Kristy's Big Day

by Ann M. Martin

  “Hello?” a small voice answered.

  “Hi, Karen,” I said. “It’s Kristy.”

  “Hi, Kristy! Oh, guess what! Daddy took me shopping today. I got shoes for the wedding and they’re very, very beautiful. They’re black and shiny and they have a strap that buckles around my ankle.”

  “Oh, lucky girl! I can’t wait to see them. I don’t have shoes yet. Listen, Karen, is your daddy there?”

  “Yes, he is. But, Kristy, Ben Brewer’s ghost broke a vase in the living room today. It was really scary.”

  Karen went on about the ghost for a while, then finally I was able to talk to Watson. When I got off the phone, I said, “All right. Watson’s friends are the Fieldings, and the kids are young. Katherine’s the oldest. She’s five. Patrick is three and Maura’s two. Tony is the baby. He’s only eight months old.”

  “Hmm,” said Mary Anne. “Let me just add David Michael, Karen, and Andrew to my list.” She scribbled away. Then she looked up. “Well, I count seven girls and seven boys, one ten-year-old, two six-year-olds, one nine-year-old, one eight-year-old, a four-year-old, one seven-year-old, two five-year-olds, two three-year-olds, a one-year-old, a two-year-old, and a baby—Tony.”

  “Gosh, it sounds like kind of a handful when you put it that way,” said Dawn. She and the others began to look worried.

  “But we’ll manage,” I said. “You know, maybe we should divide the kids into age groups, organize your list according to age, oldest to youngest.”

  Mary Anne began writing busily. “Okay,” she said after a minute.

  Mary Anne’s list looked like this:

  Luke—10 Katherine—5

  Ashley—9 Andrew—4

  Emma—8 Peter—3

  David Michael—7 Patrick—3

  Berk—6 Maura—2

  Karen—6 Beth—1

  Grace—5 Tony—8 months

  “All right,” I said. I borrowed Mary Anne’s pen and drew four lines, one under Emma, one under Karen, one under Andrew, and one under Maura. “Look at this, everybody. Now we have five groups of kids, one group for each of us. The top group is the oldest kids, and the bottom is the babies. There are three kids in each group except the last. I think whoever has the babies will have her hands full with just two. Diapers and everything.”

  “We better decide right now who will be in charge of which group,” said Dawn.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Does anybody especially want the oldest kids?”

  Stacey’s hand shot up.

  I wrote her name next to the top group. Then I asked, “Does anybody especially want the babies?”

  Mary Anne raised her hand.

  I wrote her name by the babies. Before I could ask who wanted David Michael’s group, Claudia said, “I don’t really care which kids I have. I like any age.”

  “Me, too,” said Dawn.

  “Me, too,” I said. So I assigned Dawn to the six- and seven-year-olds, Claudia to the two- and three-year-olds, and gave myself Grace, Katherine, and Andrew. “Andrew feels most comfortable with me,” I said. “And also on Tuesday, Jamie Newton will fit right into that age group, and I think he should be my responsibility.”

  “Hey!” said Mary Anne. “You know what we should do to help keep the groups straight? We should call them the red group, the blue group, or whatever we want, and make, like, red nametags for Stacey’s kids, blue tags for Dawn’s kids, or something. That way the children will know what group they’re in, and we’ll be able to spot our kids easily. It’ll help us learn their names, too. Kristy, you know most of them, but the rest of us only know Karen, Andrew, and David Michael. And nobody knows the Fieldings.”

  “Terrific!” cried Claudia enthusiastically, and the rest of us agreed with her.

  So Claudia rummaged through her art supplies and found scissors, construction paper, and string. We made red star nametags for Luke, Ashley, and Emma; bluebird tags for David Michael, Berk, and Karen; yellow suns for Grace, Katherine, and Andrew; green dinosaurs for Peter, Patrick, and Maura; and pink hearts for Beth and Tony, the babies.

  “Now we should make tags for ourselves,” Stacey pointed out. “The group leaders should have tags like their kids’. Then the older children will be able to read our names, and the younger ones at least will be able to figure out who their leader is by matching the tags.”

  So we made five more nametags. When we were done, we attached all the tags to string, except for Beth’s and Tony’s, which we decided to safety-pin to them.

  Claudia then announced that it was time for a high-energy snack, so she rustled up a Snickers bar (from the drawer of her jewelry box), a package of Ring Dings (from the STILL LIFS AND PORTRITS box), and a roll of Life Savers (from her pocket). For Dawn, who often prefers healthier food, and for Stacey, she went to the kitchen and got a box of crackers and some fruit. When she returned, she was with her grandmother, Mimi, who was carrying a tray of sodas for us.

  “Hello, girls,” said Mimi in her gentle voice. “You seem to be working very hard.”

  Claudia told her what we were doing.

  “Oh, my,” said Mimi softly. “Fourteen children! Next week, while your mother is busy, Kristy, and your parents are at work,” Mimi nodded to Claudia and Mary Anne, “you must be sure to call on me if you need anything. I will be here at home. You must let me know if you have any problems. I will be happy to help out.”

  “Thanks, Mimi,” I said. “That’s really good to know.”

  “It sure is,” said Mary Anne, jumping up to kiss Mimi’s cheek.

  I could tell Mary Anne was still a little nervous about what we were going to be doing. But she loves Mimi, and if anybody could make her feel better, Mimi could.

  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 gir
l 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, th
e 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: