Kristy's Big Day (2 page)

I have usually found that, in life, good things are followed by bad things. One day you get an A-plus on a spelling test, the next time around you get a C (or worse). A run of good luck is followed by a run of bad luck. Good news is followed by bad news.

It was that way with the wedding.

On Saturday we had all that good wedding news. Mom and Watson had settled on the September date. They'd asked us kids to be part of the ceremony. Mom had even told me later that my wedding shoes could be my first pair of shoes with heels. I couldn't believe it.

That was Saturday.

On Wednesday, just four days later, came the bad stuff. The whole wedding fell apart. In one glump.

My first clue that something was wrong was that Mom was at home when I got there after
school. She's almost never home before six o'clock. She has this important job with a big company in Stamford and she works very hard. My brothers and I are used to looking out for ourselves after school.

Needless to say, I was surprised to find Mom sitting at the table in our kitchen at three-thirty in the afternoon. She wasn't doing anything—just sitting there.

“Mom?” I said as I set my bookbag on the counter. “Are you sick?”

“No, honey, I'm fine,” she replied.

“How come you're home? Is David Michael sick?”

“No, no. Everyone's fine. But, well, I just can't believe what happened today.”

“Uh-oh,” I said. “What?”

“For starters, the company wants to send me on a two-week business trip to Europe.”

“Europe!” I shrieked. “Europe? What's wrong with that? London! Paris! Rome! Oh, Mom, can I come? Please? Are you going over the summer? I promise I'll be good. I'll stay out of your way. I won't ask you to buy souvenirs or anything. Just food. Please?”

Mom gave me a wry smile. “I'd like nothing better than to take you to Europe, sweetie,” she
said, “but unfortunately the trip is scheduled during the school year.”

It was June. There wasn't much left to the school year. “You mean you're going now?” I cried. “Who'll stay with us?”

Mom shook her head. “I'm not going now. The trip is scheduled for September.” She let that sink in. “I'm supposed to be in Vienna on the day of the wedding.”

“Oops,” I said.

“Oops is right.”

“So have an October wedding,” I suggested. “Think of it—a fall wedding with the leaves turning. It would be really pretty.”

“I did think of it, actually,” said Mom. “I was sitting at my desk, mentally adding sleeves to our gowns and changing the flowers from roses to chrysanthemums, when the phone rang. Guess who it was.”

I'm not good at guessing games. “I'll never guess, Mom. Who was it?”

“The real estate agent. And guess—wait, I won't make you guess again. Believe it or not, she's already got a buyer for our house.”

“Already! You just put the house on the market two days ago. You thought it would take months to sell it. That's great news, Mom!”

“Sort of great. The buyer is desperate. He's in a rush. He's willing to pay what we asked for, which is more than we thought we'd actually get for the house. Here's the catch: He's in such a big hurry that he wants to move his family in by July fifteenth.”

“Mom, no! That's next month. It's impossible. Sell the house to someone else.”

“I don't think anyone else will pay us this much money.”

“Well, what do we need money for? You're marrying Watson.”

“Honey, Watson and I and Watson's ex-wife and your father all have various ideas about how to spend our money. It's quite complicated, but for the time being, let's just say that I don't want Watson to feel obliged to finance four extra college educations. The money from the house, half of which, first of all, is your father's, goes toward college for you and your brothers. So the more we make, the better.”

“Mom, I'm trying as hard as I can to follow all of this, but what exactly are you saying?”

“I'm saying that Watson and I are going to have to get married at the end of the month so we can move into the Brewers' house two weeks later.”

I was stunned. I stared at Mom with my mouth hanging open. David Michael came home, let Louie (our collie) in, sat down in Mom's lap, and still I was openmouthed and speechless.

The phone rang. Mom answered it. It was a friend of hers. They had a long, chatty conversation, which ended with Mom saying, “So the upshot is that the wedding will be in two and a half weeks.”

“Two and a half weeks,” I moaned.

“What's going on?” asked David Michael.

“It's a long story,” I told him.

Mom hung up the phone. She seemed awfully calm—too calm.

The next thing I knew, she was going crazy. She leaped to her feet (David Michael jumped out of her lap just in time), held her hands to her head, and cried, “Oh, my lord! How can I plan a whole wedding in two and a half weeks? Two and a half
weeks!
Planning a wedding is like having a baby. You need time to pre
pare
things! You have to talk to the florist, the minister, the dressmaker, the caterer. You have to tell the relatives. You have to
rent chairs
! I can just picture the caterer when I order crab crepes for three hundred. He'll say, ‘And what month is the wedding? December?'

and I'll say, ‘No, it's this month,' and he'll
laugh
at me!”

“Mom—” I started to say.

David Michael tiptoed across the kitchen and held my hand. He stared at Mom, fascinated. Louie hid under the table.

“A tent! We have to rent a tent!” she cried.

“Rent-a-tent, rent-a-tent,” chanted David Michael, giggling.

“Mom—”

“We'll hold the wedding in Watson's yard. We'll never be able to rent a hall somewhere for the reception. What if it
rains?!”

“Mom—”

“Oh, lord—decorations!”

“Mom, why don't you call Watson?” I managed to say.

“I better call Watson,” said Mom. (She hadn't heard me.)

Good. I hoped he could calm her down.

Mom went into her bedroom and called Watson privately. When she returned, she looked saner. Sort of. But then she opened up a cabinet and began pulling pots and pans and things out of it. She seemed to be sorting them into piles.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Not only do I have to plan a wedding, I have to get ready to move. This whole house needs to be packed up. We can take the opportunity to clean things out. I bet we haven't cleaned the house out in five years. We can make a big donation to Goodwill.”

David Michael began to whine. And even though I'm too old to whine, I joined in.

David Michael started with, “But I don't
wanna
move. I wanna stay
he-ere.”
(David Michael is a champion whiner. Anybody who can turn a one-syllable word into a two-syllable word is good—very good.)

I added, “I want one more summer here. I don't
wanna
leave yet.”

Mom pulled her head out of the cabinet. Very slowly she turned around to face us. She didn't say one word, just looked at David Michael and me.

“Uh-oh,” said David Michael under his breath. He apologized quickly. “Sorry, Mom.” Then he hustled out of the kitchen with Louie at his heels.

Mom was still looking at me. But I wasn't about to apologize. I was sorry I'd whined at her, but I was still upset about the move. “You said we weren't moving until the fall,” I told her. “You said we'd still be here this summer.”

“Those weren't promises, Kristy,” replied Mom. “That's simply what I thought was going to happen.”

“But, Mom, no fair. I don't want to spend this summer at Watson's.”

“You'll be spending next summer at Watson's,” she pointed out. “And the one after that and the one after that.”

“I know. That's why I want this summer
here,
with my friends. One last summer with Mary Anne and the Baby-sitters Club and Jamie Newton and the Pikes and—and in my own room …” I trailed off.

“I'm sorry, honey,” said Mom. “This is the way things are, fair or otherwise.”

“Boy,”
I exclaimed. I stomped upstairs.

When I got to my room, I closed my door. I considered slamming it, but I wasn't really angry. I was sad.

I sat down at my desk and looked out the window. There are two windows in my room. One faces the front yard. The other faces the side. Mary Anne Spier's house is next door, and I can look right into her bedroom from that side window.

She wasn't there that day. She was baby-sitting for Jenny Prezzioso. I was kind of glad, because I just wanted to be able to stare and think. If Mary
Anne had seen me at the window, she would have wanted to talk.

A lot of things, both good and bad, have happened at those windows. For years, every night after Mary Anne's strict father had made her go to bed, we used to stand at the windows with flashlights and signal each other with a secret flashing code Mary Anne had made up. (We don't have to do that anymore, though, because Mr. Spier has changed. Now he lets Mary Anne talk on the phone at night like a normal person.)

When Mary Anne and I had fights, I knew I could always get to her by pulling my window shade down. It was like not speaking to her. When we weren't fighting, which was most of the time, we would string a paper-cup telephone between our rooms, or sail paper airplanes with messages on them through the windows. What was I ever going to do without Mary Anne next door?

And what was I going to do in a new bedroom? The room I was in had been my bedroom since the day my parents brought me home from the hospital. It was fixed up just the way I wanted it. Over at Watson's, I could have my pick of bedrooms. I could be on the second or third floor. I could be near my brothers or away from them. I could have a big room or a not-so-big room, but
it didn't matter. It wouldn't be the same. No matter what my room was like, I wouldn't be able to look out the window and into Mary Anne's room. “My” room would never feel like my room.

I tried to picture all the bedrooms I had ever seen at the Brewers'. Maybe there was one like mine—with a window facing front, another window facing the side, the closet opposite the front window, the door opposite the side window. Maybe I would take that room and arrange my furniture in it just the way it's arranged now. It wouldn't be the same, but it would help.

“Kristy?” I heard Mom call.

I opened my door. “What?” I shouted back.

“I need you here.”

“All right.” I went slowly downstairs.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with papers spread out all around her. Before I asked her what she wanted, I peeked in the cabinet she'd started to clear out. Everything had been thrown back in. I guessed the packing was going to wait until later.

“Can you help me make some lists, sweetie?” said Mom. “We've got to start listing everything if we're going to pull off this wedding: things to do, things to buy, people to call….”

“Okay,” I said.

“First, we'll list people to invite to the wedding. I'll go through our address book and you write down the names I call out.”

When we were done, Mom looked at the list I had made. “Hmm. An awful lot of these people are from out of state, and a lot of them have a lot of children. It's a good thing they'll only be in town a night or two.”

We started in on some other lists. Weddings sure are complicated. I didn't know they take so much work. By five-thirty, when it was time for a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club, I was overwhelmed. I realized why Mom had gone crazy earlier.

I began to feel sort of sorry for her.

Mom had kept me so busy with the wedding lists that by the time I dashed across the street to Claudia's house, it was 5:36 and I was the last to arrive. As club president, that was not an ideal situation. However, since the others were all there already, I took advantage of the situation to get a good, long look at them. Since I knew I'd be moving soon, I felt I wanted to do that, even though I'd still see them at our meetings and in school.

Claudia Kishi, our vice president and a junk-food addict, was prowling around her room, trying to remember where she'd hidden a large bag of M&M's. She was wearing one of her usual outrageous outfits: a black leotard and skintight red pants under a white shirt that was so big it looked like a lab coat. Claudia's a wonderful artist and she had decorated the shirt herself,
covering it with designs painted in acrylic. She had pinned her long black hair back at the sides with red clips.

Mary Anne Spier, secretary of the club and my best friend, was sitting on the floor, leaning against Claudia's bed. Her wavy brown hair had recently been brushed and looked shiny and full. Until a few months ago, she had always worn it in two braids. I still wasn't used to seeing it loose. As secretary, Mary Anne was in charge of the Baby-sitters Club Record Book, where we write down appointments and keep track of our clients' addresses and things.

Stacey McGill, our treasurer, was sitting cross-legged on the bed with the envelope containing the club dues in front of her. Like Claudia, Stacey enjoys looking good. She enjoys putting together outfits and she enjoys shopping. So does her mother, who has time for such things. (I'm happy in jeans and a T-shirt.) But Stacey is from New York City, where shopping is the official city sport. Stacey's blonde hair was always perfect, and what with that, her purple nail polish, and her namebrand accessories, she looked, well, kind of like a model.

Seated on the floor next to Mary Anne was
the newest member of the Baby-sitters Club and Mary Anne's other best friend (I'm the first one). Dawn Schafer had been named our official alternate officer, which means that she's familiar with the job of every club officer and can substitute for anyone who can't make a meeting. Dawn has the most amazing hair I've ever seen. It's straight and fine and hangs down past her waist, and it's so light I couldn't even call it blonde. It's almost white. It's the color of sunlight or bleached straw. I hope she never cuts it or changes it.

“Hi, everybody,” I said.

“Hi!” replied the members of the Baby-sitters Club.

“Want some?” asked Claudia. She'd just found the M&M's in a box under her bed labeled
ARTWORK: STILL LIFS AND PORTRITS.
(Claudia is a terrible speller.) She tore a corner off the bag and motioned for me to hold my hands out. I did, and took a few.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said, settling myself in Claudia's director's chair. “Any calls yet?”

“one,” Stacey answered. “I have a feeling it was Sam. The person said, ‘Hello, this is Marmee March. I need a sitter for Amy tonight,
someone who has experience with little women.' “

I scowled. “Sam, all right. He never takes this club seriously.”

“Oh, well,” said Mary Anne, holding out her hands as Claudia went by her with the M&M's. “Who cares?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, we better get down to business. Have you all been reading the notebook?” (We also keep a notebook in which we write up each baby-sitting job we go on. Everyone is supposed to read the book a couple of times a week so we know what's going on with the kids we sit for.)

The others nodded.

“How's the treasury, Stace?” I asked next.

“We're doing well right now.”

“Oh, that's good! Can you guys think of anything we need?”

The money in the treasury doesn't come from what we earn baby-sitting (at least not directly), but from our club dues, and we use it to buy things we need for the club as well as to give ourselves a little treat every now and then, such as a slumber party.

“I don't think we need anything,” replied
Claudia. “Maybe we should have a party—an end-of-school party or something.”

“Maybe,” I murmured.

“Kristy?” asked Mary Anne. “Anything wrong? You seem sort of quiet.”

I might as well get it over with. “I've got good news and bad news,” I replied.

“Uh-oh,” said Dawn.

“The good news is that I'm going to be a bridesmaid in Mom's wedding.”

“Oooh,” the other members of the club sighed happily.

“The bad news is that the wedding's in two and a half weeks and we're moving in July.”

“What?”
cried Mary Anne, jumping up. “You can't! You can't move in July!”

“I tried to tell Mom the same thing,” I said, “but she wouldn't listen. She has all sorts of reasons for selling the house right now. They're too complicated to explain.”

Mary Anne looked like she might cry, but Dawn couldn't get past the wedding part. “You're going to be a bridesmaid, Kristy? Oh, you're so lucky!”

At that moment, Claudia's phone rang. Usually we all lunge for it, but we were so caught up with
the news of the wedding that it rang twice before Stacey reached lazily for the receiver and said, “Hello. Baby-sitters Club.”

As soon as she said that, though, we went into action. Mary Anne opened up our club record book and turned to the appointment pages so she could see our baby-sitting schedules; the rest of us paid attention.

When Stacey hung up, she said, “That was Dr. Johanssen. She needs a sitter for Charlotte after school on Friday, from three-thirty to five-thirty.”

“Well,” said Mary Anne, “Dawn and I are the only ones who don't have jobs then.”

“But Jeff and I are going over to our grandparents' house that afternoon,” Dawn spoke up, “so you can sit for Charlotte, Mary Anne.” (Jeff is Dawn's younger brother.)

Mary Anne penciled the job into our calendar.

Then Stacey called Dr. Johanssen back to let her know she had a sitter. When she hung up the phone, she said, “Tell us about the good news first, Kristy. Tell us about being a bridesmaid.”

“Well,” I said, “actually, I've known about that since Saturday, but I didn't say anything
because … because …” How could I explain that the reason I hardly ever talked about the wedding was that, deep down, I still wasn't sure I wanted Mom and Watson to get married? The girls would never understand. They'd all met Watson and they liked him. They'd all baby-sat for Karen and Andrew, and they thought they were adorable and wonderful. They'd all have swapped their own houses for Watson's mansion in a second. And Mary Anne, whose widowed father has been going out with Dawn's divorced mother, would have died with pleasure if
those two
had decided to get married.

Finally, I said, “I didn't say anything because we still thought the wedding was going to be in September and it seemed so far off.”

Mary Anne looked at me skeptically.

“But
tell
us about it,” Stacey persisted. “Like, what are you going to wear?”

Even I had to admit that what I was going to wear was glamorous and exciting. “Well,” I said…. And just then the phone rang again.

Business first.

“Hello. Baby-sitters Club,” said Dawn. “Oh, hi…. Yes…. Yes…. Just Claire and Margo? Okay, I'll call you right back.” She hung up. “That
was Mrs. Pike. She needs a sitter next Tuesday afternoon, but only for the two little ones” (Claire and Margo Pike have six older brothers and sisters) “from three-thirty until six.”

Mary Anne looked in the book. “Let's see. Kristy, you'll be watching David Michael then. Claudia, you have an art class. And I'm sitting for Jenny Prezzioso. Dawn or Stacey?”

“I've got to see the doctor in New York on Tuesday,” said Stacey. “We'll be gone the whole day.”

“Everything all right?” asked Claudia.

“Yup,” replied Stacey. “Just a checkup.” (Stacey has diabetes. She's on a strict diet—none of Claudia's junk food allowed—and the doctors and her parents keep a sharp eye on her.)

Dawn called Mrs. Pike back to say that she'd be sitting.

“Bridesmaid gown,” said Stacey the second Dawn had taken her hand off the receiver.

“Okay,” I said with a smile. Mom and I had finally decided on exactly what we'd all be wearing. “It's going to be a long gown—”

“Oooh.”

“—with short sleeves and a ribbon sash above my waist. Mom says that'll make me look taller—and older.”

“What color?” asked Mary Anne.

“Whatever color I want, as long as Karen agrees to it. She's going to be the flower girl, and her dress is supposed to look like a younger version of mine. I mean, it won't be long, and the sash will be at her waist, but it has to be the same material.”

“I think you should choose pink,” said Dawn. I wrinkled up my nose. “Too cutesy.”

“Green,” said Claudia.

“For a wedding?”

“How about yellow?” suggested Mary Anne.

“Pale yellow. That would be pretty for the summer. And you and Karen both look good in yellow.”

Everyone agreed that yellow was the best choice for my dress.

“What about your shoes?” said Claudia.

“Hey!” I said. “Get this. Mom said I can wear heels—”

“Oooh.”

“—and we're going to buy these special shoes that you can dye to match your dress.”

“Oooh.”

In spite of myself, I was beginning to feel excited again. “Did I tell you that all us kids are going to be in the wedding?”

“Really?” squealed the others.

“Well, everyone except Andrew. He's shy about things like that. Karen's going to be the flower girl, like I said. Charlie's going to give Mom away, Sam's going to be the best man, and David Michael's going to be the ring bearer.”

Everyone began talking at once: “Oh, you're kidding!”

“I wish
I
could be in a wedding.”

“When did you say it will be?” asked Claudia.

“In just two and a half weeks. On a Saturday. A week after school is over.”

Claudia sighed with joy. “I can't stand it! Only a week and a half of school left and then …
summer!”
(As you can probably tell, Claudia does not like school.)

“A week and a half!” Stacey exclaimed. “Gosh, it crept up on me. In New York, I went to a private school. Summer vacation began right after Memorial Day. I thought I'd never last until June nineteenth. But now it's almost here. What happens at the end of school? Anything special?”

“The Final Fling,” Claudia replied.

“The Final Fling?”

“It's the last dance of the year,” I told her. “And the usual stuff,” added Mary Anne.

“Room and teacher assignments for eighth grade.”

“Report cards,” said Claudia, making a face that looked as if she'd accidentally taken a swallow of sour milk.

“Let's decide what we're going to wear to the dance,” suggested Stacey.

“I'm not going,” Mary Anne said immediately.

“But you don't have to be asked to the Final Fling,” I pointed out. “You can just go.”

“I'm still not going. I don't like dances.”

“Well, I'm going,” said Claudia.

“With Trevor?” I asked. Trevor Sandbourne was the love of Claudia's life last fall.

Claudia looked at me as if I'd asked if she was going to the dance with Winnie-the-Pooh.
“Trevor?
No. Trevor's probably dating his own poetry at this point. That's all he cares about.”

We giggled.

“If Alan Gray asks me, I'll go,” I said. “I still think he's a pest, but he can be a lot of fun.”

“I'll go,” said Stacey, “with or without Pete.”

(Pete Black was part of Stacey and Claudia's crowd. He and Stacey had gone to several dances together.) “I think he likes Dorianne now. Are you going, Dawn?”

Dawn frowned. “I have to decide.”

We began to discuss what we'd wear. The phone rang with several more calls. By the time our meeting was over, I was more excited about the Final Fling than the wedding.