted in agreement.

“Do you think so?”

“I do. And besides, you only have two choir concerts a year.”

“I just hate being reminded of how pathetic I am at every practice.”

That was kind of why I didn’t like being around my stepsister. “You’re not pathetic,” I assured her. “Now your mother…”

Madison giggled. “I’m going to make you sit with us next time.”

“Can’t,” I said, searching for an excuse. “I have to sit in the back. I’ve got…” What was that commercial that was always on. Oh yeah. “I’ve got an overactive bladder.”

“Right,” she said obviously not buying it. “We can sit in the back too. We aren’t picky.”

Actually, Madison’s mother insisted on sitting near the front of the large cathedral every Sunday. I personally thought she liked to be seen in her expensive clothes. Unlike Madison, her mother was an attention seeker. And she spent big bucks on her wardrobe. My mom thought Elaine was insecure because her husband was a big-time heart surgeon. Lots of the kids at school were doctor’s kids, and Madison was the only one who was really cool

.

“I’m being punished enough, Madison. Give me a break.”