But Andrew guesses exactly what I was about to say. “And then there’s the fact that the pencil test told Stephanie she was having a boy,” he finishes for me.
I blush.
“You know,” Andrew goes on, making a wide left turn, “the test could be wrong. After all, Steph and I didn’t get the official word from a doctor, and sometimes even doctors are wrong.”
“Mom says those tests are scarily accurate,” I tell him, toying with my purple-striped gloves. “So most likely the baby is a boy.”
“I don’t know about that,” replies Andrew. “There’s a good possibility, maybe, but I don’t think I would say most likely.”
I chew on that for a moment. “I guess we just have to wait and see.”
“Exactly!” My big brother smiles at me. “Now what do you say we put Uncle Javi’s family and the gender of the baby out of our minds for tonight, and focus on having a good time?”
I grin back at him. “I say, that sounds perfect!”
Andrew, Stephanie, and I do have a good time. We order Chinese take-out for dinner, complete with won-ton soup and egg rolls and my favorite pork lo-mein, and eat it in front of the TV while we watch a couple of Christmas movies I picked out at the nearby Blockbuster.
The small sitting room of the apartment is warm and cozy. Andrew and Stephanie put up a Christmas tree in the corner, and there are decorative stockings hung on the mantelpiece of the electric fireplace, where flames dance over artificial logs, and a string of miniature Christmas lights around the big framed mirror that was one of my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding presents.
Halfway through the second movie, Stephanie pauses the DVD. “Who wants hot chocolate?” she asks.
In my opinion, you can never have too much hot chocolate in the wintertime, especially at Christmas. “I do!” I exclaim.
“That sounds great,” says Andrew to his wife. “How about I make it while you sit here and relax?”
Stephanie waves her hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” she protests, getting to her feet.
But Andrew insists. He and I carry the leftovers of our dinner into the kitchenette, where I close the flaps on the cardboard take-out containers and slide them into the fridge. Andrew jams our used rumpled napkins, chopsticks, and empty packets of soy sauce into a paper bag, which he tosses into the garbage. He and I both rinse out our water glasses and stack them in the dishwasher. Then he pulls three mugs from the cupboard.
“Where do you keep your hot chocolate mix?” I ask, wanting to be helpful.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Andrew replies. “Why don’t you go keep Steph company?”
Happily, I agree, and return to the sitting room.
My sister-in-law is curled up in the corner of the couch, a blanket wrapped over her legs, her face shining in the glow of the Christmas decorations.
“Hi,” I say, dropping down next to her.
“Hi, yourself!” Stephanie smiles warmly.
“What were you thinking about?” I ask.
“Thinking about?”
“Yeah. When I came in, you looked like you had something on your mind.”
Stephanie steeples her fingers reflectively. “Oh, just the baby, I guess. I was wondering whether this Christmas or next Christmas would be his or her first.”
I stare at her, puzzled. “Well...this Christmas, of course!”
“Not necessarily,” says Stephanie. “What if the baby’s born after Christmas?”
“But-”I stammer “but the due date is December twenty-first.”
“That’s true,” my sister-in-law replies. “But sometimes babies come late. Especially first babies.”
I hadn’t thought about that! I was so worried the baby might be a boy, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that it might not even arrive in time for Christmas. This keeps getting worse and worse!
I must have a horrified look on my face, because Stephanie turns to me, strokes my hair, and tucks it behind my ears. “Whenever the baby comes,” she tells me, “early, late, or right on time, I’ll still consider him or her my Christmas gift. The exact date doesn’t matter so much, does it?”
I swallow a hard lump in my throat. “I guess not,” I lie.
Stephanie pulls me toward her, and I lean on her shoulder. “You need to relax, Tori,” she tells me gently. “Whatever happens is meant to be.”
I know she’s right, but somehow I’m not content with that. I guess I’ll just try not to focus on it. After a long pause, I ask, “What does it feel like?”
Her eyes widen. “Being pregnant, you mean?”
I duck my head, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah,” I mumble.
Stephanie laughs. “It’s warm and wonderful, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. You can’t imagine the awesomeness of feeling another human being moving inside of you.” She shakes her head, as if to clear away the dreaminess. “Of course, it isn’t all a picnic. Swollen feet and nausea and extreme exhaustion aren’t exactly my idea of a good time.”
I giggle. “Does the baby kick a lot?”
“A lot,” she replies. “In fact....” She takes my hand, pressing it gently against the bulge in her top.
At first, I feel nothing. But then, I do! A warm, murky motion like an underwater swimmer meets my palm.
“That’s your new niece or nephew,” Stephanie says.
It’s an incredible moment. I squeeze my eyes shut, draw a deep breath, and silently will my deepest wish to the unborn baby: Please, please, please be a girl...and please be born in time for Christmas!
Every morning for the entire next week, I pull back my window curtain first thing, checking outside for snow. No such luck. Only gray skies and heavy clouds and sometimes a dreary shower of chilly rain are there to greet me. Before I know it, it’s Friday again, the last day of school before winter break. There’s a constant hum and buzz in the atmosphere of Mr. London’s fifth-grade classroom that morning as we all try (and fail) to focus on finishing up our work. The afternoon is reserved for class parties, so after lunch, we’re home free!
5L’s party begins the moment our room moms arrive. We have a blast. My classmates and I dip red and green plastic spoons in melted chocolate bark and then roll them in crushed peppermint to make holiday coffee-stirrers to use as presents. When the chocolate has dried around the spoons, the room moms wrap them in festive cellophane and tie them off with curly gold ribbon.
We play games, including a Secret Santa present swap (I end up with a candy-cane-striped teddy bear holding a tube of hand lotion, from a girl named Bryn) and decorate-the-Christmas-tree-blindfolded, which is sort of the holiday version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. At the very end of the party, we pig out on Christmas cookies, frosted Christmas cupcakes, chocolate candy, red and green tortilla chips with salsa, Chex Mix, pretzels, fresh fruit, and holiday punch made with 7-Up and raspberry sherbet.
I have a bit of a stomachache by the time the final bell rings. Even so, I gather my things quickly and hurry out to my locker, along with the rest of the class.
“Happy Holidays!” Mr. London calls after us. “Everyone have a great break!”
I bang open my locker, stuff my books, notebooks, folders, and pencil pouch into my backpack, zip it up, and pull on my jacket, scarf, and gloves. It may not be snowy out, but it sure is cold.
My friend Shannon rushes over to me. “Merry Christmas, Tori!” she cries, wrapping me in a hug. “I can’t believe our winter break is finally here!”
“Me, neither,” I say. “Have fun with your mom’s family in Vermont!”
Shannon flashes me a knowing smile. “It should be interesting. I’ll be back on the twenty-eighth, in time to spend New Year’s with my dad. Let’s get together sometime after that, so we can give each other our Christmas presents.”
“Sounds great!” I say. “You’re going to love what I got you.”
“So are you! I have presents for Gina, Emily, and Elissa, too. We should have a sleepover or something.”
; “Did I hear my name?” Gina pokes her head around the door of her locker.
“You sure did!” Shannon rushes to my cousin, hugs her, and wishes her a Merry Christmas, as well.
Half-an-hour has passed by the time Gina and I finish saying goodbye to all of our friends and making plans for winter break. As we walk toward the front doors together, my stomachache gets worse.
“Ugh!” I say. “I ate way too much at that party.”
“Me, too.” Gina’s eyes sparkle. “But it sure was good, wasn’t it? Food is one of the best parts of the holidays.”
“Right now,” I reply, “I don’t care if I never see another crumb of food.”
“Don’t tell Abuelita that,” my cousin laughs. “You know how much she enjoys cooking for Christmas!”
“So does my mom,” I add. “She’s been doing a lot of it lately.”
“Christmas is only a week away!” bubbles Gina. She glances at me. “Hey! Uncle Javi’s family gets here on Tuesday, right?”
My mood immediately sours. “Late Monday night, to be exact,” I groan.
Gina swats my arm. “Come on, Tori! I keep telling you, it’s going to be so much fun. I wish we had houseguests for the holidays.”
“Take ours,” I say.
She shakes her head. “You’re impossible, you know that? I guess you’re still worried about Andrew and Stephanie’s baby, too?”
I nod miserably. “Not only the gender, either,” I tell her. “I’m worried the baby might not even be born in time for Christmas. Stephanie’s due date is three days away.”
“Three days is three days,” Gina returns optimistically. “And there are still four days after that before it’s Christmas.”
I don’t say anything as we push through the glass double-doors of Forest Grove Elementary’s main entrance. The cold wind hits our faces right away. And, of course, there is still no sign of snow.
Chapter Five
The weekend passes quickly. On Saturday, I spend most of the morning and the early-afternoon helping Mom and Dad de-clutter for our (ugh) Christmas houseguests. When we’re finished for the day, I take a hot shower, blow-dry my hair, and pull on some fresh clothes. I head downstairs just in time to run into Ben as he bursts through the front door, his ski jacket zipped to his chin and his cheeks stung red from the cold.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s the rush?”
My brother screeches to a stop. “Oh,” he returns, glancing at me in surprise, “I just picked up Jaine to take her to the mall, and I realized I left my wallet at home, so I came back to get it.” He snatches the wallet from the entryway table and jams it into his jeans pocket. “Driving without a license. Not a good idea.”
“The mall?” I ask brightly, ignoring the whole bit about his wallet. “Can I come with? I have some Christmas shopping I need to finish.”
“No way,” says Ben. “This is a date. As in, no ten-year-olds allowed.”
“Please?” I beg.
“Nope.” He reaches for the door handle. “See ya later.”
Not about to give up, I stuff my feet into my shoes, which are right there on the entryway mat. Without tying the laces, I run outside and follow Ben across the yard to Mom’s car, parked by the curb with Jaine in the passenger seat. The bitter cold bites my skin through the thin layer of my top, but I do my best to ignore it.
Ben sees me coming. He hurtles around the back of the car, flings himself onto the driver’s seat, and is fiddling with the ignition by the time I catch up to him, rapping loudly on the passenger side window.
Jaine rolls it down. “Tori!” she gasps. “What’s going on?”
“She’s crazy, that’s what,” Ben answers for me. “She wants to come on our date.”
“I have Christmas shopping to do,” I explain, my warm breath creating a visible puff in the cold air. “I promise I’ll leave you guys alone. We could even pick up Gina on the way over. Mom lets us shop by ourselves, as long as we stick together.”
“Sorry, but no,” Ben replies firmly.
But Jaine twists to face him, running a gloved hand down the arm of his jacket. “Why can’t she, Benny? It’s not a big deal to me. Besides, don’t you remember how it was to be a little kid?”
My jaw drops in surprise. I’ll even pardon Jaine the use of the phrase “little kid.” She was sticking up for me!
Ben groans, but I know all too well how Jaine’s got him wrapped around her little finger. Not five seconds later, he relents. “Get your coat, Tori,” he says grudgingly. “And don’t forget to tell Mom or Dad you’re coming with us. And above all, don’t forget your money. I’m not buying those gifts for you. You can use my cell to call Gina when you get back to the car.”
I pump my fists into the air and do a victory dance right there on the lawn.
Jaine smiles at me, an actual warm, sincere smile. And for once, the smile I give her in return is warm and sincere, too.
Sunday is even busier than Saturday. The whole family pitches in to dust, vacuum, clean, and organize. We wash bedding and make up beds for our (ugh) Christmas houseguests, who are due to arrive the next night. We make grocery lists and hit the supermarket, dividing and conquering. We help Mom bake gingerbread cookies, double-fudge brownies, and candied pecans to freeze for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We wrap presents (including the ones I picked up at the mall yesterday), tie them with shiny ribbon, and write gift tags. Finally, we carry them downstairs and pile them under the Christmas tree.
By that time, it’s nearly seven o’clock in the evening, and the six of us are exhausted, not to mention famished. No one has an ounce of energy or motivation to throw some dinner together, so Dad suggests Taco Bell.
Nate and I take his pick-up to the drive-through window and place a big order, not only tacos, but tostadas and Chalupas, Cinnamon Twists, and a steak quesadilla for Joey. At home, Mom pours pop for everyone and we eat dinner by the TV, watching a Christmas movie marathon on cable.
That night, I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
When I wake up on Monday morning, December twenty-first, I feel a tangle of strange emotions in my chest. My first thought is of Andrew and Stephanie, and that their baby is due today. My second thought is of Uncle Javi’s family, and that they are arriving tonight to invade our privacy. My heart thumping with something that can only be described as anxiety, I force myself from my warm nest of covers, toppling Ebony, who was curled up on my stomach. She glares at me and struts toward the closet, where she can sleep in peace on my disorganized jumble of shoes.
“And a delightful morning to you, too,” I tell her sarcastically. Quickly, I dress, trading my p.j.’s for a long-sleeved T-shirt, a comfy pair of jeans, and my green polka-dotted slipper socks. Then I strip my bed of covers and make it from scratch, tucking the sheets neatly around the mattress and everything. When I’m finished, I carefully arrange my throw pillows and stuffed animals against the headboard, and step back to survey my work.
Typically, I’m a very sloppy bed-maker. I leave sheets hanging at messy angles beneath the rumpled covers, and I don’t care how the pillows and stuffed animals are arranged. But yesterday, Mom told me that I’d better start caring, because Uncle Javi and Aunt Leilani’s eight-year-old daughter Joy is going to be sharing my room with me!
To say the least, I was not happy about that. I asked Mom why Joy couldn’t share with her older sister Bella instead. She explained that she figured Bella, being a twelve-year-old girl, would appreciate some privacy, and assured me that Joy and I would have a blast together.
“But I’m a ten-year-old girl,” I protested, “and I would appreciate some privacy, too.”
“Stop it, Tori,” snapped Mom. “You love having sleepovers.”
This isn’t a sleepover, I wanted to say. And Joy isn’t Gina...or any of my other friends, either. But I kept all that to myself.
And now the roll-away bed stands across from my own, crisply made with freshly-laundered sheets and blankets, and a plumped-up pillow at the h
ead. Mom even put a chocolate Santa on top of the pillow. I’ll tell you, I was tempted to eat it last night.
With a sigh, I yank open my bedroom door and head downstairs for breakfast. On the way, I realize that I forgot to check for snow the very first thing after waking, but as I come into view of the front door and windows, I can see that it doesn’t matter. The world is still brown and gray and gloomy. It hasn’t snowed all December.
In the kitchen, Joey is lounging across a couple of chairs at the table, eating a gigantic bowl of Lucky Charms with chocolate milk and flipping through an extreme sports magazine.
I grab a bowl and spoon of my own and fix myself a duplicate of his breakfast. Then I drop into the seat across from him. “’Morning,” I say dully.
Joey glances up. “If it isn’t Suzy Sunshine,” he retorts.
I grunt in answer, lifting a spoonful of cereal to my mouth.
“This is a good day,” insists Joey. “No school, and it’s almost Christmas. Besides, the relatives are coming.”
“Must you remind me?” I ask.
My brother rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about that?”
“Joy has to share my room,” I whine, annoyed by his good mood.
Joey shrugs. “So? I have to move in with Ben for a week so Bella can sleep in my room. You don’t hear me crying.”
I ignore that. “I haven’t seen Joy since two Christmases ago. She was six back then, and I hardly remember anything about her, except that she was shy and quiet.”
“And that you were jealous of her,” adds Joey, laughing. “You thought everyone was going to think she was cuter than you. You spent Christmas Day singing your head off into that karaoke machine you got, so they’d pay attention to you instead.”
“I did not!” I cry, my cheeks burning. But even as I say it, I know that Joey’s right. I was jealous of Joy. I did make a fool of myself singing karaoke all Christmas long. Though born actresses do crave the spotlight, I’ll have to admit it was very immature of me, especially since Joy didn’t even retaliate. She’s always been the type who’s happy blending in with a crowd.
The Tori Trilogy Page 12