Kristy's Big Day (4 page)

Mimi is special to all of us.

When Mimi was gone, I said, “You know, you guys, taking care of fourteen children is kind of like teaching school or running a play group. Maybe we should think of some activities for our kids.”

“Yeah, different groups can do different things,” said Dawn.

“We could take them to the elementary school playground,” suggested Stacey.

“Do art projects,” said Claudia.

“I can even take the babies on walks,” said Mary Anne.

We were all starting to get excited. We talked and planned and made lists. We couldn't wait for Monday.

Wedding Countdown:
Sunday—six days to go

Sunday is my favorite day of the week, summer or winter, for one reason: I get to sleep late.

That's why, when Mom came into my room the next morning, I was not at all pleased.

She opened my door and began pulling up my shades and straightening the things on my dresser, humming all the while.

“Come on, Miss Sleepyhead,” she said finally. “Rise and shine.”

I scrunched my pillow over my face to block out the light. “Mo-om,” I complained. “Why are you doing this to me? What time is it?”

“Eight o'clock.”

“Eight o'clock!” I figured she wouldn't be bothering me unless it was at least ten. “All your brothers are up already.”

“But I won't have another chance to sleep late until next Sunday. That's
after
the wedding.” I tried to make “after the wedding” sound farther away than it really was, like when you say “See you next year” on December 31st.

“Honey, I need you today. This is the countdown to the wedding. Only six days left. Aunt Colleen and Uncle Wallace, and Aunt Theo and Uncle Neal are arriving today. They're going to the motel first, but then they're coming over here. They'll probably stay for dinner. And Nannie is going to come over. She wants to measure you again.”

Nannie is Mom's mother. She lives in an apartment about forty-five minutes away from us. Nannie is really great. She's in her seventies, but she does all sorts of things. She goes bowling, she gardens, she volunteers at the hospital, she's a terrific cook—and she sews.

Nannie had offered to make my bridesmaid gown and Karen's flower girl dress. She had already taken Karen and me shopping, and we had chosen the patterns and material. Every so often, she needed to measure us.

“Is Nannie going to stay for dinner?” I asked.

“I think so,” said Mom. “I'm sure she'll want to see your cousins.”

Ashley, Berk, Grace, Peter, Emma, Beth, and Luke are Nannie's grandchildren, too, of course, and since they live so far away, she doesn't get to spend nearly as much time with them as she does with my brothers and me.

“Good,” I said. I found the courage to remove the pillow from my face. “Aughh, the sun is
bright!”

“That's because it's a beautiful day out,” Mom said cheerfully. “Now get a move on.”

Nannie was supposed to arrive early in the afternoon. After I'd eaten lunch, I decided to sit on the front steps and wait for her. Louie came with me. He took a nap with his head resting on my knees while I watched the street.

I spotted Nannie's car when it was still a couple of blocks away. Nannie's car is easy to pick out. It's a secondhand car that's about a hundred years old, and when she bought it last year, she had it painted pink.

“Pink!” my mother had exclaimed when she heard the news. “For heaven's sake, why pink?”

“Why not?” Nannie had answered gaily. And then she had fastened a pink plastic flower to the antenna and hung a little stuffed koala bear from the rearview mirror. She named her car the
Pink Clinker. (It's not in very good condition.)

As the Pink Clinker pulled into our driveway, I woke Louie up, moved his head off my lap, and ran out to meet Nannie.

“Hi!” I called.

“Hi there!” Nannie replied. She waved to me with one hand and turned off the ignition with the other. The Pink Clinker shuddered into silence.

I helped Nannie into the house. She never comes over empty-handed. She carried a casserole, and I carried her pocketbook, a shopping bag full of presents, and her recipe box. (Mom and Nannie were going to discuss hors d'oeuvres or something.)

When Nannie had had a chance to sit down with a cup of tea on the back porch, I asked her an urgent question. “How's my dress coming?”

“Now, Kristy, don't pester Nannie,” said Mom as she and David Michael joined us on the porch.

“Oh, she's not pestering me,” said Nannie with a smile. “She's just excited. Kristy, your dress is coming along nicely. But I think the sleeves are going to be a bit long, so I want to measure your arms again.”

“How much is done?”

“Well, it's almost all basted together,” Nannie answered. “Karen's dress, too. But they're both a long way from being finished.”

“Oh.” My face fell.

“But don't worry. They'll be ready by Saturday. I promise.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly, even though Nannie has never broken a promise.

“Kristy, relax,” said Mom. “Have a cup of tea with us. Then I want you to round up your brothers so you kids can give me a hand with some things.”

“Some things” turned out to be cleaning the entire house. Mom handed Charlie the floor waxer, Sam the vacuum cleaner, me a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex, and David Michael a rag and a can of furniture polish. Then she and Nannie holed up in the kitchen and talked about wedding food.

It was not as if wedding food hadn't already been discussed endlessly, but Mom and Nannie had to figure out how to instruct seven adults to prepare hundreds of hors d'oeuvres (appetizers) and canapés (crackers with stuff on them), not to mention salads and desserts, during the week. Mom had been very lucky in finding a caterer who, on short notice, could prepare the main dish
for the buffet at the reception, but she and Watson were on their own for everything else.

By late afternoon, the house was shiny and clean, Mom and Nannie were through with recipes for the time being, and the relatives were arriving. The first were Aunt Theo (Mom's younger sister) and Uncle Neal, with Emma, Beth, and Luke.

They drove up, honking.

“They're here! They're here!” David Michael called, and all of us, including Nannie, dashed outside.

Uncle Neal was just getting out of the car. He is not my favorite relative. His pants and shirt never match, he smokes cigars, and he talks too loudly. But he's really okay. At least he never says to me, “My, Kristy, how you've grown. What grade are you in now?”

That's Aunt Theo's department. She stepped lightly out of the car and began hugging everyone. The second she got to me, she said, “My, Kristy, how you've grown. What grade are you in?”

“I'll be in eighth,” I replied, and thought, And I have not grown. I'm the shortest person in my grade.

She moved on to David Michael. “My, how
you've grown,” she told him. “What grade are you in?”

I stood behind Aunt Theo and crossed my eyes at David Michael. He tried not to laugh as he replied, “Second.”

During all this, Luke and Emma had scrambled out of the car. I took a good look at them, since I hadn't seen them in almost two years.

Luke was the oldest, the oldest of all the kids we'd be sitting for, in fact. He seemed kind of skinny and little for ten (I should talk) and stood back shyly while his mother hugged everyone, his father told loud jokes, Mom and Nannie laughed, and Louie jumped up and down with doggie joy. Luke had a thatch of thick, dark blond hair that quite possibly hadn't been brushed since December, and serious brown eyes.

Emma seemed to be the opposite of Luke. Although she looked like him—a little peanut of a thing, with messy blond ponytails and sparkling brown eyes—she raced around the yard excitedly.

“Hi, Nannie!” she cried. “Guess what, I won a second-place ribbon in the gymnastics meet! Did you bring me a present?”

Before Nannie had a chance to answer, Emma had rushed over to David Michael. “You're David
Michael, right? I'm a year older than you are.” She ran on to Louie, leaving my brother looking bewildered.

Uh-oh, I thought. Luke will probably be easy to baby-sit for, but Emma looks like a bundle of energy. I was glad she and Karen weren't going to be in the same group.

Suddenly, I realized that little Beth was still sitting patiently in her car seat. I leaned into the car and said quietly, “Hi there, Beth.”

She regarded me solemnly. Didn't laugh, didn't cry. I figured she was sizing me up, so I decided not to push things. I sat down next to her. She was barefoot, and after a while I tickled her toes. Very slowly, a smile spread across her face until she was grinning.

“Want to get out of the car?” I asked her.

I unfastened about a million straps and buckles. Then Beth raised her arms and I picked her up. “Ooof, you're heavy!” I exclaimed.

“Mm-po-po?” she asked me.

“Whatever.” Mary Anne would have to learn Beth's baby talk. I handed Beth to Aunt Theo, who looked surprised. “Goodness,” she said, “I'm amazed that she let you pick her up. Ordinarily, she screams when a stranger comes too near her.

We have the most awful time with baby-sitters.”

At that moment, Sam caught my eye. He gave me a look that clearly said, The Baby-sitters Club is really going to
earn
the thousand dollars.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

Another honking car was pulling into our driveway.

“Aunt Colleen! Uncle Wallace!” I shouted.

As soon as my aunt had opened her door and straightened up, I practically threw myself at her.

Colleen is my mom's youngest sister of all, the baby of the family. And I love her. She's sort of a younger version of Nannie—busy and active with a wild streak in her. She understands me so well, it's almost scary.

“Hi, punkin. How are you doing?” she asked. She held me tight for a few seconds.

“Fine,” I answered. I drew away, and she cupped my chin in her hand and looked at me critically.

Meanwhile, cousins were spilling out of the car. First came Berk, the six-year-old. He made a beeline for David Michael. We see the Millers more often than the Meiners, and David Michael and Berk are good pals. I was glad that I remembered
to assign them to the same baby-sitting group.

David Michael and Berk, followed by Louie, ran off toward the back of the house.

Next out of the car was Peter, who's three. He climbed out slowly, with tears in his eyes.

“Hey, Peter,” I said. “What's wrong?”

Peter snuffled miserably.

“He's a little carsick,” Aunt Colleen answered for him.

“Yeah,” said Grace, the five-year-old, jumping to the ground. “He just puked. All over his coloring book!” She looked gleeful.

“Grace, that's enough,” said her mother.

“How do you feel now, Peter?” I asked nervously. He looked awfully green.

“Not too good,” he replied.

“I better get him in the house,” said Aunt Colleen.

I watched them run inside, then turned back to the car and realized that Ashley was still sitting in it and Uncle Wallace was leaning a pair of crutches next to her door.

“Ashley!” I cried. “What happened to you?”

“I broke my leg roller-skating.”

“We didn't say anything,” my uncle added, “because we didn't want anyone to think we shouldn't come. Old Ash here is actually in pretty
good shape. You should see her zip around on her crutches.”

“I'm almost as fast as I was on my skates!” she exclaimed.

I helped Uncle Wallace get Ashley out of the car, and she swung herself up our driveway and into the house. (She
was
fast.)

Nannie made a big fuss over Ashley, then gathered her grandchildren around her and handed out gifts. She even had presents for my brothers and me, although she sees us often and has plenty of opportunities to give us things. I guess she didn't want us to feel left out.

All of Nannie's presents were handmade. Mine was a beautiful sweater, bright red with little black Scottie dogs trotting across the front. I hugged Nannie and thanked her eight times.

After the presents, we ate supper on picnic tables in the backyard.

Here's what happened during the meal:

Beth stored up a cheekful of carrots as her father fed her, then spit them all over his shirt.

Peter and Grace got into a fight and began to cry.

Berk and David Michael got into a fight and began to cry.

Emma teased Ashley. Ashley whacked Emma
with her crutch. Emma cried. Ashley was sent to the Millers' car and Emma was sent to the Meiners' car until they were ready to apologize to each other.

Luke did not say one word from the beginning of the meal to the end.

A horrible, stuffy feeling began to build up in my stomach. It might have been due to the big dinner I'd eaten. Or it might have been due to seeing the trouble caused by eight children with ten adults present.

What would the next day be like—with just five baby-sitters in charge of
fourteen
children?