by Robin Palmer
At the word sued, Camilla tapped Wendi on the shoulder. “Let’s move on from this particular topic, shall we?”
Wendi stepped in front of the camera and leaned into it. “As you’ll remember, the last few days have been fraught with tension here in the Parker-Moses house—especially between superstar Laurel Moses and her soon-to-be official stepsister, Lucy Parker—”
“Excuse me,” I called out. “But (a) it’s Lucy B. Parker, and (b) we prefer the term frister, not stepsister”— I turned to Laurel— “Unless something’s changed that I don’t know about and you’d rather be stepsisters.”
“Why would you say that?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I never thought anything changed,” she replied. “I thought you thought something had changed.”
“That’s because I thought you thought something had changed!” I cried. “It’s just that you were saying I was messy, and then you told the story about the Hat Incident—”
“I told it because I thought it was funny. And because it shows how far we’ve come since the first time we met,” she replied. “It’s not like I told it to embarrass you.”
“Well, that’s how it felt,” I said. “And then you got all weird when these guys were talking to me about my advice notebook.”
She looked down at the floor. “I know I did,” she said quietly. “I guess I was…I don’t know…a little jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
She shrugged. “That you were getting all the attention.” She looked up at me. “I sat there listening to you, and I realized how great you are. And it made me feel so…average.”
“Average?!” I cried. “Laurel, you’re the most famous girl in the entire world!”
“What about all that stuff you said about her being normal?” Nikko asked.
“She is, but you can be normal and famous at the same time,” I replied.
He thought about it. “I guess you can.”
“Actually, this week she’s not the most famous girl in the world,” Wendi corrected. “This week that four-year-old girl who fell down the well and was trapped there for three days is. She’s on the cover of all the magazines.” She snapped her fingers. “Charles, make a note for me to get in touch with that girl’s parents and see if we can book her for a show.”
“Well, the other fifty-one weeks of the year she is,” I said. I turned back to Laurel. “Laurel, you’re totally not average. Even if you weren’t famous, you wouldn’t be average. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re too…weird to be average.”
“Really?” she asked hopefully.
I nodded.
“And then I got mad at myself for feeling jealous because I know that you have to deal with me being in the spotlight all the time.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it by now.” Sometimes it’s not until words leave your mouth that you realize how you really feel about something. The truth was, being the frister of the most famous girl in the world was okay, and I had gotten used to it. Mostly because I knew from living with Laurel that no matter how put together someone looked on the outside (or how clean their room was), that wasn’t necessarily who they were on the inside. On the inside, they could be scared and lonely. And once you realized that about people, suddenly there was nothing to be nervous about. Like them getting all the attention while you were left behind.
Laurel reached for my hand. “Can I say something? I know it’s going to sound really lame and dorky, but I don’t care.”
“What?”
“I think you’re the superstar in the family. Not me,” she said. “And not just because you give great advice, or wear lots of color. It’s because—”
I sighed. “Let me guess. It’s my all-around…Lucyness.”
She nodded.
My Lucyness was something that Mom had brought up a few months back when I was talking to her about being afraid that now that we had moved in with Alan and Laurel, she was going to end up loving Laurel more than me. (Which, with the amount of honeys and sweeties Laurel was getting, might actually be the case.) Even after asking Mom to explain it to me a bunch of times, I still wasn’t sure what it meant, but apparently it had to do with everything that made me me. Like my love of color. And my sneaker and hat collections. And my logs. Even the stuff that I wasn’t proud of and thought was embarrassing, like my coordination issue and my bloversharing problem—those, too, were part of my Lucyness. Not only were they part of it, but according to Mom, they were some of the best parts because they made me human.
Personally, I found the whole being-human thing very embarrassing at times, but the truth was when other people were being human, that’s when I felt closest to them and loved them the most. Like how Laurel was admitting that she was worried that she was average. That was totally human, because I worried about that exact same thing. And when she said it, my chest got warm, around where my heart was, and it made me feel really close to her.
Wendi shoved her face in front of the camera. “People, what you are witnessing is not scripted like other quote-unquote reality shows out there,” she whispered. “This is real. This is from the heart.” She grabbed both of us and pulled us toward her, hugging us tight. “This is two fristers bonding.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I never had a sister,” she sniffed. “I always wanted one. Instead I grew up an only child—”
Nikko looked down at the camera. “Uh-oh—I think the battery’s running low. I’m going to have to turn this off for a second. Sorry,” he announced, winking at me and Laurel.
Laurel and I looked at each other and giggled. It was nice to have someone to exchange looks with again.
Now that Laurel and I were back on track, I had one more thing I needed to do before I could get back to my toast: Get Mom and Alan back to their we-get-along-so-well-that-at-times-it-can-be-nauseating-to-all-who-have-to-watch-it state.
Which was why I called an emergency family meeting.
As I stood in front of the family (and TV crew), I took a deep breath. Could I do this? Could I get Mom to stop eating all the candy in sight and Mom and Alan to stop fighting so that things could go back to normal?
“You can do this, Lucy,” Laurel whispered, reaching up and squeezing my hand. “I know you can.”
That’s something that happened with fristers—you became a little bit psychic around them. I smiled at her as I squeezed back. Maybe my parents were about to get divorced before they even got married, but even if that happened, I’d always have Laurel, because fristers were forever.
I marched over and stood in front of Mom and Alan, who were sitting on the couch with their arms crossed in front of their chests. “Okay, you guys. The reason I’ve called an emergency family meeting is because this wedding thing has gotten completely out of control.” As Mom opened her mouth, I put my hand up. “Yes. I said wedding. Because that’s what it is. Not a nice party. Not a gathering of immediate family. It’s a wedding. Where two people promise to do their best to stick together through thick and thin.”
I heard a sniffle behind me. “Oh, that’s such a lovely way of putting it,” Wendi whispered.
“Even if the other person sometimes annoys them with agendas and lists,” I went on.
“Well, I know how that feels,” Mom said.
I turned to her. “Or with the fact that they lose their keys all the time and freak out and get all snappy.”
“I think we all know how that feels,” Alan replied.
Mom turned red.
“Mom, when I was talking to Dad the other day, he mentioned that you had a little bit of trouble with the c-word.”
“What’s the c-word?” Alan asked.
“Commitment,” I replied.
As soon as the word left my mouth, Mom looked like she was melting into her seat. It was like watching the Wicked Witch of the West being doused with water.
“He said that right before you guys got married, you were doing this same so
rt of thing,” I explained. “The junk food…the bad TV…the soda—”
Alan turned to Mom. “There’s been soda involved?”
She shrugged. “Maybe a little soda.” When she saw Laurel’s right eyebrow go up, she sighed. “Okay, fine. A lot. There’s been a lot of soda.” She sighed again. “Okay, fine, before my first wedding, I guess I got a little…nervous. And the food and the TV and the soda…that was just all stuff to, you know, calm me down.”
“But soda has caffeine in it,” Laurel said. “Wouldn’t that make you more nervous?”
“That’s a very good point,” I agreed.
“Well, yes, but when you’re in that much of a state, you’re really not thinking about that sort of thing,” Mom said.
“But why were you nervous?” asked Laurel.
Mom shrugged. “I don’t know. Because getting married is so…permanent.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Nikko said. “My mom’s been married and divorced four times.”
“The only thing really permanent is death,” Laurel added.
“Except if you’re a Buddhist,” I corrected.
“Are you saying you don’t want to get married?” Alan asked anxiously.
She grabbed his hand. “No! Of course not!” she cried. “Honey, there’s nothing I want more than to marry you.” She looked at the three of us sheepishly. “I guess I’ve been a little hard to live with lately, huh?”
“A little?” I asked.
“Okay. A lot,” Mom replied. “I’m sorry, you guys. I really am.” Her eyes got all wet and she turned to Alan. “Alan Edward Moses, if you’re not busy this weekend, would you consider going to a wedding with me?”
Now his eyes got all misty. “I would love nothing more,” he said with a smile.
As they kissed, Laurel and I looked away.
“I guess things are officially back to normal,” I whispered to Laurel.
Dear Dr. Maude,
I just want you to know that all the hours I’ve spent watching your show have really paid off.
Today I was able to get Mom and Alan to stop fighting and make up. In fact, things went so well that it ended in a group hug! (I’ve noticed that those don’t happen that often on your show anymore.) Not only is Mom no longer freaking out about the wedding—she’s actually excited about it. To the point where we’re even allowed to call it a wedding, which is good because the other stuff was a real mouthful.
I’d like to think that if you had seen me in action you would’ve been proud. And thanks to Blair’s suggestion, I ended up being the bigger person and making up with Laurel so now we’re back to being fristers. I mean, we never really stopped being fristers during that whole sort-of fight, but we weren’t exactly being fristerly to each other, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I don’t really have time to be chatting at the moment, because now that I’m positive there’s going to be a wedding I need to get my video toast finished. I just thought you’d want to know I put your advice to good use. Not, you know, any sort of advice that you came up with for me personally because you never write me back, but the advice that any stranger could get for free by watching your show.
yours truly,
Lucy B. Parker
“OMIGOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WEDDING IS THIS WEEKEND!” Marissa shrieked into the computer during our weekly Triple S.
I leaned back. “You mentioned that already, Marissa,” I said. “Four times.” Just then Dr. Maude jumped on my lap and started hissing at the screen.
“HI, DR. MAUDE!” she shouted. “IT’S ME, MARISSA, YOUR AUNT!”
At that, Dr. Maude tried to bite the screen.
“So now that your mom’s done being weird do you think I can come to the wedding?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. She still wants to keep it small.”
Just then, Mom walked in with my clean laundry and started placing it on my bed. “Who are you Skyping with?”
“You don’t really want to—” I started to say.
“HI, MRS. PARKER! IT’S ME, MARISSA!” she yelled.
“Hi, Marissa. How are you, honey?”
Wow. Mom was really in a good mood. I wasn’t sure Marissa’s own mother had ever called her “honey.”
“Oh, I’m fine I guess,” Marissa said. She gave a long, hard sigh. “Other than not being invited to the wedding, even though I know from Beatrice’s Twitter feed that she gets to go.”
Uh-oh. I did not like where this was going. Not one single bit.
“I mean, I could understand if it were just family,” Marissa went on. “Even though I’m kind of family. Because I’m Ziggy’s babysitter and all. But now that friends are being invited…”
I slunk down in my chair. I know Mom was in a much better mood lately, but she wasn’t in such a good mood that she’d—
“Well, you know, now that we’ve decided not to make it just family, why don’t you join us, Marissa?” Mom asked.
I put my face in my hands. Apparently, yes. She was in such a good mood she was going to invite Marissa to the wedding.
The shriek that came out of Marissa’s mouth was so loud it could have woken up dead people. “OMIGODOMIGODOMIGOD!” she yelled. “THAT WOULD BE THE COOLEST THING EVER!”
I turned to Mom. “You know, that would be cool, but I don’t think Marissa’s mom would let her take the bus by herself,” I said. “Plus, this place is in the middle of nowhere. They might not even have buses that go there.”
“She can ride with either Dad or Deanna,” Mom replied. Now that the wedding wasn’t just limited to family, Deanna was also coming. My grandmother, however, was going to be on a cruise, so she wouldn’t make it.
“Ziggy and I are going to have soooo much fun together in the car!” Marissa yelled.
That poor kid. I really hoped that he wouldn’t hold this against me when he got older.
“I should go,” she went on. “I have, like, nine million things I need to do before Saturday! See ya!” she yelled as she disconnected from Skype.
Mom and I looked at each other. “She is a little like family,” she said.
I sighed. I guess she was. For better or for worse.
“Are you sure we didn’t make a wrong turn?” Alan asked anxiously that Wednesday as we drove up to the Black Horse Inn. Everyone else was coming on Friday, but Alan thought it would be nice for us to have some private bonding time as a family beforehand. Well, as private as could be when a camera crew was following you around.
For the last two hours, all we had seen were miles and miles of empty fields. Empty except for when there were horses. And cows. And, at one point, a three-legged dog that I begged Mom and Alan to stop and let me take a picture of so I could send it in to the MostInspirationalPets.com website and maybe win a years’ worth of Purina Puppy Chow, even though we didn’t have a puppy and couldn’t get one because of Mom’s allergies. (They said no.)
“Nope. This is the right way. You heard Queen Elizabeth: ‘Continue on Route 2 for 75.4 miles,’” Mom said in a fake English accent.
“Yes, but sometimes Queen Elizabeth is wrong,” Alan replied. That was the name that Laurel and I had given the woman on the GPS who called out directions, because of her English accent.
“Honey, we’re going the right way,” Mom said. She dug out a brochure from her bag that had a picture of an old farmhouse and a smiling couple standing next to a big basket of apples. “I told you the place was a little out of way. It says right here:—With its rural charm and hospitality, the Black Horse Inn provides an oasis of tranquility away from the pressures of the modern world.”
“Tranquility’s great, but what if there’s an emergency? I haven’t seen a sign for a hospital for the last hour,” he said. “What if someone gets stung by something?”
Central Park was as far into nature as Alan liked to go and that was only just across the street from our apartment.
“Sweetheart, I keep telling you. It’s winter. There are no bugs. So no one is going to get stung
by anything and no one is going to need to go to the hospital,” Mom said firmly. “Just relax and enjoy the beauty.”
“But there is cable, right?” asked Laurel anxiously. MTV was airing a special that night called Inside the Mind (and Crib) of Austin Mackenzie that Laurel was dying to see. She had DVRed it (and then checked it five times to make sure it was set correctly), but didn’t want to wait three whole days until we got back home to watch it, even though she’d be seeing him in the flesh in two days.
“I’m sure there’s cable,” Mom said. “Though I’d love to see if anyone in this family can go more than five hours without it.”
“And there’s Internet, right?” I asked. I wouldn’t want Dr. Maude to finally e-mail me back and then get her feelings hurt that I didn’t e-mail her back for days. Although maybe then she’d know how I felt.
“Yes, it has Internet,” Mom sighed. “But this is our wedding. A time for us to spend quality time together and talk about how much we all mean to each other.”
Or go stir-crazy from too much together time.
Two hours and many fields later we were standing on the porch of a sweet-looking farmhouse.
“Are you sure this is it?” Alan asked.
Mom pointed to the sign. “It does say the Black Horse Inn.”
“I know, but it’s just so…in the middle of nowhere,” he replied.
Laurel began walking around the house.
“Laurel, honey, watch out for plants—you don’t want to get poison ivy.”
“I don’t see a satellite dish,” Laurel said.
I looked down at my iTouch. “And there’s no signal up here.”
Before Alan could go nuts like I knew he would (he got antsy when he was in an elevator and his BlackBerry wasn’t working), Wendi and her crew pulled up in their SUV. As the passenger door opened, she stumbled out, looking like she had walked through a wind tunnel. “Nikko, as soon as we get back to the city, I’m signing you up for a driving course,” she announced.