8:07 p.m.—Amber Valetta whispers that if we don’t get a move on, she’s going to be late for a dinner engagement with Hugh Grant.

8:10 p.m.—A hush falls over the guests as my father, looking excessively princely in his tux (in spite of his bald head) strides to the front of the white and gold room. John Tesh stops playing.

8:11 p.m.—My father makes the following announcement:

 

Father: I want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to come here tonight. Unfortunately, the wedding between Helen Thermopolis and Frank Gianini will not take place . . .at least, not this evening. The happy couple have given us the slip, and this morning they flew to Cancun, where I understand they plan to be married by a justice of the peace.

 

     [A shriek is heard from the far side of the baby grand. It does not appear to have come from John Tesh, but rather, Grandmère.]

 

Father: You are of course urged to join us in the Grand Ballroom for dinner. And thank you again for coming.

 

     [Father strides off. Bewildered guests gather their belongings and go in search of cocktails. No sound whatsoever is heard from behind baby grand.]

 

Me: (To no one in particular) Mexico! They must be crazy. If my mother drinks the water, my future brother or sister will be born with flippers for feet!

Amber: Don’t worry, my friend Heather got pregnant in Mexico, and she drank the water, and she just gave birth to twins.

Me: And they had dorsal fins coming out of their backs, didn’t they?

 

8:20 p.m.—John Tesh begins to play. At least until grandmère barks, “Oh, shut up!”

     What the letter from my mother said:

 

By the time you read this, Frank and I will be married. I am sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, but when your grandmother asks you if you knew (and she will ask you), I wanted to be sure you could say truthfully that you didn’t, so there won’t be any ill feeling between the two of you.

 

     [Ill feeling between Grandmère and me? Who does she think she’s kidding? There’s nothing but ill feeling between us!

     Well, as far I’m concerned, anyway.]

 

More than anything, Frank and I wanted you to be there for our wedding. So we have decided that when we get back, we’re going to have another ceremony: This one will be kept strictly secret and very private, with just our little family and our friends!

 

     [Well, that certainly should be interesting. Most of my mom’s friends are militant feminists or performance artists. One of them likes to stand up on a stage and pour chocolate syrup all over her naked body while reciting poetry.

     I wonder how they are going to get along with Mr. G’s friends, who I understand like to watch a lot of sports.]

 

You have been a tower of strength during this crazy time, Mia, and I want you to know how much I—as well as your father, and stepfather—appreciate it. You are the best daughter a mother could have, and this new little guy (or girl) is the luckiest baby in the world to have you as a big sister.

Missing you already—

Mom

 

 

Friday, October 31, 9 p.m.

 

     I am in shock. I really am.

     Not because my mom and my Algebra teacher eloped. That’s kind of romantic, if you ask me.

     No, it’s the fact that my dad—my dad—helped them to do it. He actually defied his mother. In a BIG way.

     In fact, because of all this, I’m starting to think my dad isn’t scared of Grandmère at all! I think he just doesn’t want to be bothered. I think he just feels it’s easier to go along with her than to fight her, because fighting her is so messy and exhausting.

     But not this time. This time, he put his foot down.

     And you can bet he’s going to pay for it, too.

     I may never get over this. I am going to have to readjust everything I ever thought about him. Kind of like when Luke Skywalker finds out his dad is really Darth Vader. Only the opposite.

     Anyway, while Grandmère was plotzing behind the baby grand, I went up to Dad and threw my arms around him and was like, “You did it!”

     He looked at me curiously. “Why do you sound surprised?”

     Oops. I said, totally embarrassed, “Oh, well, because, you know.”

     “No, I don’t know.”

     “Well,” I said. (WHY? WHY do I have such a big mouth?)

     I thought about lying. But I think my dad must have realized what I was thinking, since he said, in this warning voice, “Mia . . .”

     “Oh, okay,” I said, grudgingly, letting him go. “It’s just that sometimes you give the appearance—just the appearance, mind you—of being a little bit scared of Grandmère.”

     My dad reached out and wrapped an arm around my neck. He did this right in front of Liz Smith, who was getting up to follow everyone into the Grand Ballroom. She smiled at us as if she thought it was sweet, though.

     “Mia,” my dad said. “I am not scared of my mother. She really isn’t as bad as you think. She just needs proper handling.”

     This was news to me.

     “Besides,” my dad said, “do you really think I would ever let you down? Or your mother? I will always be there for you two.”

     This was so nice, I actually got tears in my eyes for a minute. But it might have been the smoke from all the cigarettes. There were a lot of French people at this party.

     “Mia, I haven’t done so badly by you, have I?” my dad asked, all of a sudden.

     I was surprised by the question. “No, Dad, of course not. You guys have always been okay parents.”

     My dad nodded. “I see.”

      I could see I hadn’t been complimentary enough, so I added, “No, I mean it. I really couldn’t ask for better . . .” I couldn’t help adding, “I could probably live without the princess thing, though.”

     He looked as if he probably would have reached out and ruffled my hair if it hadn’t been so full of mousse his hand would have stuck to it.

     “Sorry about that,” he said. “But do you really think you’d be happy, Mia, being Nancy Normal Teenager?”

     Um. Yes.

     Except I wouldn’t want my name to be Nancy.

     We might have gone on to have a really profound moment I could have written about in my English journal if Vigo hadn’t come hurrying up just then. He looked frazzled. And why not? His wedding was turning out to be a disaster! First the bride and groom had neglected to show up, and now the hostess, the dowager princess, had locked herself into her hotel suite and would not come out.

     “What do you mean, she won’t come out?” my father demanded.

     “Just what I said, Your Highness.” Vigo looked like he was about to start crying. “I have never seen her so angry! She says she has been betrayed by her own family, and she will never be able to show her face in public again, the shame is so great.”

     My dad looked heavenward. “Let’s go,” he said.

     When we got to the door to the penthouse suite, my dad signaled for Vigo and me to be quiet. Then he knocked on the door.

     “Mother,” he called. “Mother, it’s Phillipe. May I come in?”

     No response. But I could tell she was in there. I could hear Rommel moaning softly.

     “Mother,” my dad said. He tried turning the door handle, and found it locked. This caused him to sigh very deeply.

     Well, you could see why. He had already spent the better part of the day thwarting all of her well-laid plans. That had to have been exhausting. And nowthis?

     “Mother,” he said. “I want you to open this door.”

     Still no response.

     “Mother,” my father said. “You are being ridiculous. I want you to open this door this instant. If you don’t do it, I shall fetch the housekeeper, and have her open it for me. Are you trying to force me to resort to this? Is that it?”

     I knew Grandmère would sooner let us see her without her makeup than ever allow a member of the hotel staff to be privy to one of our family squabbles, so I laid a hand on my dad’s arm and whispered, “Dad, let me try.”

     My father shrugged, and, with a sort of if-you-want-to look, stepped aside.

     I called through the door, “Grandmère? Grandmère, it’s me, Mia.”

     I don’t know what I’d expected. Certainly not for her to open the door. I mean, if she wouldn’t do it for Vigo, whom she seemed to adore, or for her own son, who, if she didn’t adore, was at least her only child, why would she do it for me?

     But I was greeted with only silence from behind that door. Well, except for Rommel’s whining.

     I refused to be daunted, however. I raised my voice and called, “I’m really sorry about my mom and Mr. Gianini, Grandmère. But you have to admit it, I warned you that she didn’t want this wedding. Remember? I told you she wanted something small. You might have realized that by the fact that there isn’t a single person here who was actually invited by my mother. These are allyour friends. Well, except for Mamaw and Papaw. And Mr. G’s parents. But I mean, come on. My mom does not know Imelda Marcos, okay? And Barbara Bush? I’m sure she’s a very nice lady, but not one of my mom’s closest buddies.”

     Still no response.

     “Grandmère,” I called through the door. “Look, I am really surprised at you. I thought you were always teaching me that a princess has to be strong. I thought you said that a princess, no matter what kind of adversity she is facing, has to put on a brave face and not hide behind her wealth and privilege. Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re doing right now? Shouldn’t you be down there right now, pretending this was exactly the way you planned things to go, and raising a glass to the happy couple in absentia?”

     I jumped back as the doorknob to my grandmother’s suite slowly turned. A second later, Grandmère came out, a vision in purple velvet and a diamond tiara.

     She said, with a great deal of dignity, “I had every intention of returning to the party. I merely came up here to freshen my lipstick.”

     My dad and I exchanged glances.

     “Sure, Grandmère,” I said. “Whatever you say.”