A Patron Saint for Junior Bridesmaids

by Shelley Tougas

  For the next game, Grandma brings out eight plastic baggies filled with spices and a notebook. “Time to spice up this party!” She says with an exaggerated wink. Each guest puts on the blindfold while Grandma holds each spice bag in front of them. They sniff and guess what the spice might be, and I keep track of their answers in the notebook. Before the bags go to the next person, Grandma mixes up the order.

  When it’s Mom’s turn, she inhales and says, “I guess I need time to think about this,” and everyone laughs.

  I lean to Eden and whisper, “What’s so funny?”

  “She means t-h-y-m-e as in the spice. It’s a pun.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hurry up already,” Aunt Maggie says.

  “I’m comin’,” Mom says, and the ladies roar with laughter.

  Eden whispers to me again. “Another spice joke. She’s coming. Cumin, coming.”

  “Oh.” My smile hides frustration. I don’t think she’s funny. The feeling of missing her is blending into the feeling of being mad at her. Instead of making jokes, instead of having long talks with Aunt Maggie about the wedding and North Dakota, she should ask me how it’s going. All she wants to hear is we’re happy, happy, happy—not that Uncle Will got sick and Luke spit a Communion wafer on my dress and now it’s a dried-up glob in my rosary box.

  When the spice game finally ends, I tally the points. Emma gets the prize, a set of brass candle stick holders.

  “For our last activity, everyone needs a pen.” Grandma says.

  She hands out index cards and tells everyone to write words of wisdom about marriage for the bride. When Eden opens a gift, I’m supposed to read that woman’s advice. At least Grandma is smart enough not to make Eden read them. Eden would dash out of the house and never come back, and I mean never.

  Just then the lawn mower rumbles. From the window I see Nick starting to cut the first strip by the curb. A frown splits Grandma’s face. “Mary, will you go outside and tell him mowing will have to wait?”

  I dart outside, catch up to Nick, and tap him on the shoulder. He grins when he sees me. The mower stops.

  I say, “We’re having a wedding shower for Eden, so my grandma wants to know if you’ll mow after everyone leaves.”

  “Okay. A shower, huh? Are you having fun?”

  “It’s like a first-grade birthday party. We’re playing games and winning prizes.”

  “What kind of games?”

  “Like games involving spices. I had no idea my mom’s sense of humor is so bad. She’s making spice jokes.”

  “Can’t wait to hear about it. You want to shoot buckets later?”

  “My parents are leaving tomorrow. We’re having a family dinner tonight.”

  “So tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mary!” Grandma shouts from the window. “That’s enough.”

  Quietly I say, “I can’t dilly dally.”

  “Get moving, you rapscallion,” Nick whispers. We crack up. Nick pushes the lawn mower back to Uncle Will’s garage, and I go back to the shower. There are a stack of index cards waiting on my chair for me to read. I settle in next to Eden and read the first card.

  “This is from Elaine. ‘Love is patient and kind.’” Such a cheat. That’s straight from the Bible. Eden opens the present and pulls out a stack of kitchen towels, each embroidered with a day of the week. That morning, I’d looked for a Patron Saint of bridal showers and couldn’t find one, but there is a Patron Saint of returning unwanted gifts, Saint Emma.

  “Thank you so, so very much.” Eden is starting to sweat. She even smells sweaty, and her breath isn’t a garden of roses, either.

  Her anxiety is making me nervous. I clear my throat and say, “The next card is from Tracy. It says, ‘Never go to bed angry with each other. Always apologize.’”

  Eden nods and finds a hand mixer in the next box. While she passes the gift around, Grandma brings us glasses of punch. She squeezes my shoulder and says, “You’re doing great. Are you having fun?”

  “Of course!”

  Truthfully, it’s the longest afternoon of my life. All I want to do is play basketball with the rapscallion next door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There’s going to be a wedding in 23 days

  “Mary Margaret Miller! Are you in a coma? It’s nearly eleven!”

  My eyes peel open. Grandma’s hovering over me. “Up and at ’em! We’ve got a great day planned. There’s a park outside the city with a lake and a beach. I packed a picnic. Get your swimsuit on, and let’s hit the road.”

  I groan. I don’t want to go to the beach with Luke. I want to shoot baskets with Nick.

  “Sleeping Beauty, you’re wasting a beautiful, sunny day.”

  “I think I slept so late because I have a headache. Maybe I’ll just stay here.”

  “I have aspirin,” Grandma says. “You’ll be cured by the time we get there. We’ll meet you outside.”

  “I’m still really tired.”

  Grandma threads her fingers with mine and squeezes my hand. “Honey, I know its tough for you and Luke because your parents left. The best thing is to get out of the house and do something special. No moping.”

  I know it’s not worth wasting any more words, so I get out of bed.

  “Good girl,” Grandma says. “We’ll see you outside in a few minutes.”

  I change into my suit and a cover up. Downstairs I dig through boxes of cereal, but I don’t find anything I like. I spot the leftover cake from the shower. We ate the “Congratu” part of the “Congratulations.” Nobody will notice the missing “la,” so I make that breakfast. I rinse it down with a glass of milk and head outside where Grandma and Luke are talking to Nick. I freeze. Grandma waves me over, but I want to run back into the house. There is only a 1 percent chance this isn’t going to be humiliating.

  She says, “I was just telling Nick he must come with us. It’s good for you to be with someone your own age.”

  “Oh.” I avoid Nick’s eyes and hope Luke doesn’t say something stupid.

  “I don’t think my mom will let me,” Nick says.

  Grandma asks, “Is she home? Or at work?”

  “She’s on her summer schedule, so she’s home now. But she’ll say no.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just have a chat with her.”

  Grandma knocks on the door. I shrug, like What can you do? and he half smiles. His mom opens the door and listens to Grandma. I think she’s saying no, but mostly there’s the melody of Grandma’s words. Finally Grandma calls to us. “Go get changed, Nick. Mary, go back inside and pack some snacks. I have drinks in a cooler, but we should have food, too. Let’s hit the road!”

  Nick looks shocked, almost dazed. He says, “I can’t believe she said yes.”

  I say, “My grandmother is very persuasive.” It’ll be fun to be with Nick at the beach, but I’m worried Grandma will embarrass me. She can’t help herself. And what if Luke makes kissing noises or asks Nick about being Chinese? I want to hang out with Nick, but not with Nick and my family.

  Inside the house I pack chips and granola bars in a paper bag. The chocolate chip cookies will melt, so I leave them in the cupboard. I’m wondering if I should make sandwiches when I hear Nick’s voice. “Your grandma says to not make sandwiches because she’ll buy hotdogs.”

  “Oh.” I’m hit by nerves all over again, and I say a quick prayer. Dear Holy Saint John Bosco, Patron Saint of boys, please make sure Nick is in the bathroom if Grandma and Luke say something ridiculous. “I guess I’ve got everything.”

  “Let’s go.” Nick grabs the bag, and we head to the door. But then Nick stops. His head shifts as he studies the pictures on each side of the front door. There’s one of Jesus on the right and one of Mary on the left. Those pictures have been there for as long as I can remember. We have a set in Holmestrand, too. He shakes his head. “That’s crazy!”

  “What?”

  “Those Jesus and Mary pictures. They’re blond!”

  �
��So?”

  “So they weren’t blond,” he says.

  I don’t know where he’s going with this. I say, “You don’t know that.”

  “People in Jerusalem aren’t blond. Jesus and Mary looked like Arabs. Or they could’ve been black. The region is very close to Africa.”

  “Jesus was from the Jewish race. I know that.”

  “Jew doesn’t mean race,” he says. “It’s not a race. It’s a religion. We talked about it in my church.”

  “What church?”

  “Unitarian. You know how most kids have church programs where they memorize bible verses? In my church we study world religions. It’s a very intellectual church.”

  I cross my arms. “Are you saying my church is not intellectual?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “All churches are based on faith to some degree. It’s just Catholics seem to have a lot of … there’s some hocus-pocus in your tradition.”

  Nick doesn’t look cute anymore. He looks like the biggest jerk ever. “Excuse me? I didn’t realize you were an expert on the Middle East and Catholics.”

  “It’d take a miracle to make these pictures historically accurate. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I open the door and stomp to the car.

  * * *

  All the way to the beach I’m silently fuming about Nick and his intellectual church. Even if he’s right about blond Mary and Jesus—and maybe he has a point—he’s wrong about Catholics and hocus-pocus. Sure, we do some weird things, like having priests chant over Communion wafers and turn them into the actual body of Jesus. Our priests wear goofy robes, we do the sit-kneel-stand thing, and we have a saint for carnival workers. But we’re not practicing voodoo. We’re Christians.

  Nick’s not quiet, though. He’s talking to Grandma and Luke talk about the Star Wars series, which they just binge watched. Grandma says, “I just could not believe Darth Vader was Luke’s father!”

  This makes Nick laugh really hard. Luke announces, “Now we all have to name our favorite Star Wars characters.”

  “Yoda,” Grandma says. “I like wise, old people.”

  “Han Solo,” Nick says.

  “I like Anakin when he was a kid before he turns to the dark side and tries to rule the galaxy,” Luke says. “What about you, Mary?”

  “I don’t have an opinion.”

  “I also like Leia,” Grandma says. “I like her hairstyles.”

  That makes Nick and Luke completely crack up. Luke says, “Eden should get that cinnamon-roll hairstyle for her wedding.”

  I have a moment of panic because, seriously, Grandma is the kind of person who would bring Star Wars pictures to the hairstylist and insist that’s how Eden should look. But she laughs, and I’m relieved she knows it’s a joke. All the laughter makes it hard to stay angry. It’s pretty cool Nick can talk and joke with Grandma and Luke like he’s known them forever. If I was in a car with Nick’s family, my lips would freeze shut.

  Nick says, “Princess Leia does wear a lot of white.” He smiles at me, and the last bits of my anger fade.

  “Leia was my favorite character,” I say. “But now it’s Rey.”

  “Mary?” Luke pokes the back of my head. “Will you play Marco Polo? I want to find you!”

  “You can’t play Marco Polo at a crowded beach. You end up groping strangers.”

  “If it’s not crowded will you play? Please?”

  I sigh. “Okay.” I know this means I’ll end up playing—crowds or no crowds. Luke is as persistent as Grandma.

  As soon as we’re parked and unpacked, Grandma and Luke rush to the water while Nick and I sit on the beach towels. I call to Grandma, “I’ll watch our stuff for a while.”

  I feel weird in my swimming suit, which suddenly seems too small, even though it’s a one-piece. But Nick’s not looking at me. He’s scanning the beach.

  “I’ve never been to this beach,” he says. “I’m more of a pool guy.”

  “Me, too.”

  He pushes sand around with his feet like they’re snowplows. “Look, I’m sorry I was a jerk about your Caucasian Mary and Jesus. My parents are professors. I’ve been raised by people with strong opinions who like to argue.”

  “Oh.”

  “And now that they’re divorced, they really, really like to argue. You probably don’t understand because Catholics aren’t supposed to get divorced. It’s a big sin, right?”

  “Catholics get divorced. They’re not supposed to, but they do. The Pope doesn’t sentence us to some big Catholic jail for breaking rules.”

  “I should just shut up,” Nick says. “Is there a Patron Saint for people with big mouths?”

  “Yes. Saint Nicholas.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I laugh. “No, I’m kidding.”

  “You totally had me.”

  Grandma calls from the water, “Use the sunscreen!” I look around for the bottle, but this isn’t fast enough for Grandma, who shouts, “Do it now! You’ll thank me when you’re fifty and your skin is smooth and cancer-free!”

  I pull the sunscreen from the bag, squirt some on my legs, arms, and face. As I rub it in, Nick takes the bottle and smears the lotion on himself. He says, “I’m a big mouth, but even big mouths have friends. I know you haven’t seen anyone at my house all summer, but it’s not because I’m a jerk. I’m grounded until the end of July.”

  “Oh.”

  I’ve never been grounded. Other than Brent Helzinski, I’ve never been in trouble. Even after Mom got the phone call from the principal about Brent, she didn’t ground me. She sent me to Confession and gave me a short lecture about Jesus not fighting the bullies who were going to crucify him. I wanted to say Jesus had orders directly from God, but I knew that was not a winning strategy.

  Nick asks, “You want to know why I’m grounded?”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  “Yes and no. I mean you’re so churchy, what if you don’t like me anymore?”

  “I punched a guy by my locker and got detention. Is it worse than that?” The words left my mouth before I had time to think about them. But I’m not flooded with embarrassment. I’m kind of relieved, which is weird. Nick is probably the only person I know who won’t judge me.

  He blinks like there’s sand in his eyes. “Seriously? You’ve got to tell me that story.”

  “You go first.”

  “Okay. I’m grounded because I shoplifted. And it wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the first time I got caught.”

  We had shoplifters in the store but not very often. People don’t tend to steal nails and extension cords. But before we closed for good, a lady tried to steal a flashlight that was already half price because of the going-out-of-business sale. Stealing is a sin no matter what the price. Why would Nick do something like that? He seems so nice.

  “What’d you take?”

  “The first couple times? Candy, mostly. Then I graduated to bigger things. Once I took a gallon of milk from the gas station, and nobody even noticed. I’d gone to the store on the way home from school, and I slipped the milk into my backpack. And I mean, why milk? How stupid is that? My mom buys groceries. It’s not like I’m from a milk-free home.”

  “Then why? I don’t get it.”

  “I just get mad. It’s like these big stores rule the planet or something. Their stupid ads tell us what to buy, their prices tell us how much to spend, they pollute the world with their plastic junk and plastic bags. Chains control the world. These stores have bigger bank accounts than the economy of Ecuador. Did you know that?”

  I didn’t know companies made more money than countries, but I’m not surprised. Home Supply Station probably owns Ecuador. I felt relieved when I realized Nick wouldn’t judge me, so I’m not going to judge him, either. “I hate chains, too. Home Supply Station ruined my family’s business. I hate Home Supply Station so much I don’t care if people steal from them.”

  “Well, I won’t,” Nick says. “I’m done stealing. The funny thing is my m
om completely agrees with me, except for the stealing, of course. She freaked out when I got caught. So we’ve been talking about stuff I can do to fight it that’s not illegal. My church youth group might start a campaign to get people to shop local.”

  “Sign me up!” Suddenly Nick’s church sounds cool. “I’ve never heard of a church doing something like that. My church youth group does things like rake leaves for old people. What you’re doing sounds like politics.”

  “My parents say everything is politics.”

  “Hey, if you’re grounded, how come you’re here?”

  “Your grandma wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Nick grins. “Now it’s your turn. Who did you hit and why?”

  I’m ready to tell the story—the whole story, for the first time. But Luke sloshes out of the water and stands over us. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “In a few minutes,” I say.

  Grandma yells, “Mary Margaret Miller! We’re at the beach to enjoy the water. Get in here!”

  Even Nick knows there’s no point in arguing. He stands and brushes the sand off his legs. “Later, I guess.”

  “Marco Polo!” Luke shouts. “I’ll go first.”

  ABOUT BRENT HELZINSKI AND ME

  Brent and his buddies Eric and Jude came to the Halloween party as a biker gang. Brent’s stomach pudged out from a leather vest. A chain dangled from the pockets of black jeans. On his arm was a fake tattoo of a snake. It curled from his wrist to the seam of his T-shirt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There’s going to be a wedding in 16 days

  Blessed Imelda is obviously dealing with a lot of Communion problems. It’s like I called her on the phone, and she put me on hold.

  I decide to look online for an answer. I search the phrase “proper disposal of Communion wafer” and find lots of information from non-Catholic churches like Lutheran and Presbyterian. One church pastor reports that he feeds unused wafers to the birds. To the birds! Another site says it doesn’t matter what you do with the wafers because Communion is symbolic and considering it the literal body of Christ is superstitious. Superstitious? Do other churches think Catholics are full of hocus-pocus?