The Stepmom Shake-Up Read online

  “Maybe you should just tell him….”

  “Tell Pastor Davy?”

  “Yes.”

  “He should know.”

  A chill went up my spine. The voices were talking about my dad, and they seemed worried. And worried grown-up voices make my palms slick with sweat.

  “Fine. Let’s meet after service.”

  Footsteps clomped down the hall and disappeared up a stairway. I stayed frozen to the spot, wondering what in the world the pastor needed to know.

  When you’re the preacher’s kid, you’re always the last person on the planet to get to leave the church after a service. My dad has to shake hands with every single member. He even takes a minute to pray with some people. I usually hang out in the back of the sanctuary, in the very last pew, bouncing my knees and wiggling my toes inside my too-tight shoes until he’s finally done.

  “Hey, Grace,” a warm, familiar voice said over my shoulder.

  I looked up from the notebook I was doodling in and smiled at Miss O’Connor, my history teacher.

  “I like your picture. Is that James Madison?” she asked. Only Miss O’Connor would be able to pick our fourth president out of a lineup.

  “Yeah. I’ve been working on drawings of the six presidents named James.”

  Miss O’Connor screwed up her face and squinted at the ceiling. “Madison, Monroe, Polk, Buchanan, Garfield, and Carter.”

  “That’s correct. A-plus for you.” I laughed as she plopped down next to me in the pew. Unlike most people who attend the First Baptist Church, Miss O’Connor doesn’t do much to dress up for the Lord’s Day. Her dark curls were crammed into a messy bun, and she wore jeans and a sparkly purple sweater.

  “Your dad still telling the patrons to scram?”

  “Ha ha.”

  “I liked his sermon today. It reminded me of that episode of Jungle Survivor when Donald gave his last ration of rice to Gabe, even though they weren’t on the same team.”

  Everything reminded Miss O’Connor of an episode of Jungle Survivor. She obsessed about the show and had sent in audition videos approximately a million times. I know because I’d spent many a Sunday afternoon helping with the camerawork.

  “He watched that episode when he practiced for today, so you may be onto something.”

  Miss O’Connor patted my knee and stood up again. “I’m off to wipe the boogers off the children’s Bibles. See you in class tomorrow.”

  I smiled and nodded until I remembered Miss O’Connor had assigned an essay on the Pilgrims that I still hadn’t started. Sunday nights are a sad ending to the weekend. They’re all homework, and go to bed early, and blah, blah, blah.

  My dad came in through the heavy double doors and said hi to Miss O’Connor as they passed each other. “There’s the other half of Team Gravy!” He breezed past me to retrieve his notes from the pulpit. “One of the committees wanted to call a short meeting this afternoon.” He tapped his papers into an orderly pile before placing them inside his leather binder.

  The voices in the hallway.

  My heart did a weird double bump in my chest.

  “Which committee?” I asked, trying to make my voice sound normal.

  He squinted up at the ceiling for a second before he said, “Uh, Building and Grounds, I think. Maybe they’ve found someone to fix the second-floor bathroom….”

  The Building and Grounds Committee mostly tries to keep up with the maintenance of our super-old church building. They’re always attempting to get Dad to sign off on projects that the church doesn’t really have the money for, like new carpet in the sanctuary and stuff like that. Could that be what the two voices in the hallway had been worried about?

  Dad whistled as he bustled around the sanctuary. He’d settled on wearing his favorite blue tie, the one I’d given him last Father’s Day, and a charcoal-gray suit. He’d changed his shiny black shoes already, switched out for his blue sneakers.

  “So this meeting, did they tell you what it was about?” My stomach roared, demanding a trip to the pizza place for the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.

  Dad shook his head. “Would you mind straightening up in here while you wait?” He hopped down the three red-carpeted steps to the first pew just as the double doors opened and the Building and Grounds Committee marched in on cue.

  There were only two of them. Miss Marge was a white-haired granny with round glasses, exactly like Mrs. Claus. The other lady, Miss Donna, was tall and wore her dark hair in a low bun. She reminded me of Popeye’s girlfriend, Olive Oyl. Their shoes clumped down the center aisle past me, and I busied myself tucking hymnals back into place and picking up trash from the floor.

  “Pastor Davy, thank you for coming to this meeting,” Miss Marge said. I couldn’t help but think we’d hardly had a choice about coming to the meeting.

  Miss Donna piped up. “Great sermon today, Davy.”

  Usually, I think of these two like my own grandmothers. They’re always patting my head and squeezing my cheeks, but they mean well. Like everyone else at the First Baptist Church, I’ve known them my whole life. But the worry in their hushed voices earlier still sent a shiver of nervousness up my spine. Whatever they wanted to talk to Dad about had not sounded good.

  “Please, sit.” Dad gestured to the pews. It was an awkward seating arrangement, as Dad had to be twisted around to see them. I kept picking up hymnals and hoped they’d ignore me and get to the point.

  “Pastor Davy, we just wanted to tell you that the church did manage to raise the funds to repaint the preschool classrooms. We should have that done by the end of the week.”

  I let out a breath. That wasn’t so bad. New paint was good, right? So why all the whispering?

  “Great. Thanks so much, ladies, for organizing all that,” Dad said, but his face looked quizzical.

  “There’s been some talk around here, Davy—” Miss Marge started.

  “Everyone just wants what’s best for you, of course,” Miss Donna interrupted.

  “It’s just that…well, the Bible says, It is not good for man to be alone.” Miss Marge’s voice bounced around the vaulted ceiling of the sanctuary.

  My dad laughed. “What do you mean, alone? I’ve got Grace. I’m never alone!”

  “What we mean is,” Miss Marge said kindly, “maybe it’s time you meet a nice young lady. And take her to the movies! Or a spaghetti dinner. My Carl always took me out for spaghetti.”

  “And when you find the one,” Miss Donna added in a low voice, like she was letting Dad in on a big secret, “you gotta put a ring on it.”

  I dropped the hymnal I had gripped in my hands. When everyone swiveled to look at me, I bent to pick it up from the floor and stayed hidden between the pews.

  Put a ring on it? Were they suggesting that my dad get married? They couldn’t be serious! Why would my dad want to do that? We were perfectly happy just the way we were. I peeked over the edge of the pew to watch Dad tell them off.

  “That’s not as easy as it sounds,” Dad said, a crooked smile on his face. Not exactly the outraged argument I’d expected, but at least he wasn’t agreeing. His eyes searched the back pews until they landed on me, and all the color drained from his face.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Is that all of the official Building and Grounds Committee business? The paint, I mean.”

  The ladies looked sheepish. Miss Donna especially. She had bright pink dots high on her cheekbones. But she held her head high. “I’m going to be real honest, Pastor. That last part, about you finding a lady…that wasn’t committee business at all. Just two old broads who like to meddle in other people’s private lives.”

  Miss Marge elbowed Miss Donna in the ribs, but then turned her angelic face to my dad. “You shouldn’t hide away from the world, Pastor. You deserve love. You and Grace both. Maybe it’s time to give it a chance?�
�

  I stuffed the hymnal into the holder and sidestepped out of the pew, catching my dad’s eye as I stomped through the double doors of the sanctuary. He followed me to his truck and got in the driver’s side.

  “You can’t even be thinking about this!” I said, slamming the passenger door shut and crossing my arms over my chest. “There’s nobody in this town good enough to be your girlfriend! You don’t even want a girlfriend!”

  Dad gripped the steering wheel, and a look passed over his face that I didn’t understand. “If you want to be an expert on what I want, you’ll just have to get in line.”

  I think my mouth actually flew open, but no words came out.

  Of course I knew what my dad wanted.

  I knew him better than anyone.

  He didn’t want a girlfriend, and he’d already had a wife.

  And we don’t let people boss us around.

  His voice softened then, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Miss Donna and Miss Marge seem to think it’s time for me to start considering…I don’t know, getting out there. Trying again. Meeting new people.”

  I was stunned. I was a cow that had wandered too close to the electric fence. I was a deer in the headlights. I was a mouse snapped in a spring-loaded trap, gripping my cheese.

  Dad laughed at the shocked look on my face. “I thought Miss Donna made some pretty compelling points.”

  I felt the heat creep up my neck. “Like what?”

  Dad shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  He let out a breath. “Having someone to take out for a nice spaghetti dinner! Being a pastor and a single dad, I get lonely sometimes. To tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

  My dad was not lonely. “You can’t be lonely! You have me. We’re always together.”

  He turned toward me and squeezed my shoulder. “You are the very best thing in my whole life. And I love you with every single fiber of my being. But it is not the same as being…in love.”

  I swallowed hard and turned my face to the window.

  This couldn’t be the truth.

  My dad was happy.

  We were happy.

  Dad pulled the truck into the parking lot of Ziggy’s Italian Pizzeria, and we sat in the warm cab.

  “So, you’re going to go on dates and, like, get married?”

  “Well, yes to dates. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves about marriage.”

  The smell of delicious pizza hung heavy in the air. There was already a long line for the lunch buffet, but my body and brain seemed frozen.

  “Listen, you don’t need to worry about this, Grace. The church ladies have just given me a little kick in the pants to get out there and date. So…can I get out there and date?”

  The thought of him going on dates, trying to find someone as awesome as Mom…it made my stomach churn. But my dad’s blue eyes looked so dang hopeful, I couldn’t help but nod.

  He rubbed his belly. “I’m starving. Let’s get our money’s worth out of this buffet.”

  I cracked a weak smile.

  Dad pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Hey, how do you fix a broken pizza?” He didn’t even wait for me to answer. “With tomato paste.” He winked and patted my knee.

  My heart squeezed in my chest as we crossed the parking lot and pushed through Ziggy’s double doors. The restaurant was stuffed with people from church, all trying to squish into the tiny booths. It looked like every spot was taken, but then Miss O’Connor waved us over to her table.

  “Hey, guys. Saved you a seat.”

  “How’d you know we were coming?” Dad asked.

  “Lucky guess,” she said, smiling. She pushed her thick glasses up on her nose.

  Dad and Miss O’Connor chatted about the sermon and its various ties to the jungle reality show. I was only partially listening. When Dad got up to get a second plate of pizza, Miss O’Connor studied my face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “It’s nothing. Not a big deal. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

  “Hmm. Sounds serious.”

  “It’s just…” I tried to think of how I could explain myself without telling her that my dad planned to ditch me for a stream of bachelorettes. “It’s complicated.”

  She nodded until a pencil fell out of the messy bun on the top of her head. “Complicated. Yes. I get that.”

  “And…stuff is changing, and I don’t like it.”

  “Change is hard.” She took a bite of pizza and let a trail of cheese plop down her chin. “But sometimes it’s good.”

  “Not this time.”

  She looked at me thoughtfully for a minute. “Well, you know what you can do? If all seems lost?”

  I pictured the Delaware River on Christmas night in 1776. I was General George Washington, launching a surprise attack on the British.

  “Gut ’em with your bayonet?”

  Miss O’Connor smiled and widened her eyes behind her glasses. “I was going to say ‘fight back,’ but that’s the general sentiment.”

  I nodded and, suddenly famished, shoved a too-hot bite of pizza into my mouth. Fight back. I could do that. I was smart and full of creative ideas for destruction. I knew what Dad needed, what Team Gravy needed. And it didn’t involve stepmoms. Dad was about to experience the force of my full-scale resistance, and he had no idea it was coming.

  “What are these things called?” I asked, holding up a weird purple squash thing from the pile in the grocery store.

  “That, my friend, is an eggplant. Nature’s tasteless but colorful cousin of the potato.”

  “How do you eat it?”

  Dad took the purple eggplant out of my hands and put it back on the pile. “You don’t.”

  “You know, as my parental figure, you’re actually supposed to encourage me to eat a variety of vegetables.”

  Dad turned to look at me, smirking. “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, in that case, grab one of those bad boys, and we’ll add it to our tacos.”

  I stood there, considering the offer for a second, my hand hovering above the shiny, smooth skin of the vegetables. But in the end, I remembered way too many of Dad’s failed cooking attempts and decided it was best to play it safe. Nobody should mess with tacos.

  “What else do we need?” Dad asked, scanning the supermarket’s freshest offerings.

  “Well, we’re out of pretty much everything.”

  “So we just need to go around and get one of everything?”

  I shrugged.

  Dad spotted the little shopping baskets at the end of the aisle and jogged over to pluck two from the stack.

  “You’re in charge of this half,” he said, indicating the right side of the produce section, “and I’ll get the other.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “On your mark, get set, go!” Dad called over his shoulder, already heading for the piles of apples on his side. “Remember, just one of everything! I want you to eat the rainbow!”

  I laughed and started tossing stuff into my basket. One onion. One potato. One package of mushrooms that I scrunched my nose at. It wasn’t looking much like a rainbow so far.

  Dad flew around the store, grabbing things so quickly he looked like a demented octopus. “I’m winning! I’m gonna wipe the floor with you!”

  A lady with a kerchief tied over her curlers gave Dad a dirty look. He slowed down by a fraction.

  “Hey, Grace. We’ll need to make sure we knock before we open the fridge now. Know why?”

  “Why?” I asked, flinging an orange into my basket.

  “There could be a salad dressing!”

  I chuckled. Sometimes his j
okes are not far from funny. My basket weighed a million pounds, but I only had one more side of the display to nab. I bounced on my heels and threw things in willy-nilly. “Almost done!” I had no idea how we were going to fix all this stuff. And what do you do with one potato? I guessed we could split it….

  “Done!” Dad yelled, breezing past the curlers lady, who glared at him even more.

  “I was done first!” I called, swinging my heavy load in front of his face.

  “Let’s call it a tie,” he conceded.

  “Or maybe we both lose, because this is a whole lot of vegetables we now have to figure out how to eat.”

  “Think of all the muscles we’re going to get. You’ll probably be able to bench-press a car after eating all these leafy greens.”

  “And you won’t be able to leave the bathroom for days.” I grinned at him as his face got a smidge redder. “Come on,” I said, “let’s venture to the cereal aisle. We’re going to need some backup nutrition when we burn through all this.”

  But Dad didn’t move. His eyes kept darting right over my head at something that made his cheeks go pink and one corner of his mouth pull into a twitchy smile.

  I turned, expecting to see a display of Dr Peppers shaped like Noah’s ark (because what would be cooler than that?), but instead I saw a pretty dark-haired lady wearing sparkly diamond earrings like we were at a ball, not a grocery store.

  I spun back to Dad, who was suddenly very interested in the contents of his basket.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you know that lady?”

  Dad shook his head and risked another glance at the woman. “No, I don’t really know her.”

  “But you can’t stop staring at her.” The woman was inspecting cartons of strawberries.

  “I’m not staring. I’ve talked to her a few times at church. I think her name is Rachel.”

  “Well, I don’t know Rachel either, so can we please, please check out the cereal aisle?”

  Dad raised his chin and hastily tucked his ABE LINCOLN IS MY HOMEBOY T-shirt into his jeans. “Uh, you go. I’m going to just talk to her for a sec. How’s my hair?”