Chapter 12 - The Saturday We Kept For Ourselves
The birthday was four days away and it was everywhere. Mrs. Harper wrote it on the whiteboard in the kitchen at school in blue marker: Grandma's 71st — Saturday 6pm. She'd asked Katie's kids to pass out the little cream cards during pick-up line, and by Tuesday everyone in my grade knew who was going.
I sat at our kitchen table after school and stared at our own calendar. Mom had left that Saturday square blank. Just white. Empty in a way that felt loud.
Dad came in with groceries and saw me looking at it. He set the bags down slow. "Your mom and I were thinking," he said. "If you want, that Saturday could be just us. No big thing. Diner out on Route 9, maybe a movie after. Or we stay home and I make pancakes for dinner. Your call."
I nodded because I didn't know what to say. It sounded nice and it sounded small at the same time. Not compared to a party. Just compared to being wanted there.
At school the next day, Jenna caught me by the lockers. She'd already heard from Lily, who'd heard from Katie's daughter. "Are you going Saturday?" she asked, shifting her backpack. "Because my mom said I could have you sleep over instead if you want. We'd do face masks and watch movies. So you wouldn't be, you know, bored."
She said it kind. I knew she meant it kind. But the way she said bored made my face get hot. Like I was a problem she had to cover up so I wouldn't sit home thinking about it.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll see."
"You should come," she said quickly. "It would be fun. Don't just wait around in case something changes."
I looked down at my sneakers. "I'm not waiting around."
But that was a lie, because that night I kept checking Mom's phone on the counter when she wasn't looking. No missed call. No text lighting up the screen. Part of me kept doing the math anyway. If Grandma changed her mind Wednesday, there would still be time. If she called Thursday, Mom could still iron something for me to wear. I hated that I was counting like that.
Mom found me in the hallway staring at nothing. She didn't pretend she didn't know.
She sat down on the floor next to me, her back against the wall, even in her work pants. "Hey," she said quietly. "You don't have to decide tonight. But I want you to hear me. You can stay home Saturday if that's what feels safest. Or we can go out, just the three of us. No checking the phone every ten minutes. No sitting by the window. We pick something and we do it."
"What if they think I don't care?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
Dad leaned in the doorway, listening. He didn't jump in. He just waited.
Mom tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Caring about yourself isn't the same as not caring about them," she said.
I went to my room and shut the door halfway. Through my window I could see the sidewalk where the neighbor kids were riding bikes in circles, yelling about who got to be first. Normal sounds. I sat on my bed and held my pillow against my stomach.
I thought about the dining room. The pasta getting cold on my plate. Her voice saying it so flat. They're different. I thought about Jenna's sleepover offer. Face masks would smell good and we'd laugh, but I'd still know why she'd invited me. I'd still feel like the girl who needed a backup plan.
I didn't want a distraction. I wanted a day that was mine on purpose.
I walked back out to the living room. Mom was folding laundry. Dad was flipping through the movie times on his phone.
"I don't want to stay home," I said. My hands were shaking a little so I pressed them into my jeans. "If I stay home I'll just listen for the phone. I don't want to do that."
Mom stopped folding. "Okay."
"Can we do the diner?" I asked. "Just us? Pancakes for dinner sounds dumb but good. And then a movie. Something funny."
Dad smiled for real for the first time that week. "Dumb but good is my specialty," he said.
Mom stood up and grabbed the pen off the coffee table. She walked to our calendar and wrote it in that blank Saturday square in her neat handwriting: Us — diner + movie. 6pm.
May you like
She capped the pen and looked at me. "That's our plan," she said. "Whatever happens at that other house, this still happens."
I stared at those words until they stopped blurring. It wasn't a big party. It wasn't Grandma's table. But it was written down. It wasn't waiting.
