The Manny Files book1 (6 page)

Strangers began walking out of the little door that delivered them off of the plane.

Grandmothers. Men in suits. Crying babies.

They all looked like they had been left in the dryer too long, with tired faces and wrinkled clothes.

I thought to myself.
Why don’t any of these businessmen have no-iron shirts? They’re so convenient.

The man and woman standing next to us greeted their son wearing alien antennae on their heads. They held up a sign that said
WELCOME BACK TO EARTH, SON.
They told us that he had been in Los Angeles going to college.

I wish I had alien antennae on my head.

I heard Lulu squeal and saw her run into Dad’s arms. He looked really tan. Belly ran to Mom, while India and I jumped up and down, holding our signs. The manny jumped with us.

People stared at him.

I waited until it was my turn to be hugged, which was usually after Belly.

I hugged Mom, who always smells like tea and sandalwood. I love that smell. I can always tell if she’s been in a room, because the room smells like her.

I let go of Mom and shoved my way past Lulu, who was already telling Dad about the things the manny had done.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said, with watery eyes and a sound in his voice like he needed to blow his nose. He hugged me and said, “Nice tie.”

I thought,
If he likes the tie, just wait until he sees the feng shui coffee table.

I’ve always wanted to make breakfast in bed for Mom on Mother’s Day. Actually, I’ve always wanted to be served breakfast in bed on my birthday, but serving it to Mom would be almost as fun.

Lulu made a vase for Mom at pottery class. Lulu just started taking pottery class this week because she had Thursdays free. Her schedule after school is way busier than mine:

My after-school schedule looks like this:

India made certificates for Mom to use like money. They say “Redeemable only at Bank of India.” Mom can give India a certificate anytime she wants, and India will do whatever the certificate says. Do the dishes. Give her a hug. Rotate the tires on the Eurovan.

I told India that she should make one that says “Drop Belly off at the orphanage.”

She laughed, but she didn’t make one.

Belly made something for Mom at the Tomato Plant Preschool. Her teacher, Miss Kim, had all of the children pour pink plaster of paris in a pie tin and then press their tiny handprint into it. Belly’s handprint will complete Mom’s set. We all made them when we were at the Tomato Plant Preschool. Lulu’s has her name written on the back of hers in cursive. Lulu could write her name in cursive in preschool. Her hand was as big as mine is now. She gets mad when I show her that my hand fits perfectly in it.

India colored a rainbow in the middle of her handprint with markers. She also sprinkled glitter all over it so that it would sparkle.

Mine is just a plain handprint in pink plaster.

Lulu always points to it and says, “Look how little and cute his hand was.”

I think she’s just trying to get even with me because she has the same size hands as the Statue of Liberty.

Ms. Grant had our class plant seeds in Dixie cups to give to our mothers. I raised my hand and asked if I could plant mine in a fancy mint julep cup to make it more elegant.

Ms. Grant wouldn’t let me.

We planted our seeds three weeks before Mother’s Day so that they would be perfect little plants by the time we took them home. We watered them every day and measured their growth with a ruler. I tried to keep it a secret from Mom, but I couldn’t hold it in. It was too exciting. I told her all about it and how I had even sneaked Miracle-Gro to school so that my seedling would grow to be the tallest one in class and maybe even in our school’s history.

By the end of the first week Sarah’s had sprouted and had three green leaves on its stem. Craig’s cup had a little green seedling getting ready to explode through the dirt. He laughed at my Dixie cup. My seedling hadn’t grown at all.

When Mom asked how my plant was growing, I lied and said, “It’s so beautiful that Ms. Grant
wants to keep it, but I won’t let her because it’s for you.”

By the end of the second week Sarah’s had a little bud that would soon be a flower. Craig’s was three inches tall and had leaves. Mine was still just a cup of dirt. There was an ant crawling in it.

I said to Ms. Grant, “I’m not going to give my mom a Dixie cup full of dirt and ants for Mother’s Day.”

She said, “I don’t understand what’s happened. When Lulu was in my class, her plant ended up growing to be eight inches tall.”

I thought to myself,
I’m surprised Lulu’s big Amazon hands didn’t squash the little seed.

“I’m sure it will grow,” said Ms. Grant. “Just be patient.”

I went back to my desk and started being patient. I let the ant crawl all over my hand.

At home that afternoon Mom was watching the Weather Channel and ironing some of my shirts. She asked again how well the plant was growing.

But I changed the subject. I glanced at the Weather Channel and said, “Oh, good, rain in California. This should be an excellent year to buy California chardonnays.” I had heard Uncle Max say this to Grandma once when the news showed mudslides in California. Grandma told
him not to think about his palate when others were suffering.

Mom just looked at me and then went back to ironing.

When it was time to take our plants home for our mothers, I showed Ms. Grant that mine was just like me and hadn’t grown an inch.

“That’s so weird,” was all she said. She didn’t seem to care that all I had to give my mother for Mother’s Day was a cup of dirt.

On the bus ride home India told me to tell Mom that she could use it as a mud mask to clean her face. I imagined Mom running and screaming through the house with mud and ants all over her face. I threw my stunted seedling in the trash can on my way off the bus.

“Bye, darlin’.”

I just waved at the bus driver without looking at her.

I ran quickly through the kitchen so that Mom wouldn’t notice that I didn’t have a plant with me. She knew that today was the day we were bringing them home. She didn’t even see me.

The manny was in the hallway putting the freshly washed towels in the closet. He knew something was wrong, so he wrapped a towel around me. It was just out of the dryer, so it was really warm.

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” the manny asked.

I started telling him the story without breaking up the sentences or stopping for a breath. “We were growing plants at school for our mothers, and mine didn’t grow at all, and Ms. Grant didn’t seem to care, she just told me to be patient, and I was, but it still didn’t grow, and there was an ant in mine that I named Ferdinant, but he died, and now I don’t have anything to give Mom for Mother’s Day!”

“Whoa,” the manny said. “You better take a breath before you lose consciousness.”

I took a deep breath in and then let it out. “But what will I give her?”

“Give her something that you put a lot of thought into. What does your mother like to do on Mother’s Day?”

“She likes to relax and sleep in,” I said.

“How about sleeping pills?” said the manny.

I laughed and then thought about what Mom would like. “How about serving her breakfast in bed?” I looked at the manny.

“Brilliant!” he screamed, like I’d just discovered electricity. “You’ll need the perfect serving tray,” he said.

That’s the thing about the manny. He really gets it.

We told Mom that we had “business to take
care of” and hopped right into the Eurovan. The manny said that this would be good practice for next year, when he was going to be Sarah Jessica Parker’s personal shopper. I don’t know who Sarah Jessica Parker is, but I guess she needs help carrying her shopping bags.

We drove to a store that was full of stationery, martini shakers, and books about throwing parties. There was one called
Be My Guest
that had beautiful table settings and overdressed people laughing as though the photographer had just said, “Pretend that somebody said something funny.”

I want to go to a party like that.

The manny flipped through the book while I carefully tested each breakfast-in-bed tray. I tested for the perfect weight, beauty, and shine. The man at the shop was a friend of the manny’s, so he showed me all the good deals. I chose a black lacquered tray with gold trim. It wasn’t too heavy to carry, and it would hold a breakfast plate, a juice glass, and the morning paper.

“Excellent choice,” said the manny’s friend. “Donatella Versace was just in here and bought the same one for her mother.”

I saw a picture of Donatella Versace in one of Mom’s
Vogue
magazines. She pushes out her lips
like she’s getting ready to kiss somebody. I pushed my lips out the rest of the time I was in the shop.

The manny’s friend wrapped the tray in beautiful silver wrapping paper and put a dark purple velvet ribbon around it. The manny said that it looked pretty enough to give to the queen of England.

I pulled my allowance money and some old candy wrappers out of my pocket to pay. The candy wrappers dropped on the floor, and I started to bend down to pick them up.

“Don’t you dare,” said the manny’s friend. “Do you think that Donatella Versace picked up the candy wrappers that fell out of her pockets? It’s my job to pick up after the important people who come into my shop.”

I laughed, but when he wasn’t looking, I picked up the candy wrappers and put them back in my pocket.

The manny bought something too, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said it was a surprise.

As we walked out of the store, I looked up at the manny. He had his lips pushed out too.

When we got home, Mom was putting away the ironing board. I sneaked around the back of
the house and up into my room so that she wouldn’t see. I hid Mom’s present underneath my bed. I was hiding it from Mom and from Belly. Whenever Belly finds a wrapped present, she opens it. Last Christmas we left her alone in the living room for ten minutes one night, and she opened every single present under the Christmas tree. She came into the kitchen wearing a diamond bracelet that Dad had gotten for Mom.

After dinner that night the manny handed me a brown leather book wrapped in a white satin ribbon. I had picked it up and looked at it at the manny’s friend’s shop.

“It’s a journal,” said the manny. “You’re supposed to write all your secret thoughts inside of it. It’s sort of like Lulu’s ‘The Manny Files,’ except nicer.”

Lulu looked mortified and said, “I’ll use it as evidence someday.”

I thanked the manny for my journal and went to my room. The journal smelled like Dad’s leather coat and felt expensive when I rubbed it against my cheek. The pages were blank and completely clean. They weren’t white. They were that cream color that fancy stationery is made of.

On the first page I wrote:

I turned the page and began my first entry into my journal.

On Mother’s Day, I woke up before Mom did and went downstairs to make her the surprise breakfast in bed. I’m not allowed to use the stove, so I served her a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, a side of string cheese, untoasted bread, and a glass of orange juice. I put a bright yellow daffodil in a little vase on the tray. Mom says daffodils are divine. I say the word
divine
when we eat out at fancy restaurants.

“How is your Roy Rogers?”

“Divine.”

“How is your Shirley Temple?”

“Divine.”

Mom sat with the tray on her lap and crunched on her cereal.

She loved her new tray. I could tell by the way she kept polishing it with her napkin. She opened her presents from Lulu, India, and Belly and stacked them on her new tray.

We all sprawled across Mom and Dad’s bed
while they read the Sunday edition of the
New York Times.
Mom rubbed my back while she read the Arts and Leisure section.

I closed my eyes and wondered if Mom remembered that she was supposed to get a plant from me for Mother’s Day.

Almost like I had thought it out loud, Mom said, “Those plants always die by Memorial Day anyway.”

I guess moms do know everything.

When Mom was little, Uncle Max would tease her until she cried. He used to hide in the big heater vent and sinisterly bellow, “I’m coming for you,” whenever she walked through the living room. She’d scream and cry and then go tell on him. Grandma would scream back, “You’re both driving me insane.” Uncle Max says that it was her favorite thing to say. I heard her say it once to him when she asked him what he wanted for Christmas and he told her, “Tattoos all the way up my arms.”