Mia Buchanan: OMG.
Yoshi Pennington: They came with the house.
Mia Buchanan: Uh-huh. *winky face*
Yoshi Pennington: But I will say, I kind of like them.
I’m grinning so hard, my cheeks hurt.
My phone beeps with a new text. This one is from my father.
Dad: Any chance you can babysit Saturday night?
I read it quickly, but then return to texting Yoshi.
Mia Buchanan: Well, you are full of surprises.
As soon as I press SEND, I realize I sent this text to Dad. Oh my god. Oh my god.
I just sent the flirty text I’d meant for Yoshi to Dad!
Dad: What?
Yoshi Pennington: So we should probably talk about the festival. As much fun as this is.
Mia Buchanan: One sec. Dealing with an issue.
And then I switch screens. I am so dumb.
Mia Buchanan: I’m so sorry, Dad. I sent you the wrong text.
Dad: It’s OK. You texting with Lark?
I bite my lip.
Mia: No, another friend.
Dad: Hang on, Lilou is crying. But Saturday night?
Yoshi Pennington: Everything OK?
Mia Buchanan: Sure. Saturday night sounds great.
Yoshi Pennington: Saturday night?
Mia Buchanan: Shoot. BRB.
Mia Buchanan: Sat night is good.
Dad: Great. Thanks, love. Say hi to your texting friend!
If my dad knew I was texting with a boy, how would he react? Dad is pretty easygoing. Shannon, too. Mom and Thierry are the ones who’d want to know more information. I return to the Yoshi text thread.
Mia Buchanan: I’m back now. Texting with too many people and getting confused.
Yoshi Pennington: Does this mean you have exciting plans for Saturday night?
I chuckle, but I’m feeling too flustered. Maybe it’s time to wrap things up.
Mia Buchanan: Just babysitting. Anyway, I have to go down to dinner soon. Talk soon?
I hold my breath because it almost feels like he should be able to spot the lie. Though in truth, Mom is probably moments away from calling me down to eat.
Yoshi Pennington: Sure. Have a good night!
I put the phone next to me on the windowsill and then lean forward to rest my forehead on my knees. There was something so fun about texting with Yoshi. It was like I saw him as a totally different person. But it’s also kind of nice to be alone right now, where I don’t have to worry about being funny or flirty, and I can just relax.
And take the time to apologize to Lark for freaking out and running out of the library. I pick up my phone again.
Mia Buchanan: So on a scale of one to one million, how much did I embarrass myself this afternoon?
It doesn’t seem like Lark is on her phone, but sometimes it just takes her longer to get to it.
Mia Buchanan: I’m really sorry I left without saying good-bye. Like more sorry than I was when I accidentally ate the chocolate cupcake in your lunch.
There’s a long pause, and I wrap my arms around my knees.
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: That wasn’t an accident.
My stomach does a little, hopeful skip. But still, I tread carefully.
Mia Buchanan: I know. That was also crappy of me. I’m a terrible friend.
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: It’s a good thing I have fond memories of you from when we were little.
I smile.
Mia Buchanan: So, Yoshi walked me home today …
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: And …
Mia Buchanan: And nothing. It was really fun.
There’s a long pause where it once again seems like Lark isn’t typing.
Mia Buchanan: OK. It was really, really fun. *swoons*
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: You know I’m going to say that you should tell him how you feel. So why even bring it up?
Mia Buchanan: All right, all right.
I pause, then type quickly.
Mia Buchanan: Any festival updates from your mom?
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: Nope. Gotta go. Talk later.
I feel unsettled, like things aren’t in their proper places. Mom calls me down to dinner then, and I can barely pay attention to the food or conversation. Instead, I try to think of ways to save the festival, which is just about as unsuccessful as not thinking about the sudden awkwardness that was there between me and Lark.
I wake up Saturday morning to a text from Lark.
Lark Mapp-Jefferson: Update from Mom: The town council meeting to discuss the festival will be held Sunday evening.
I debate how to respond and finally just send back a frowning face.
That means there’s only thirty-six hours to come up with a plan. I should have spent less time texting with Yoshi last night and more time brainstorming.
I sit up in bed and bite my thumbnail. What if they cancel the festival and everything that we’ve worked for is for nothing?
And I know it’s silly, but I can’t help thinking:
No sleigh ride.
No photograph to go in the series with Mom’s, Grandma’s, and Grandpa’s.
And, of course, there’s the new fear that we may have to sell the inn.
I sigh and check the weather apps on my phone. My heart leaps when I see something different: 80 percent chance of …
Wait.
Rain. Not snow. Rain.
Tonight.
My stomach sinks. Great.
I open the ten-day forecast and feel a beat of hope. Twenty percent chance of snow!
But that’s only on the last day of the ten-day forecast, which is Monday. The day after the festival ends.
Too late and also not enough.
I toss my phone onto the big chair at the corner of my room where I like to do my homework and bury myself under my covers.
I feel like a bear: Wake me up when the weather is better.
* * *
Apparently, Mom doesn’t think much of my becoming one with my inner bear. Half an hour later, I’m helping her with a weekend ritual: going through the inn to straighten up and making sure everything looks good.
News flash: It always looks good. Between the carefully preserved antique furniture to the tasteful decorations that Mom has been handpicking for decades, I feel like I live in a dollhouse.
But then I remember the conversation between Mom and Thierry in the kitchen, and I try to temper my irritation.
“I love this house.” I sigh, perhaps a little too dramatically. “Especially at Christmas. It’s so pretty with all the holly wreaths and the dark wood and …”
Mom frowns my way and then passes me a dusting rag. We have a cleaning staff, but they’re working on preparing all the bedrooms upstairs, so Mom and I are doing the living room.
“It looks like it’ll be a small crowd for dinner tonight,” Mom says after a few moments of quiet. Well, outward quiet, since in my head I’m freaking out about the possibility of having to sell the inn. Must. Save. The. Inn.
“Mm-hmm.” When we’re not in our busy season, Thierry and Mom sit by the fire or on the back porch, enjoying a cup of tea in the evening. There’s none of this stressful energy. The guests come and go, and the most pressing issue is when someone takes home one of our famous white plush bathrobes, or when Thierry can’t decide between a warm soup and a cold soup. There’s no tension. No raised voices.
“Thierry is making the chicken Provençal you like so much,” Mom continues. “I know you’re staying at your dad’s tonight, but I thought you guys all might like to have dinner here.”
“I think Dad and Shannon are going out tonight. They asked if I could babysit.”
“Ah,” Mom says, and she puts on the smile that is usually reserved for talking on the phone with guests at the inn. “Another time.”
I nod, dusting an invisible spot on the coffee table.
“How are things at your dad’s?” she asks.
“Good.” I shrug.
I know I’m lucky when it comes
to my parents. Mom married Thierry when I was three, and two years later, Dad married Shannon. Mom and Dad don’t fight, but they also aren’t best friends. They’re almost like colleagues: cordial, committed to working together, and a little distant. They’ve been divorced since I was a baby, so I have no image in my mind of them being in love. I can’t really even picture it, if I’m honest with myself. Dad is so laid-back, living out in the country, his hair a bit too long, his clothing a bit too threadbare. Apparently, when they were married, he’d helped my mom with the inn, which I can only imagine was a disaster. Dad’s attention span for anything but his woodworking projects is … nonexistent. The number of times I’ve gone into his kitchen to find his forgotten vegetables on the cutting board and un-boiled water on the stove is more than I can easily recall.
“Lilou is getting a new tooth, so she’s not really sleeping,” I add. “And since she’s sharing a room with Tabitha and Talulah …”
I glance up in time to see the tiniest hint of an eye roll from my mom. I giggle, because my mom almost never gives in to the urge to roll her eyes at Dad and Shannon’s parenting style.
But she’s right. Twin three-year-olds sharing a room with a baby is a little much. Though, if it means I get my own room at Dad’s, I won’t argue. Better than sleeping in the den. Or on the couch.
“Well, give us a call if you need anything,” Mom tells me, smoothing the bun at the nape of her neck. “We don’t have that many guests to worry about,” she adds, a little sadly.
I know, I think. I almost want to bring up what I overheard, but then the phone rings.
Mom winces.
“Do you want me to get it?” I ask, but she shakes her head and walks over to the desk.
“Good morning. This is the Rocking Horse Inn, Amy speaking.”
Mom’s putting up a brave front, but her shoulders are up near her ears.
And then I hear it: the dreaded words.
“Yes, unfortunately, we have no way of knowing whether it will snow for sure, but if you’d like to cancel …”
I turn away with a heavy sigh. I’m kind of glad I’m not sleeping here tonight.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re all set?” Shannon asks me that evening as we stand in her living room, which is cluttered and colorful, a far cry from the inn. For all her laid-back, supercool attitude, Shannon can get anxious when it comes to leaving the littles. Even with me.
“I can have friends over for a party as long as the girls are watching TV, right?” I ask with a grin. This is our familiar routine. “And they need to be asleep by ten p.m.? With chocolates in hand?”
“Hardy har har.” Shannon grimaces. She brings this on herself as far as I’m concerned. The girls love it when I babysit because I’m the only one who makes Snail’s Pace Race into a competitive game instead of one of cooperation. And I bring treats.
It’s pretty much my duty as a big sister. And another reason I refuse to think about the possibility of moving. Not. Going. To. Happen.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Dad puts one arm around me and kisses my temple. His beard is scratchy against my skin, but I wouldn’t ask him to shave for anything. I found an old picture of him shaved once and … I think it scarred me.
“Call if you need anything,” Shannon adds as Dad helps her into her ski jacket. “We’re just going to Rachel and Andrew’s house for dinner. They live up the mountain, but I’m sure they have reception up there.” She bites the corner of her lip. I know that now she’s wondering if that’s true, what would happen if she was unreachable.
“Won’t hesitate to call if anything comes up,” I promise, holding up my phone. “And if for whatever reason you aren’t reachable, Mom’s home and she can help me.”
Shannon nods, more to herself than to me. For the millionth time, I thank the gods that if there is any weirdness between Mom and Thierry and Dad and Shannon, they push it out of sight. While Shannon and Mom aren’t besties, there’s no question that Shannon would turn to Mom if she needed the help.
Reason number nine million why we can’t leave Flurry.
I shove that thought away as Shannon finally shuts the door behind her. I turn to my sisters—my crazy, messy, and filthy sisters. Oy.
“Okay, so which one of you is Talulah and which is Tabitha?” I tease, hands on my hips.
“The baby is Tab,” Tabitha informs me. She’s trying to play it straight, but the tiniest grin threatens to take over her face and her blue eyes are shining. That’s the only feature the four of us share: We all have Dad’s deep blue eyes.
“Okay, Baby Tab,” I say, picking up Talulah instead of Lilou. “Wait. Shouldn’t you be sleeping in the crib by now?”
“Nooooo!” The twins screech with laughter. And Lilou, never one to miss an opportunity to be in on a joke, joins in with a giant burp.
I love my girls.
* * *
By the time I have them fed, bathed, and changed into pj’s, I’m starting to wonder how any babysitter can do anything after taking care of three kids. I’d initially thought I could do some homework or watch TV, but I’m personally praying that I can get through their bedtime before I face-plant onto my own bed.
Luckily, Lilou is asleep in the sling I’m wearing, so apart from a backache and feeling like I’m attached to a pint-size furnace, I technically only have two kids to put to bed. Except, since it’s Tully and Tab, it’s the equivalent of fifteen kids.
“Books or stories?” I ask them as we plop onto the living room couch. I learned early on that you never offer to lie in one of their beds. They’ll either fight about whose bed we get to lie in, or whose bed we don’t lie in. Living room couch it is.
“Stories,” Tabitha insists, and by some unprecedented miracle, Talulah agrees.
“Make-believe or real?” This time I turn to Talulah. She might have agreed with Tabitha’s suggestion, but I’m not taking any risks of “it’s not fair.”
I really can’t imagine why Shannon is worried about me babysitting. I know all the tricks already.
Talulah scrunches up her face and waits half a beat. “If she can’t decide, can I say?” Tabitha interrupts.
“I know what I want,” Talulah bellows.
Lilou stirs in my pouch, and I rock from side to side to make sure she’s sleeping. I may have spoken too soon about my expertise.
Tabitha opens her mouth to argue.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the front door.
I glance at the kitchen clock. Eight. Definitely too early for Dad and Shannon to get back. Unless something happened …
I push off the couch as gracefully as I can, hoping that I can keep Lilou asleep.
“Mama says we shouldn’t open the door for anyone,” Tabitha cautions, her body so close behind mine that every time she steps, her toes graze my heels. Talulah, never one to be excluded from an adventure, is plastered to my thigh. One false step, and we’ll land in a great big pile of arms and legs and a very unhappy Lilou.
“Who is it?” I call when I reach the door.
“Um, it’s Yoshi? From next door?”
I freeze.
Yoshi? My Yoshi or another one …
I mean, not my Yoshi.
Agh!
I shift my gaze to the girls and they’re grinning. “Hi, Yoshi!” Tabitha yells through the door, as though we’ve been locked inside the house for days, and he’s found us. “My sister Mia is babysitting tonight!”
There’s a beat of silence, and I wonder if Yoshi realizes it’s his Mia. Shoot. Not that I’m his Mia but …
I’m blushing.
“Um, hi there, Ta …” Yoshi trails off, and I realize he’s trying to figure out which kid just spoke to him.
With their very different hair lengths—Tab’s is short and pixie-ish, and Tul’s is long and curly—the girls are easy to tell apart. But I can’t fault Yoshi for not being able to do so through the oak door. I can barely do it on the phone, and most of the time I’m just guessing.
“Gir
ls, back up,” I order, jiggling my body to keep Lilou from waking.
“But, Mia, we aren’t supposed to open the door, unless there’s a grown-up with us,” Talulah says in a high whisper. I don’t know who she thinks she’s hiding from. I’m sure that Shannon and Dad can hear her from the top of whatever mountain they’re on.
“Sweetie, I know Yoshi. And I’m technically the grown-up here.”
“You aren’t a grown-up,” Tabitha says.
“It’s fine, guys. You aren’t opening the door by yourself. I’m here.”
Except, now that I look down, I realize that in addition to carrying a sleeping—and drooling—Lilou, my sweatpants are totally stretched out, and I think there’s a piece of orange macaroni stuck to my gray wool socks. Not that I should care what I look like in front of Yoshi. But it would be better if I didn’t look like a total disaster. Never mind how I smell after wrestling the kids through dinner and bath time.
Whatever.
When I manage to jerk the door open, there’s Yoshi on the porch, soaking wet. Soaking wet and shivering.
“Mia?” he says, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
“Babysitting my sisters.” The outside air has turned colder, and it’s only then that I realize it’s not only raining, but it’s freezing rain.
I can’t believe that there’s no snow, but we can have freezing rain. How is this fair?
“Wait, they’re your sisters?” Yoshi asks, looking down at the littles with a surprised smile.
I realize that apart from our little texting conversation last night, we’ve never really bridged that school-home divide.
“We have the same dad,” I explain. “He married Shannon after he and my mom got divorced. Long time ago.”
“Oh, okay.” He nods. “Small world.”
I glance over to the twins in their mismatched pajama tops and bottoms, their sleep diapers peeking out the top. “Seriously. I didn’t know you knew the littles.”
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