Here Come The Bridesmaids (8 page)

"Who wants to help bring in some takeout food?" Carol shouted from the driver's window.

We ran outside. Mr. Schafer was already out of the car, heading straight for the trunk. Claudia climbed out behind him, looking tired and gloomy.

"Smells yummy," Dawn said, grabbing a bag out of the trunk. "Where'd you get the food?"

"This new restaurant, Body-Soul Joy," Mr. Schafer replied. "It's macrobiotic."

"Macro who?" Kristy asked, reaching for a bag.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "If s food that puts your body in harmony with nature. You know, whole grains, no animal foods except fish, no salt or sugar, all natural flavors."

No wonder Claudia looked sick.

Kristy's hand froze on the way to her bag.

Instead of lifting it out, she peered warily inside. Her nose crinkled. I could see visions of cheeseburgers dancing in her head.

Inside the house, Dawn merrily set the food out. "Mmm, flounder with ginger-burdock root sauce . . . millet croquettes . . . seitan patties . . . veggie-gluten pizza . . . and mu tea! I love mu tea!"

I thought Kristy was going to throw up right there. "Moo tea?" she said. "What’s it made from? Boiled cow ears?"

"Ewww, Kristy!" Claudia said, trying not to crack up.

We joked about the food all through dinner. And you know what? The stuff tasted pretty good, if you pretended you didn't know what it was. (Even Kristy gorged herself.)

Afterward, Mr. Schafer said, "Okay, let’s clear out the living room and have a short wedding rehearsal."

We put the coffee table on the couch, making lots of floor space.

"Okay," Carol said. "If s going to be pretty informal. Charida, my friend from work, will stop by here and drive you girls to the beach a little early. At the beginning, you can just mingle. Jack and I will arrive later, with our maid of honor." (She smiled at Dawn.) "And our best man, Jeffers."

Maid of honor? That made me the only regular bridesmaid. I gulped. Easy, Mary Anne, I said to myself.

"Kristy, you'll be in charge of getting the guests to make an aisle in the middle when you see us pull up," Mr. Schafer explained. "Reverend Gunness, our celebrant, will take her place at the end of the aisle. Then the four of us in the wedding party will leave the car and walk — "

"Four?" Dawn interrupted. "What about the bridesmaids and ushers?" ,,

Mr. Schafer looked at her blankly, then chuckled. "Not at this kind of wedding, Sunshine. Maybe the next one."

"Next one?" Carol glowered at him.

"Kidding!" Mr. Schafer shot back.

"Oooh," Claudia said with a smile.

"Hit him with a millet croquette!" Kristy suggested.

Everyone laughed, except Dawn and me.

I was in shock. What was going on? First I wasn't a bridesmaid. Then I was. Now I wasn't again.

Had Dawn made her plans without even talking to her dad? How could she do that to me?

To tell you the truth, now I'd kind of gotten used to the idea. It would have been fun —

standing up there with my sister, sharing her special day.

Didn't I deserve to be a bridesmaid? Why hadn't Mr. Schafer asked me?

Dawn was giving me this wounded puppy-dog look. But every time I glanced her way, I saw red. I have never been so angry.

I don't remember much about the rest of the evening. Later that night, Dawn came into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth.

She shut the door and sighed. "Boy, did I blow it."

I had a toothbrush in my mouth. I said nothing.

"Well, now you don't have to worry about your shoulders," she continued, smiling, "or about being in front of a crowd."

I rinsed and spat. "Dawn, you never asked your dad about me being a bridesmaid?"

"I guess not," Dawn replied. "I — I admit, I've been a real airhead. Are you angry?"

"Well, how would you feel? I mean, I am your sister. Doesn't your dad like me?"

"Wait a minute. You said you didn't want to be in the wedding!"

"That was before you told me about it!" I shot back. "Then I planned on it. Now it turns out no one cared about me in the first place."

Dawn stormed away, shaking her head. "Mary Anne, I will never understand you!"

"I know! You already proved it!"

I couldn't believe I'd said that. Taking my toothbrush, I ran downstairs.

I was able to reach the living room couch before I burst into tears.

Chapter 11.

Jessi.

I almost didn't show up. I woke up that morning with cold feet.

No, my covers had not fallen off. I was scared.

The kids were going to laugh at me. Pull my beard off. Or worse, they'd burst out crying. They'd be disappointed. Traumatized.

Come to Bellair's and see the Incredible Shrinking Santa!

Why did the store have to have a Santa? And who ever made up this stupid legend anyway?

Bah, humbug.

When I went downstairs, Daddy was serving up scrambled eggs and hash browns for breakfast. Mama was making orange juice, and Aunt Cecelia was bustling around setting the table. My sister, Becca, was feeding the baby in his high chair. "The baby" is my brother, Squirt, who is actually a year and a half. (Becca is eight.)

Now, I love big breakfasts. My ballet teacher, Mme Noelle, would faint if she knew this. As a ballerina, I'm supposed to watch my weight. "No one wants to watch zee doncing heepos, except in Fantasia!" she likes to say.

But I don't get too crazy about my weight (yet). I will someday, when I'm a pro. On

Saturday mornings I eat like a pig. And I enjoy every minute of it.

That Saturday morning was different. I might as well have had sawdust on my plate.

"Aren't you eating anything?" asked my mom.

I pushed some of my hash browns into a mound. "I'm not that hungry."

"Huh-gee!" chirped Squirt. He flung a slice of banana on the floor.

"I'll eat it!" Becca volunteered.

"Don't you touch that banana!" Aunt Cecelia bellowed.

"Not that!" Becca said. "Jessi's breakfast."

As Becca scooped my eggs and potatoes onto her plate, Aunt Cecelia shook her head. "When I was your age, Jessica Ramsey, I would have been grateful for a breakfast like that."

"When you were her age," Daddy said, "you must have been full of gratitude, Cecelia. Because half the time you stole my breakfast, too."

"She did?" Becca asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Well, I never — " Aunt Cecelia sputtered.

"That’s what stunted my growth," Daddy went on. (Daddy, by the way, is six feet two and two hundred pounds.)

Aunt Cecelia huffed and puffed and turned away, but I could see her smiling.

Daddy is the only one brave enough to tease Aunt Cecelia. They're brother and sister. (She came to live with us when Mama went back to work.)

"Just one bite before you go?" Mama asked.

I looked at the clock: 9:09. I was supposed to be at Bellair's by ten at the latest.

"No, thanks. I better leave," I said, bolting upward.

"Jessi is going to be a Santa Claus," Becca announced to Squirt.

"San-toss! San-toss!" Squirt began banging his high chair tray. Apple juice sprayed all over the place. Becca started giggling. Aunt Cecelia screamed. Mama hit the floor with a sponge.

"Sorry to leave you in this time of crisis," Daddy said, grabbing his coat.

We were out the door before we heard Mama's response.

Leave it to Daddy. He can make me laugh when I'm feeling awful.

All the way to the store, he kept telling me how great I was going to be. I tried to believe it. I tried and tried. In the mall parking lot, I bravely got out, said good-bye, and walked toward the employees' entrance.

But when I saw Ms. Javorsky waiting there, I nearly dove back into the car. I think I would have, if she hadn't spotted me.

"Ah, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but jolly Saint Nick and her charioteer!" Ms. Javorsky called out.

I could hear Daddy laughing as he drove out of sight.

Me? I tried to laugh, too. But what came out was this sound halfway between a chuckle and a nose blow.

"How are feeling?" Ms. Javorsky asked.

"Fine," I replied.

"Ready for a huge crowd? This is one of the big shopping days before Christmas."

"Yeah."

Ha. What a fib. But what could I say? "Please keep the kids away from me"?

Ms. Javorsky led me into the employee locker room. A few women were freshening up, but none of them seemed to notice me. No one pointed or shook her head. I guess Ms. Javorsky hadn't told them about me.

She opened up a locker. Inside was my costume. "Come see me in my office before you go out on the floor," she said, walking away.

I stared at the big, gaudy outfit. For a teeny

moment I thought of burning it. But I didn't. I put it on — stomach padding, white beard, hat, and all. I took my bell.

I thought I would die on the way to Ms. Javorsky's office. I felt the posters on the wall laughing at me. She insisted I looked great and brought me out onto "the floor."

It was still pretty early. I had come out into the housewares section, so most of the shoppers were adults.

I hung out by the coffee grinders. I memorized all the sale prices. Once in awhile, when no one was around, I rang my bell.

Yawn. Boy, did that get boring fast.

From where I was standing, I could see the toy department at the opposite end of the floor. I could hear it, too. Kids were yelling, squealing, bugging their parents.

At the entrance to the department, a small crowd had formed. A bunch of kids were sitting in front of a temporary-looking stage. Across the stage was a curtain.

I walked closer. Soon I could make out a sign that said SILLY SIMON THE CLOWN 10:15, 11:15, 12:15, 1:15.

"Santa! Santa!" a voice piped up.

Every single face in the crowd turned my way. I was caught.

"Ho ho ho!"

I sounded like . . . like a scared girl. I waited for them to shriek with laughter. Hold their noses. Throw wadded-up gift wrap. Silly Simon was going to emerge and bonk me over the head with a rubber chicken.

Then I felt a tug at my jacket. I looked to my left and saw a little girl staring up at me.

"Hi," she said.

I tried to deepen my voice. "Hello, there."

"Can I get a brother?" she asked.

Huh?

My very first kid, and does she ask for a Barbie? A truck? A video?

No. A real, live human being.

I looked at her mom. She was all smiles. She was also very pregnant.

"Oh! A brother! Well, um, you know, sisters are nice, too."

"No, no, no! She'll play with my toys. I hate sisters."

I laughed. "I know how you feel. How old are you?"

She held up four fingers and a bent thumb.

"Well, when your sister or brother is four and a half, you know how old you'll be?"

"Uh-uh."

"Nine."

Her eyes lit up. "Wow! I'll be this tall." She raised her hands high over her head.

"Do you think you'll want to play with the toys you have now?"

"No way, silly." She thought for a moment. "I'll be growed up."

I made a sad face. "Then what will happen to your poor, lonely toys?"

"I can give them to a little girl," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like if I have a sister."

"Ho ho ho! Great idea!"

" 'Bye!"

Her mom winked at me as the girl pulled her away. "How did you know?" she whispered, patting her tummy.

Boy, was I proud of myself. I guess my BSC training came in handy.

I rang my bell loudly. "Ho ho ho!"

A boy looked up at me through narrow eyes. "I know you're not really Santa."

Gulp.

"Merry Christmas!" was my lame reply.

"You're a helper," he announced.

"Thimbles and thunderstorms!" I replied. "How did you know?"

The boy giggled. Then he gave me a folded-up note. "Could you please give this to your boss?"

"You bet!"

"Thanks! 'Bye!"

Thimbles and thunderstorms? That was an expression I'd read in one of the Chronicles of Narnia books. I couldn't believe it had popped into my head.

I was on a roll. One shy little African-American boy stayed glued to my side for about five minutes, just smiling silently. A girl in an expensive party outfit told me she wanted a real horse, but would settle for a motorcycle. A pair of twins argued over who had been "better" during the year. One boy gave me a brochure with a cover labeled Oliver's Wish List in complex computer graphics. (Inside was an illustrated catalog of gifts.) At one point, Silly Simon brought me onstage in the middle of his show and pulled a red scarf out of my ear.