gone, and you'll be like an only child. You'll get to choose all the wallpapers and Christmas trees from now on."
Meredith began to smile a little. "Yeah, I know," she acknowledged.
"Anastasia," Kirsten said, turning toward her in the booth, "you're the only one who hasn't been complaining or arguing or whining. Tell the truth, now. How do you feel about the dresses?"
Slowly Anastasia licked the milkshake mustache from her upper lip. She grinned.
"I adore them," she said fervently.
***
At home that evening, alone in her room, Anastasia tried on the pale blue flower-sprigged dress and the matching blue shoes.
She looked at herself in the wall mirror. The low round neck of the dress curved over her shoulders, and when she held back her thick hair she could see that the line of her neck was slender and graceful.
"What do you think, Frank?" Anastasia asked her goldfish. "Do you think I'll ever be beautiful? Do you think that maybe, with this dress, I'm
starting
to be beautiful?"
Frank Goldfish twirled in his bowl. A few bubbles moved slowly to the surface.
"I know, Frank, your standards are probably a little different," Anastasia said, watching him. "You'd probably prefer wet-look orange, wouldn't you?"
Peering intently into the bowl, Anastasia thought she could see Frank's lips form the word "Yup."
What do
fish
know, Anastasia thought. She turned away from the goldfish bowl, opened the door of her room, and headed downstairs to show her parents.
"Ready for the grand entrance?" she called as she neared the bottom of the stairs. Her mother and father were in the study watching
This Old House
on TV. Sam was playing on the floor with his Legos.
"I forgot to tell you when you got home, Anastasia," her mother called back. "You got a..."
Her voice trailed away as Anastasia entered the study with a dramatic swirl of her long skirt.
"
Wow,
" her mother said.
Sam looked up with wide eyes and popped his thumb into his mouth.
"Shaza——" her father began, but then he remembered that Anastasia absolutely hated it when he said "Shazam."
"Sorry," Dr. Krupnik said. He searched for a different word. He was a university professor of literature and a published author, after all, so he was an expert on language and could always find just the right, the most appropriate, the absolutely most sophisticated word for any occasion.
"
Stupendo!
" he said at last.
Anastasia turned slowly so that they could admire the back of the dress with its bouffant sash. She lifted the hem so that they could admire her low-heeled pale blue shoes, each with its single pearl-buttoned strap.
"What did you forget to tell me, Mom?" she asked, smoothing her skirt.
"Oh." Anastasia's mother reached over to her husband's desk, picked up an envelope, and handed it to Anastasia. "Here you go, Swifty. You got a letter from your pen pal."
DEAR FRIEND:
I AM VERY SORRY TO RESPOND TO YOUR LETTER WITH THIS COMPUTER-WRITTEN FORM LETTER THAT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING FROM PUBLISHERS CLEARING HOUSE.
I ENJOYED READING ALL OF YOUR LETTERS, EVEN THOSE OF THE PERSON WHO HAS SO FAR WRITTEN TO ME THREE TIMES.
BUT THE PROBLEM IS THAT I HAVE RECEIVED, SO FAR, 416 LETTERS AS A RESULT OF THE AD I PUT IN THE
NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS.
I CAN'T ANSWER THEM ALL INDIVIDUALLY SO I HAVE TO NARROW IT DOWN IN SOME WAY.
I HAVE TO ASK YOU EACH TO SEND ME A PHOTOGRAPH, IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND.
IF IT WOULD BE HELPFUL TO YOU, I WILL MENTION THAT I AM
NOT
INTERESTED IN PURSUING A RELATIONSHIP WITH THE WOMAN WHO RAISES SIAMESE CATS—I AM ALLERGIC TO CATS.
AND TO THE WOMAN WHO LIVES IN SITKA, ALASKA—YOU SOUND LIKE A REALLY TERRIFIC LADY, BUT FRANKLY THE DISTANCE IS TOO GREAT FOR ME.
I AM
VERY
INTERESTED IN THE PERSON WHO HAS HER OWN SLOOP.
BUT PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGRAPH. THEN WE CAN NARROW THINGS DOWN.
SINCERELY,
SEPTIMUS SMITH
5
Dear
friend.
Alone in her bedroom, Anastasia made a face when she read the beginning of the letter a second time. "Friend" was awfully impersonal. "Dear" made
Meredith began to smile a little. "Yeah, I know," she acknowledged.
"Anastasia," Kirsten said, turning toward her in the booth, "you're the only one who hasn't been complaining or arguing or whining. Tell the truth, now. How do you feel about the dresses?"
Slowly Anastasia licked the milkshake mustache from her upper lip. She grinned.
"I adore them," she said fervently.
***
At home that evening, alone in her room, Anastasia tried on the pale blue flower-sprigged dress and the matching blue shoes.
She looked at herself in the wall mirror. The low round neck of the dress curved over her shoulders, and when she held back her thick hair she could see that the line of her neck was slender and graceful.
"What do you think, Frank?" Anastasia asked her goldfish. "Do you think I'll ever be beautiful? Do you think that maybe, with this dress, I'm
starting
to be beautiful?"
Frank Goldfish twirled in his bowl. A few bubbles moved slowly to the surface.
"I know, Frank, your standards are probably a little different," Anastasia said, watching him. "You'd probably prefer wet-look orange, wouldn't you?"
Peering intently into the bowl, Anastasia thought she could see Frank's lips form the word "Yup."
What do
fish
know, Anastasia thought. She turned away from the goldfish bowl, opened the door of her room, and headed downstairs to show her parents.
"Ready for the grand entrance?" she called as she neared the bottom of the stairs. Her mother and father were in the study watching
This Old House
on TV. Sam was playing on the floor with his Legos.
"I forgot to tell you when you got home, Anastasia," her mother called back. "You got a..."
Her voice trailed away as Anastasia entered the study with a dramatic swirl of her long skirt.
"
Wow,
" her mother said.
Sam looked up with wide eyes and popped his thumb into his mouth.
"Shaza——" her father began, but then he remembered that Anastasia absolutely hated it when he said "Shazam."
"Sorry," Dr. Krupnik said. He searched for a different word. He was a university professor of literature and a published author, after all, so he was an expert on language and could always find just the right, the most appropriate, the absolutely most sophisticated word for any occasion.
"
Stupendo!
" he said at last.
Anastasia turned slowly so that they could admire the back of the dress with its bouffant sash. She lifted the hem so that they could admire her low-heeled pale blue shoes, each with its single pearl-buttoned strap.
"What did you forget to tell me, Mom?" she asked, smoothing her skirt.
"Oh." Anastasia's mother reached over to her husband's desk, picked up an envelope, and handed it to Anastasia. "Here you go, Swifty. You got a letter from your pen pal."
DEAR FRIEND:
I AM VERY SORRY TO RESPOND TO YOUR LETTER WITH THIS COMPUTER-WRITTEN FORM LETTER THAT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING FROM PUBLISHERS CLEARING HOUSE.
I ENJOYED READING ALL OF YOUR LETTERS, EVEN THOSE OF THE PERSON WHO HAS SO FAR WRITTEN TO ME THREE TIMES.
BUT THE PROBLEM IS THAT I HAVE RECEIVED, SO FAR, 416 LETTERS AS A RESULT OF THE AD I PUT IN THE
NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS.
I CAN'T ANSWER THEM ALL INDIVIDUALLY SO I HAVE TO NARROW IT DOWN IN SOME WAY.
I HAVE TO ASK YOU EACH TO SEND ME A PHOTOGRAPH, IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND.
IF IT WOULD BE HELPFUL TO YOU, I WILL MENTION THAT I AM
NOT
INTERESTED IN PURSUING A RELATIONSHIP WITH THE WOMAN WHO RAISES SIAMESE CATS—I AM ALLERGIC TO CATS.
AND TO THE WOMAN WHO LIVES IN SITKA, ALASKA—YOU SOUND LIKE A REALLY TERRIFIC LADY, BUT FRANKLY THE DISTANCE IS TOO GREAT FOR ME.
I AM
VERY
INTERESTED IN THE PERSON WHO HAS HER OWN SLOOP.
BUT PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGRAPH. THEN WE CAN NARROW THINGS DOWN.
SINCERELY,
SEPTIMUS SMITH
5
Dear
friend.
Alone in her bedroom, Anastasia made a face when she read the beginning of the letter a second time. "Friend" was awfully impersonal. "Dear" made
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