A Patron Saint for Junior Bridesmaids

by Shelley Tougas

  Grandma’s words make Mom freeze. Luke’s First Communion—that’s her worst rubber-band stretch ever. Mom pulled him out of First Communion classes because she was too busy to take him. She said he could do it next year when we’re with Dad again. She let Grandma believe he got First Communion, because Grandma is old-fashioned about church stuff. Catholic kids are supposed to get their First Communion when they can tell the difference between the Communion wafer and regular old bread. Mom says she’ll tell Grandma about the delay eventually, but since there’s no reason to mention it right now, we shouldn’t mention it right now.

  And suddenly I realize something. We’re not skipping Easter in Minneapolis because Mom’s tired. She wants to cancel Easter because we’d all go to church, and Luke wouldn’t take Communion, and Grandma would know the truth. Stretch goes the rubber band!

  We’ve been quiet a long time. Luke wiggles around, and I can tell he’s about to say something, so Mom clears her throat and says, “You’re starting to freeze up, Mom. I think we’re losing the connection.”

  Then she snaps the laptop shut and says, “Blasted Internet connection!”

  “Our Internet has the worst timing,” I say, and Mom gives me a knock-it-off look. As she leans back in the chair, I notice the circles under her eyes. She really and truly is tired. I immediately feel bad about the whole deal—for Mom’s dark circles and for truth-stretching with Grandma. I rush to my room to put stars on both of their pages.

  ABOUT BRENT HELZINSKI AND ME

  Brent Helzinski left a rotten apple on my desk with a note that said, apples are red and your eyes are blue and this apple is rotten and so are you.

  My eyes are brown.

  He’s so dumb.

  Chapter Five

  There’s going to be a wedding … and a detour

  Six weeks after Easter, right before we’re supposed to finish school and leave Holmestrand, Mom announces Luke and I are taking a detour. A big detour. We’re going to spend the summer in St. Paul.

  “We still don’t have a place to live, and I need to find a job,” Mom says. “We can’t have you alone all day in a new town. So you’re going to stay with Aunt Maggie and Uncle Will.” She smiles and claps her hands together like this is the best news.

  I should’ve guessed something was up. Normally Mom sits on the couch and talks to Dad on the phone. But lately she’s been taking the phone into their bedroom and closing the door. The detour messes up everything. I need to make at least one friend this summer, otherwise I’ll be sitting alone at lunch on the first day. The thought makes my stomach burn.

  Luke looks shocked. “But I want to see Dad!”

  “I know. And Dad wants to see you. But it’s the hand we’ve been dealt, so we have to make it work.” Mom pulls him into a snuggle. “You get to hang out with Grandma. She’s got so many plans already. Waterparks and the zoo and the Children’s Museum.”

  “Grandma’s already made plans?” Luke stomps his foot. “When were you going to tell us?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  I say, “But I need to meet people before school starts.”

  “Mary, this means you get to be actively involved with the wedding.” Mom’s voice is all sunshine. “Dress shopping and looking at flowers and all that fun stuff.”

  “Maybe they won’t do that this summer. It took Eden twenty years to meet a boyfriend. Maybe it’ll take her another twenty to set a wedding date.”

  “Please don’t argue with me,” Mom says. “I’m not happy about it, either, but we have to do our best to get through it. All of us.”

  “If you’re not happy about it, and Luke’s not happy about it, and I’m not happy about it, then why are we doing it?”

  “Your dad thinks this is the best option.” Now Mom’s trying to run from it and blame Dad.

  I cross my arms. “Don’t we get a vote?”

  “I want a vote!” Luke stomps his foot again.

  “Mary, I need you to set an example for Luke. It’s already hard. Don’t make it harder.”

  I want to run to my room and slam the door, but I can’t. Luke would copy me, and the dark circles under Mom’s eyes would get darker, and it’d be my fault. Mom squeezes my hand. “Will you try to make this work? Please?”

  I wonder if there’s a Patron Saint for Kids Who Get No Say in Their Own Lives. I grit my teeth and force my head to nod.

  Mom’s face relaxes, but Luke isn’t ready to give up. “We want a vote. Right, Mary?”

  I can barely form words, but I manage to say, “Waterparks and the zoo. It’ll be fun.”

  “So much fun. And all the planning with the wedding! It’ll be a wonderful summer.” Mom smiles and looks at me, which is my cue to show Luke I agree. I force another nod. It’s the best I can do.

  * * *

  Jessica comes to see me the morning we’re leaving. She hands me a gift wrapped in silver foil with a red ribbon. “Here. For you.”

  “I have something for you, too.”

  We go to my bedroom and swap gifts. She gives me a teddy bear with “Friends Forever” stitched on its tummy. I give her a framed picture of us from her last birthday party. We’re wearing plastic tiaras and making weird faces.

  Jessica says, “We’ll talk online at least once a week, right?”

  “Sure.” My eyes sting. “More than once a week. I want to hear everything about soccer and when you’re going to the lake and Nadia Clonski’s birthday party.”

  “Maybe you can come back for her party. You should ask your mom.”

  It sounds like the kind of thing Mom would promise I can do but not deliver. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  Luke runs through the door and jumps next to Jessica. “Did you bring me a present?”

  “Sorry, Luke.” She gives his shoulder a little punch. “I have an old cough drop in my pocket. Want that?”

  “You can still buy something for me and mail it.”

  “Luke!” I say. “Go.”

  “But I want to say goodbye,” he whines.

  “Go. Or I’ll write a letter to the Pope.”

  Luke races out of my room without another word. Jessica laughs. “He’s still afraid of the Pope?”

  “The Pope works better than threats about Santa Claus, which is weird, because they’re both old men in funny costumes.”

  Jessica takes a tissue from the box on my desk, wipes her eyes, and then hands one to me, too. “So what’s up with this wedding? Do you have pictures of dresses?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I was a flower girl when I was five. That was easy. I just had to look cute. A bridesmaid has to throw a bachelorette party, but you’re not old enough to go to a bar and dance.”

  “Eden won’t want a party. She definitely wouldn’t go to a bar and dance.”

  “Brides like attention. Even shy brides act like princesses.”

  “Not Eden,” I say. “She won’t have a bachelorette party. I’ll be surprised if there’re more than twenty people at the wedding.”

  Mom yells from the living room. “Mary! Jessica’s mother is here.”

  We go to the living room where Mom pulls Jessica into a hug. Jessica’s mom hugs me, too, but I pull away quickly. I haven’t forgotten the Home Supply Station bags in her car and the receipts on her kitchen counter. Then Luke hugs everyone, including Mom and me.

  Luke sniffles and says, “You should visit us in North Dakota. It’s just like Minnesota except without hills and trees and lakes.” I glare at Luke. That’s my line. Obviously he’s been eavesdropping again.

  Our moms laugh, and I mess up his hair. “Watch out,” I say. “You’ll grow up and become the governor of North Dakota.”

  “Probably,” he says.

  Jessica and her mom wave from the car as they drive away.

  I can’t wave back. My arms are too heavy. I whisper to Luke, “Blow them kisses.”

  He kisses both of his palms and blows toward the car. He does it over and over, until the car turns left at the sto
p sign and disappears.

  ABOUT BRENT HELZINSKI AND ME

  Brent Helzinski came with his stepfather to our going-out-of-business sale. I was taking apart empty shelves on the back wall. Brent bumped into me and said, “Hairy Mary’s hardware store. Half the quality; twice the price.”

  Chapter Six

  There’s going to be a wedding … and a cute neighbor

  Eden’s bedroom got a makeover. Last I saw it—and it’s probably been two years since I’ve actually gone into her bedroom—she was living in a sea of pinks and purples. Now the walls are light gray. She hung blue curtains and put white-and-blue comforters on each twin bed. She replaced movie posters with nature prints. It’s a room for a grown-up, for a twenty-one-year-old bride-to-be.

  When Eden was in middle school, I was in kindergarten, so it’s not like we ever gabbed about teenage stuff like boys and music. We did puzzles and baked cookies. Grandma bought paint sets, and the three of us set up a little art studio in the basement. Then in high school Eden started working in the hospital laundry on weekends. After she graduated, she worked full time plus added online college classes. For the last five years, she’s rarely been home during our weekend visits, and she never has time to come to Holmestrand.

  Now we’re roommates, and I don’t know what to expect. Does she listen to hip-hop all night? Does she knit scarves or read magazines or play solitaire? Is she mad I’m crashing her space? Better me than Luke, who leaves a trail of cracker crumbs everywhere he goes. He’ll be camping out at Grandma’s. When Grandma retired, Aunt Maggie and Uncle Will changed their two-story house to a duplex so Grandma could move in with them but have her own space. A door in the kitchen connects the two sides. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Will’s side only has two bedrooms, which is why I’m bunking with Eden. Luke is staying in Grandma’s extra room.

  I unpack my clothes and set up my laptop. I put pictures of my soccer team and church youth group on the nightstand next to my rosary box. Grandma gave me the small box when I got my First Communion. It’s made of dark, polished wood, and inside is a beautiful rosary necklace with a silver cross and blue beads. I hardly ever say rosary prayers because it takes forever, but I like the box. Also tucked inside is a pin with the face of Mary the Mother of God and a small prayer card with a picture of Pope Francis on one side and the Lord’s Prayer printed on the other side.

  I hear a whirring noise followed by a sputter. I look through the curtains and see a dark-haired boy in the yard pulling the cord on a lawn mower. After a few more coughs and sputters, he lets the cord snap and rubs his shoulder. He kneels by the mower and puts his head close, like it might whisper to him.

  Customers used to bring lawn mowers to the store when they couldn’t get them running. I knew how to change spark plugs before I could do long division. I go down the stairs and rush through the living room, where Uncle Will is napping on the couch.

  As I cross the yard, I say, “It’s the spark plug.”

  The boy stands and squints through the sunlight. “Huh?”

  “It’s probably a dirty spark plug.”

  He grins. “Are you the world’s youngest mechanic?”

  “My family owns a hardware store. Owned, I mean. I’ve seen a million lawn mower problems.”

  “Hardware stores fix lawn mowers?”

  “In a small town, hardware stores do everything. You need help?”

  He pretend kicks the mower. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Hang tight.” I get a socket wrench from the garage. I kneel next to the lawn mower and twist the wrench until the spark plug comes out. I show him the plug. “See? Full of gunk. You need to scrape that off and clean it.”

  “Clean it with what? Regular soap?”

  “Carburetor cleaner would work.”

  Now he looks at me suspiciously. “You’re not going to steal my gig, are you? I made a lot of money mowing the lawn for Will Collins last year. The only other job in this neighborhood is babysitting for the kid on the corner. Braden. He’s a monster. I’d rather sweat gallons mowing lawns than watch that kid.”

  I could use some cash, but my parents wouldn’t let me take money for helping Aunt Maggie and Uncle Will.

  “I don’t want your mowing job. Promise.”

  Truth is, the yard needs more than a quick cut. Dandelions are scattered on the lawn like yellow confetti. Weeds sprout from the cracks in the sidewalk, and quack grass is weaving itself from the curb to the porch. Uncle Will is an over-the-road trucker. He drives across the country all week. When he’s home, he’s too tired for yard work, which is a man’s job, according to Grandma.

  The boy asks, “Do you live around here?”

  “This is my aunt and uncle’s house. I’m here for the summer, but trust me, the mowing job is yours.”

  “Good. But you can take Braden The Child Terrorist if you want. What’s your name?”

  “Mary Miller.”

  “I’m Nicholas Dang.”

  “Did you say Dang, like dang it?”

  “It’s common in Vietnam. Like Johnson or Smith,” he says. “My parents call me Nicholas, but everyone else calls me Nick.”

  I’m glad he mentioned Vietnam because I was too embarrassed to ask. I would’ve guessed Chinese. Kids in St. Paul probably can tell the difference in Asian backgrounds, but pretty much everyone in Holmestand is as white as bleached T-shirts.

  He asks, “Can you help me find some carburetor cleaner?”

  “I’ll be right back.” I search the shelves in the garage until I find carburetor cleaner tucked behind bags of birdseed. Then I show Nick how to clean the spark plug. Thankfully I can just demonstrate and not talk because I’m running out of things to say. I’m shy, but not Eden-level shy. She takes medication for her disorder, which makes it hard for her to be in groups or around strangers. I’ve seen it. She sweats and blushes and whispers, and words tumble out of her mouth in the wrong order. I overheard Aunt Maggie tell Mom that she even gets diarrhea. Eden isn’t like that one-on-one with family, but all of us together are too much. At Sunday dinner or holidays, she tries to blend into the wall. How’d she ever go on a date?

  Finally the spark plug goes back in its spot, and I hope it starts. I’ll feel like an idiot if I’m wrong. “Let’s try it.”

  “I got it,” he says. “I can’t let you do everything.”

  He yanks the cord. Nothing. The second time he yanks it coughs and sputters. The third time it roars. He smiles, yells thanks over the rumble of the motor, and starts cutting a strip of grass.

  I go back to the house. They’re going to call me in soon anyway. Grandma’s planning a family meal for Justin tonight. Mom isn’t leaving until morning, so we all get to meet him. I stop on the porch and watch Nick push the mower from the driveway toward the mailbox. The mower spits grass and weeds, leaving a lush strip behind him. It won’t take long for the weeds to make a comeback, but for a day, the lawn will look perfect.

  ABOUT BRENT HELZINSKI AND ME

  I wasn’t aiming at Brent. I kicked the ball hard because I wanted to score a run.

  The ball blasted into Brent’s face like it’d been shot from a cannon. Blood sprayed out of his nose and dripped down his chin. He dropped to his knees.

  I said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

  He didn’t answer, but his eyes said it all. I swear I saw a glint of fire.

  A few weeks later, we both ended up at the Halloween party.

  And everything changed.

  Chapter Seven

  There’s going to be a wedding … really, really soon

  For Justin’s dinner, we’re having beef and cabbage, German potato noodles, and streusel—all homemade by Grandma, of course. Normally we’d have a dinner like this on Sunday after church, not on a Friday, but Mom wants to leave in the morning for North Dakota.

  “Mary,” Grandma says, “use the good silverware.”

  Grandma is a kitchen tornado, checking the beef while putting frozen peas in a pan while searching for the fancy se
rving tray while issuing orders. Even though she’s zipping around the hot kitchen, she looks perfect, like a model in a brochure for a retirement community. Her face is powder fresh, her floral dress is free of wrinkles, and her hair is tousled into soft curls. I think her energy comes from her Zumba class, but Dad says she runs off a nuclear core. He says, “Uncontained nuclear energy is toxic, you know.” Then Mom smacks his shoulder and he laughs.

  I set the table and sneak outside before I get another assignment. Eden is sitting on the wicker sofa on the screened-in porch. She looks like she’s in a trance, petting Cleocatra and chewing the nail on her thumb. She doesn’t notice me until I say hello.

  When Eden stands and extends her arm, I think she’s going to hug me, because everyone in our family hugs. By the time I realize she’s only pointing at a dog on the sidewalk, I’ve got my arm on her shoulder. I pull away quickly, but she seems to realize this is a hug, so she comes toward me. We end up positioned with my nose in her ear.

  I laugh, but Eden blushes. Her skin is clear and pale, so when she blushes, her face turns stoplight red. Maybe that’s why she keeps her blond bangs too long and wears glasses with thick brown frames instead of contacts. She’s hiding.

  “Gosh, I haven’t seen you since Christmas,” Eden says. We always spend Christmas in St. Paul. Uncle Will won’t visit us in the winter. He says he’s afraid of polar bears, which cracks me up. Holmestrand is colder than St. Paul, but not by much.

  “Can I see your ring?”

  Eden blushes again. She sits on the wicker couch and puts her hand on her knee. The ring is gold with a diamond slightly bigger than a grain of salt. It’s the perfect ring for her. She’d never wear flashy jewelry.

  “It’s pretty,” I say.

  She leans toward me and whispers, “Does it smell disgusting?”

  “The ring? Rings don’t smell.”

  “Not the ring. The food. Grandma asked what I wanted for dinner, and I know she loves making her German food, and I love eating her German food, so I said German food. But I didn’t think about the smell of beef and cabbage.”