Two days later is the day before New Year’s, and it’s been arranged that my father will pick me up in the morning and we’ll spend the day together. The doorbell rings around eleven, and Fred, old symphony orchestra that he is, howls a greeting to my father. My mother works the buzzer to let him in, and as he comes up the stairway Fred is crazier than ever. For the first time, Mother doesn’t go berserk. I can see from the smile on her face that she’s glad Fred is giving hell to my father. I don’t anticipate that this will be a very cheery meeting, so I get out my overcoat, ready to put it on in half a second.
“Happy New Year, David,” Mother says to my father after she has let him in.
Father tells her the same thing and then gives me a sort of kiss, not really a kiss, but he puts his arms around me and puts his face next to mine. I guess I’m awkward and don’t know what to do.
“Hi,” I say.
He says hi too and tells me Happy New Year as well. Fred is screaming at his heels, so he bends down in a second and Fred licks his hand.
“Hi, Fred,” my father says. I’m pleased that he calls Fred by his name and my face shows it. My father says, “Fred and I are old friends, aren’t we, Fred? You remember, Davy, I met Fred at your grandmother’s.”
“Oh, sure,” I say. I remember that was one of the times I left Fred alone with Grandmother for a week, when my father took me on a trip. Grandmother told me that Fred wouldn’t eat for two days after I went away. I don’t think I was very hungry either.
No one says anything, so I say, “Do you want to see my room?”
Sure, he says, so Mother and I take him into my room. Mother is beaming with pleasure that I asked him, I guess, because she puts her arm on my shoulder as though we are buddies.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“It’s very nice,” he answers.
“Look at the paneling, David,” she says, running her hands up and down over the wall. “It’s supposed to look like it came from an old barn. What do you think of it?”
“It’s nice, very nice,” my father says again.
“It’s not from a real barn of course. It’s synthetic. You could never tell the difference, could you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“What do you mean, suppose? You couldn’t tell the difference in a million years unless you were a farmer. The decorator says it’s actually better to use simulated paneling. Real barn paneling may deteriorate. Especially in the city. Davy likes it,” she says. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“See, David,” Mother says. “It doesn’t make any difference to Davy if it’s real or synthetic.” Then she sort of laughs. “When the bill comes, you’ll see what a big savings it was to use fake.” Mother opens the drawers where my clothes are. “Look, David,” she says. “These are the drawers.”
“I see,” Father says.
“Don’t you think it’s marvelous the way they have been sort of worked in underneath things? Look,” she says, tugging open another drawer, one built in under the bed, “here’s another drawer. Isn’t it marvelous? I more or less designed everything myself. Look at the bed.” She pushes at the top bunk, raising the mattress there and letting it fall back in place. “There’s an extra bed so Davy can invite friends to stay the night. What do you think of that?”
“Very nice,” Father says.
“You don’t sound enthusiastic. Or are you just thinking of the bill?”
