Violet and the Pie of Life by D. L. Green

Author:D. L. Green [Green, D. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2021-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

After we ordered our food, Mom asked how the play was going.

“Fine,” I said.

“You seemed upset when I picked you up from rehearsal.”

I put my napkin on my lap and stared at it. “Everything’s fine.”

“I wish you would talk to me more,” Mom said. Her voice sounded sad—yearning, as Mr. Goldstein would say.

Telling Mom I’d been mean to Ally would make her even sadder. I took out my phone.

“Remember our rule,” Mom said. “No phones at dinner.”

“It’s not our rule. It’s your rule. Dad never cared.”

“Put away your phone,” Mom said gruffly.

I did. Then I looked around the restaurant. Two tables over, a couple laughed and chatted away like they were best friends, while their toddler sat in a booster seat with an iPad. I wished they were my parents.

Last Thanksgiving, my little cousin Liam had fallen asleep in his booster seat at the table. When my Aunt Amber started unbuckling him so she could carry him into the guest room, he’d woken up and said, “Where’s my pie?”

Everyone around the table had laughed. Grandma had said, “He’s got that Summers pie-loving gene,” and everyone laughed again. Thanksgiving with Dad’s relatives meant lots of laughing.

That’s what I yearned for now—a family. I’d fractured our middle school theater family, and you could hardly call the forced duo of Mom and me a family. I wanted a real family with Mom and Dad and me, like I used to have.

The server brought our food: Boss of All Biscuits, Slab o’ Ribs, Bacon & Bean Heaven, and Cream de la Cream Coleslaw for me. Plus peach pie for dessert. Mom got a boring salad.

I pushed away the bottle of Bonzo’s World-Famous, Top-Secret Sauce, grabbed the bottle of ketchup, and slathered it on my ribs and beans. “You know, Mom,” I said. “If you had gone here with Dad instead of complaining about this place, or—”

“Or!” Mom cut me off in a voice as sharp and steely as my steak knife. “Maybe if your dad had—” Then she cut herself off. She let out a big breath and said, “Just stop, Violet.” The breath hadn’t been big enough to let out the anger in her voice.

“No, no, no!” the boy in the booster seat shouted as his mother tried to take the iPad from him.

The dad grabbed the iPad, unbuckled the booster seat, picked up the little boy, and held him tight until he quieted down. The dad said, “I never get any peace.”

“Baloney!” the mom said. “You hide out in your office all day.”

“Mom,” I said as I cut my ribs, gripping the knife like the boy had gripped the iPad. “You just told me you wished I’d talk to you. I did, and now you’re all upset.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to write down your feelings.” Mom’s voice had returned to pity mode. “Would you like to email me?”

“What? That’s totally dumb.” It came out: “Wuh? Thaz towy duh,” because my mouth was full.

“Fine!” Mom was no longer in pitying mode. She seemed mad.

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