How to Ruin Series Part 30

I can't stand all this lovey-dovey stuff.

"I'm taking Mutt for a walk."

"Wait. We want to ask you something."

I turn to Mom. "What?"

"Just ... come sit down."

I plop down in a chair in the kitchen.

Mom sits down beside me. Marc sits next to Mom. She reaches out to hold my hand.

Okay, this is bigger than b.o.o.b talk. I can tell just by the way Mom is squeezing my hand.

"How would you like to be a big sister?"

I shrug. "I wouldn't."

I like my life just how it is. I have my mom, I have my dad, I have Jessica, I have my non-boyfriend Avi, and I have Mutt.

My life is fine, why would I want a little brat s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it up?

Mom's excitement deflates.

"Why, were you thinking about adopting a baby? Listen, Mom, I doubt people would even allow you adopt at your age."

"I beg your pardon. I'm only thirty- seven."

Duh! "You're almost forty!"

"Besides," she says, ignoring me.

"We're not thinking of adopting. I'm pregnant."

Pause.

Silence.

Back up. Did I hear right?

"You're pregnant? As in you're going to have a baby pregnant?"

Marc smiles wide. "Yep."

I stand up. "And you didn't consult me on this?" I mean, you'd think they would have at least talked to me about it. Are they replacing me because I moved in with my dad? It's not like I don't come around the 'burbs. I do. But Mom just up and sold our condo in the city. I couldn't move schools my junior year. Then I would have to make all new friends. Oh, man. And they're so excited about it, too. Like the new, s.h.i.+ny kid is going to be way better than the old, used model.

A baby.

There's no getting around the fact that I'm being replaced.

"I'm not changing diapers," I blurt out.

Yes, I know it was immature and childish to say that, but it just came out. Sue me for being a teenager.

Mom gives me a tearful look. "You don't have to change diapers."

I'm sorry, I just can't stand here calmly.

My mind is whirling with questions. "Was this planned?"

Marc and Mom look at each other.

"Well, yeah," he says.

"And you didn't think it was important to ask my opinion?"

"Amy, Marc and I want to have children together. I thought you'd be as excited as we are."

I swallow, which is no easy feat because I have a lump in my throat the size of a basketball.

"I gotta go," I say, and get Mutt. "Come on, boy," I say, leading him to the front of the yard. I need to get away from the house and figure out where I fit in my so-called family.

My mom runs after me. "Amy, stay. I don't want you to be angry."

I sigh. "I'm not angry, Mom. I just need to sort this all out in my head." In my car, I flip open my phone to text Jessica.

Me: Guess who's pregnant?

Jess: u?

Me: Get real.

Jess: ur mom?

Me: yep Jess: Mazel tov!?

Me: Don't congratulate me, plz Jess: Could b worse Me: How?

Jess: Could b u?

Me: I'm a virgin.

Jess: n.o.body's perfect.

Me: Don't make me laugh.

Jess: Better than crying, right?

Leave it to my best friend to put it into perspective. But Jessica doesn't know that there's history with my mom and dad.

History that I think still stings for one of my parents. And that is no laughing matter.

When I get back to the city, I swear the temperature in the city has decreased by at least twenty degrees. It mimics the chill in my body.

Crying isn't my thing, but my eyes water on their own. d.a.m.n.

I feel sorry for my dad, even more now that I know Mom and Marc are really going to have a new family. My poor dad is alone. He'll never get my mom back now. When he finds out about the baby, he's really going to get depressed. I'll have to do something about that, sooner rather than later. My perfect family life just blew up in my face.

Are families supposed to drive you crazy? I need to talk to someone about this.

I'd like to talk to my non-boyfriend, but he's somewhere in the middle of Israel in training. No phone calls during boot camp.

I glance at the picture of Avi on my nightstand. He's in his army fatigues, a machine gun strapped to his shoulder. And he's smiling. Smiling. As if being stuck in the middle of the hot Negev Desert during military boot camp is no biggie. I miss him more than anything right now. He's so strong, inside and out. I wish I was like that.

In his last letter he wrote about stars. He said in the Negev Desert at night he looked up and the sky was so clear he could swear he saw a billion stars.

He said he thought of me right there, wondering what I was doing under the same stars. My heart just about melted into garlic b.u.t.ter sauce (which I love to dip my pizza in) when I read his letter. Sometimes I feel like he has the right perspective on life. Me? I'd probably look up at billions of stars and think, I'm so insignificant.

I sit on my bed and open my backpack.

There, staring back at me, is the personals section. I must have shoved it in there accidentally. I wipe my eyes and focus on the paper.

A small idea, as tiny as a faraway star, starts forming in the back of my mind.

If Mom and Marc can create their own little suburban family, I'm going to create one of my own for my bachelor dad ...

right here in the city.

After all, what's wrong with placing a personal ad for my dad? Maybe, as Marla said, he could meet his own soul mate.

3.

Kosher question # 1: In Leviticus (11:1), G.o.d lists what's kosher and what's not.

Nowhere in the entire Bible does it mention anything about spicy tuna sus.h.i.+ rolls with little pieces of tempura crunch inside.

Hunky, brooding single Jewish dad with an adorable teenage daughter seeks woman for dinners, dancing, and walks in the park. Needs to like dogs and be free of any neurosis or hang-ups.

"Amy, I'm home. And I brought sus.h.i.+ for you."

I shove the draft into my backpack and rush for the door. Okay, okay, I know the ad needs a little tweaking. But I'll deal with that later. Sus.h.i.+ can't wait. "Did you get spicy tuna rolls?"

"Yes."

I kiss him on the cheek and say, "You're the best. Did you remember to ask for tempura flakes inside?"

"Sorry, I forgot. I hope they're still edible."

He's joking with me because he's well aware I'll devour the spicy tuna rolls with or without the tempura crunch.

My dad is sifting through the mail by the front door. He lives for mail. Sundays he positively goes nuts not having any. When Monday rolls around, he's like a hawk.

I s.n.a.t.c.h the white takeout bag off the table by the front door. My mouth is already watering in antic.i.p.ation of eating freshly made sus.h.i.+. "How was work?"

"Hectic as usual. How was school?"

"Hectic as usual."

He looks sideways at me.

"Well, it was," I say. "I had three tests, one I probably failed, two hours of homework, and I have no date for the Valentine's Dance. Top that."

We walk into the kitchen together. "Avi is in Israel," he says as if I'm pining for a relations.h.i.+p that's bound to fail. Talk about the "like father, like daughter" syndrome.

"I know," I say.

My dad gives me a weak smile and shrugs. "I just don't want you to miss out."

Mutt bounds into the kitchen and starts jumping on me. "Arg!"

"We have to get him fixed," he says.

I sit on the kitchen floor with Mutt and pat his springy hair. "We aren't going to do that," I tell my dog. "Only mean people do that to their dogs."

Mutt responds by licking my face.

There's no way I'm having my dog's b.a.l.l.s cut off.

My dad takes extra food for himself out of the refrigerator because he mistakingly treats sus.h.i.+ as an appetizer. He says sus.h.i.+ doesn't fill him up. "Amy ... "

I give him my I-am-not-backing-down stare. "What?"

"The vet said-"

"Yeah, and the vet thought Mutt was a goldendoodle, too. Can you believe that?

A designer mutt, no less. I don't trust that guy." Give me a break. My dog is a pure, un-poodleized mutt.

My dad takes a piece of pita and swipes it into a container of hummus. It's his staple food. Israelis are to hummus as frat boys are to beer. (We've been studying a.n.a.logies in English. Can you tell?) "Don't double dip," I warn him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, stuffing the pita into his mouth.