Flipped

Mom and Juli’s mom do talk some. I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs. Baker—she says she married a dreamer, and because of that, one of the two of them will always be unhappy.

“A painting is more than the sum of its parts,” he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you’ve got magic.

Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree. An entire conversation, just me and a tree. And on the climb down I felt like crying. Why didn’t I have someone real to talk to? Why didn’t I have a best friend like everyone else seemed to?

And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the distance, her cheeks flushed with wind. With joy. With magic.

I felt sorry for my father. I felt sorry for my mother. But most of all I felt lucky for me that they were mine.

“Well, I think you know my heart’s been in the right place, but if you line it up objectively, a man like, say, Mr. Loski adds up to a much better husband and father than a man like me does. He’s around more, he provides more, and he’s probably a lot more fun.”

Standing next to Mr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. And compared to the cut of Mr. Baker’s jaw, my dad’s face looked kind of weaselly.

Mom and Juli’s mom do talk some. I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs. Baker—she says she married a dreamer, and because of that, one of the two of them will always be unhappy.

“A painting is more than the sum of its parts,” he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you’ve got magic.

Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree. An entire conversation, just me and a tree. And on the climb down I felt like crying. Why didn’t I have someone real to talk to? Why didn’t I have a best friend like everyone else seemed to?

And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the distance, her cheeks flushed with wind. With joy. With magic.

I felt sorry for my father. I felt sorry for my mother. But most of all I felt lucky for me that they were mine.

“Well, I think you know my heart’s been in the right place, but if you line it up objectively, a man like, say, Mr. Loski adds up to a much better husband and father than a man like me does. He’s around more, he provides more, and he’s probably a lot more fun.”

Standing next to Mr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. And compared to the cut of Mr. Baker’s jaw, my dad’s face looked kind of weaselly.