It was at that point that I heard a thump from upstairs. I realized that Jenny should have been back long ago from returning the diaper. What was I doing? Certainly not being a responsible baby-sitter, I thought, as I dashed up the stairs.
“Jenny?” I called.
No answer.
I peeked into her room. It was neat … and empty.
So I ran down the hall to the baby’s room.
I could not believe what I saw.
It was an absolute wreck. Everything on the changing table had been swept off and was scattered across the floor. Everything in the crib had been thrown out. Stuffed animals and bedding had been flung from one side of the room to the other. The drawers in the dresser had been opened and clothing was draped over the animals and diapers. Jenny was now attempting to scale the dresser — I guess in hopes of attacking the yellow duck lamp.
She had trashed the baby’s room.
“Hold it!” I cried.
Jenny stumbled and fell to the floor. But she didn’t cry. She had landed on diapers and a pile of clothes.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“I hate the baby,” was Jenny’s reply.
“Well, I’m sorry, kiddo,” I said, “but the baby is coming whether you like it or not. And whether you mess up the room or not. There are going to be some things in life” (Oh, no, I sounded like my father!) “that you can’t change. The baby is one of them. Now I want this room cleaned up right away.”
Jenny looked at me, eyes as big as basketballs. (I guess I’d never spoken to her in that tone of voice.) Then, wordlessly, she began to put things back in the crib, on the changing table, in the dresser.
I helped her, especially with the clothes. Jenny was not a very good folder yet. And as we worked (in silence) I got an idea.
When the room looked the way it should (the way I remembered it looking), I turned to Jenny and said, “Okay, baby. What about a bottle?”
Jenny’s face changed from sullen to surprised and then to pleased. “Me baby?”
“Yes, you baby. Let’s go downstairs. I’ll fix you something to drink before bedtime. How’s that?”
“Da-da-da-da-da-da!” exclaimed Jenny. She crawled out of the baby’s room and followed me down the hall. When we reached the top of the steps, I bent over and scooped Jenny into my arms.
“Hey!” she cried. “What are you doing?”
“I’m carrying you downstairs.”
“But I can go down myself.”
“Not if you’re a baby,” I told her. “You might fall.”
“Oh.”
I carried Jenny all the way into the kitchen and sat her in the high chair that the Prezziosos had been storing in their basement, but which now stood off in a corner of the kitchen.
“Hey!” said Jenny again. “I can’t fit in here.”
But she could, even though it was a tight squeeze. And I said, “This is where babies eat. And you’re a baby, remember?”
“Yeah …” said Jenny slowly.
“All right. Now I’ll fix you something nice to drink.” I took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and started to pour it into a pan.
“What’s that?” Jenny called from the high chair.
“Milk,” I told her.
“I don’t like milk. I want juice.”
“But babies drink milk…. And they drink it warm.”
Jenny practically gagged at the idea of warm milk. Then she said, “I don’t want a drink after all. I mean — Da-da-da. No milk for baby.”
She had caught me just before I poured the milk into the pan. “Are you sure?” I asked her. “Because it’s almost bedtime.”
“No it isn’t. I get to stay up lots later than this.”
“Babies don’t,” I reminded her. “They need tons of sleep. They go to bed right after supper and don’t get up until the morning. Unless they’re hungry and need another bottle of warm milk in the middle of the night.”
Jenny appeared stumped. Clearly, the “game” was not going the way she wanted. She tried another tactic. “Baby hungry. Want snack.”
“Oh. Okay,” I replied. I found the cereal and plopped a handful of Cheerios onto the tray of the high chair.
Jenny glanced from the cereal to me. “Want Oreos,” she said.
“Not for babies.” (How many times had I said that in the last ten minutes?)
“Not for babies?” repeated Jenny.
“No way. Babies can’t eat Oreos.”
Again, Jenny looked stumped. Finally she said, “Goo-goo. No snack. Snack over.” She tried to disengage herself from the high chair, but I lifted her out — and carried her toward the door.
“Where we go?” asked the baby Jenny.
“Nighty-night time,” I replied.
“You mean I’m really going to bed?”
“Yes. In the crib.”
“But I’m too big for the crib.” Jenny paused. Then she said, “Mary Anne? I’m tired of this game. I don’t want to be a baby anymore.”
“Are you sure?” I asked her. “You’re passing up all sorts of good things. Warm milk, a nice crib to sleep in …”
Jenny wriggled out of my arms. “I’m sure,” she said. “I want to watch TV. And before I go to sleep tonight — in my own bed — I want juice and cookies.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Boy, it sure is nice to have Jenny back. You’re much more fun than a baby.”
Jenny smiled. “I feel sort of sorry for babies,” she informed me.
At 11:45 on a Saturday morning, the phone rang. Even though I’d been sitting by the phone for fifteen minutes, waiting for it to ring, I jumped. Then I picked up the receiver and, trying to sound calm, said, “Hello?”
“It’s time,” said a man’s voice.
I couldn’t control myself any longer. “You mean she just left? Great! I’ll call Stacey and Claudia. We’ll get there as soon as we can. See ya!” I depressed the button on the phone, then let it up and immediately dialed Claud’s number. When she answered her phone, I said, “All clear! Go to the Prezziosos’ right now!”
“Okay!” cried Claudia. “Stacey’s here with me. We’re ready to leave.”
“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
It was the day of the baby shower for Mrs. Prezzioso. It was also about three days before Mrs. P.’s birthday, so a friend had invited her to lunch in a fancy restaurant to celebrate. The lunch was just a ruse, though. The friend was getting Mrs. P. out of the house so that Stacey, Claudia, Mr. P., and I could prepare for the shower and surprise Mrs. P. when her friend brought her home.
Mr. P. had thought of everything. He’d told Mrs. P.’s friend to bring her back around one-thirty, no earlier. He’d invited the guests for one o’clock and told them to park their cars down the street so Mrs. P. wouldn’t get suspicious. And anything he’d had to buy for the party he’d hidden in the attic.
I reached the Prezziosos’ before Stacey and Claud did, since I live close by. But they showed up about ten minutes later — just in time for chaos. When I’d arrived, things had been relatively calm. I mean, relative to the way they became ten minutes later.
Jenny had answered the door, still in her pajamas. Mr. P. was right behind her. “Come in, come in!” he said, smiling. I stepped inside, took off my coat, and hung it in the closet. Mr. P. continued, “I think everything is in order. The cake is being delivered, I’ve gotten the stuff out of the attic, and the caterers are on their way with the food.”
“Terrific,” I said. I grinned at Jenny. “Are you excited? There’s going to be a party here today.”
“And Mary Anne is going to get you all dressed up,” added her father.
“I don’t want to get dressed up,” said Jenny flatly.
“Well, I’m afraid you have to,” Mr. P. said, not sounding quite so calm. “Mommy will want you dressed up.”
Just when Jenny looked as if she were going to pitch a fit, the bell rang. I was sure it was Claudia and Stacey, s
o I opened the door. Standing on the stoop was a man from the bakery, carrying a large white box tied up with string.
“Mr. Prezzioso, it’s the cake,” I said.
“Oh, good.” Mr. P. edged past me and held open the door for the delivery man. “The stork cake, right?” Mr. P. said. “With ‘Congratulations’ on it?”
The man shook his head. “Nope. What I got here is a pink flowery cake. Says ‘Happy Birthday, Ginnie’ on it.”
He looked unconcerned, but I could see Mr. P. growing edgy.
“That’s not our cake,” said Jenny’s father. “Ours is for a baby shower.”
“Hm,” said the man.
“Could you check your van?” asked Mr. P. “I specifically ordered a stork cake for noon today.”
“All right-y.” The man returned to his van.
While he did so, the phone rang. All I could hear of Mr. P’s end of the conversation was groaning. When he got off the phone he said to me, “That was the catering service. They’re going to be late with the food. But they promised to be here between one and one-fifteen. That’s cutting it close…. Oh, I knew things were going too well this morning.”
And that’s when Claud and Stacey arrived — with Jenny whining and complaining, the delivery man searching through his truck, and Mr. P. going crazy over the caterers.
But things began to change. The delivery man found the right cake. Stacey and Claudia took over the decorating and set up the food table. And I managed to get Jenny upstairs.
“Look,” I said. “Your father laid out some clothes for you to wear.”
“It’s one of my new grown-up outfits,” replied Jenny. (It was the pink jumper and hat ensemble she’d shown Mallory.)
“Well, it’s lovely. Okay. Out of your pajamas.”
“No.”
“Yes. Out of your pajamas and into those clothes.”
Jenny didn’t reply, but she made a face. And then she refused to take off her pajamas or put on the new outfit, so I had to do everything for her.
“I don’t see why I have to get dressed up,” she said. “The party is for the baby, not me. People are going to bring presents and they’ll all be for that darn old baby.”
“That darn old baby is going to be your brother or sister, remember?”
“Yes…. OW!”
I was brushing Jenny’s hair, but I hadn’t hit so much as a tiny snarl.
“Do you want to wear some of your jewelry?” I asked, when her hair had been thoroughly brushed and was shining.
“No.”
And that was that.
Jewelry or not, Mr. P. thought Jenny looked fine — when I finally got her back down the stairs. She balked, complained, and thought of excuses for staying in her room, every step of the way.
“Hey, Jenny!” I said. “Look at the living room. Look what Claud and Stacey have done to it.”
They had transformed it. I think Jenny was impressed, but she didn’t want to let on. I let on, however. “This is beautiful, you guys!” I exclaimed. The room was like a pastel cloud. Pale pink, blue, and yellow streamers lazily criss-crossed the ceiling. Bunches of balloons had been fastened here and there. On the food table was an airy yellow tablecloth, bouquets of flowers, and a huge fold-out stork carrying a bundle in its beak. Out of the bundle peeked a doll’s face.
Jenny looked at the stork intently. “What is that bird doing?” she asked.
I tried to explain.
“You mean storks bring babies?”
“Well, no —” Stacey began to say.
But Jenny wasn’t paying attention. “ ’Cause if that’s true,” she went on, “I’ll just make a big sign for our roof, and it will say, ‘DO NOT LEAVE ANY BABIES HERE. EVER.’”
Stacey and Claudia and I looked at each other helplessly. Finally Claudia said, “I don’t think that will work. You know how fat your mommy’s tummy has gotten? Well, that’s because the baby is —”
“I think Jenny should discuss this with her parents,” I interrupted. Then, to distract Jenny, I said, “Hey, look how Claudia decorated that cradle. That’s where all the presents will go.” I indicated the crepe paper and flowers that adorned the cradle.
Jenny narrowed her eyes. “The presents are going in there? That used to be my cradle. When I was a baby.”
“I give up,” I whispered to Stacey and Claudia.
Luckily, things started to happen then. The first guests arrived, along with the catered food. Mr. P. talked to the guests, while my friends and I arranged the food on the table. Almost before I knew it, Mr. P. was looking around and announcing, “Everyone’s here. And our guest of honor should be back in about five minutes.”
The guests hid themselves in the dining room and kitchen. I pulled Jenny behind an armchair and said, “Shh.”
“Why are we hiding and whispering?” she asked me.
“Because any second now your mommy is going to walk through the front door, and everyone is going to jump out and say ‘Surprise!’”
Jenny looked interested, at least. And when the door did open and her mother did step into the living room, Jenny was the first to jump out.
Mrs. P. was properly surprised. I mean, really surprised. For a second, her mouth just formed an O. Then she buried her face in her hands and laughed, cried, and blushed, all at the same time, as her friends surrounded her. When she composed herself, Mr. P. led her to a chair next to the cradle. And then the fun began.
Mrs. P. reached into the cradle and pulled out a gift. “From Margery,” she read. “Thank you!”
The woman named Margery dug around in her purse and unearthed a smaller package. “I didn’t forget the new big sister!” she exclaimed, and handed the present to Jenny.
“For me?” Jenny beamed. She opened her small present while her mother opened a much larger one. The larger one turned out to be an acute stuffed teddy bear. Jenny’s gift was a pair of plastic barrettes. She couldn’t hide her disappointment. And didn’t even try to, as guest after guest handed her some small item while her mother opened much more elaborate gifts for the baby.
“Jenny, you could at least say thank you,” I whispered to her.
Jenny did not answer me. I decided that teaching her manners was not part of my baby-sitting job. So I sat back and enjoyed the rest of the shower. (Later, Stacey and Claudia and I agreed that the shower had been fun, but that if we ever heard another person say, “Oh, isn’t that cute?” we’d barf.)
At last the guests began to leave. When everyone had gone, my friends and I walked around with garbage bags, stuffing them with crumpled, lipstick-stained paper napkins; empty cups; bits of crepe paper; scraps of food; and a mountain of wrapping paper.
“So, Jenny,” I said. “What did you think of the party?”
Jenny looked at her little pile of gifts. “Yucky,” she said.
“But all those people brought you presents,” Claudia pointed out.
“The baby got better ones.”
I glanced at Mrs. P., still sitting in her chair, but she was engrossed in a baby book she’d been given.
“Jenny —” I started to say.
Jenny interrupted me. “You know what? I HATE THAT BABY!”
The following Friday was Valentine’s Day. At breakfast, Dad, Sharon, Dawn, and I exchanged silly cards. We laughed, but I had to force myself to keep from thinking about Logan. Here it was, the most romantic day of the year, and we probably wouldn’t even speak to each other. A few days earlier I’d been in a stationery store and had seen the perfect card for Logan. It was huge, and cost a lot of money for a card. I didn’t buy it. Not because it was too expensive, but because there was no point. I cried a little, right there in the store. By Valentine’s Day I felt better. It was impossible not to, what with the funny cards, and Sharon putting red food coloring in the butter so we could have a pink spread on our toast.
And after school, the BSC held a small party before the Friday meeting.
“Red hots!” Claud announced. “I’ve got red hots and
heart candies and even … chocolate-covered cherries!”
It was a sugar-fest (although Claud had thoughtfully provided pretzels for Stacey and Dawn, our noncandy eaters).
We lolled around and talked about school and friends. We giggled. Stacey was in the process of painting everyone’s fingernails red when Kristy suddenly announced, “Okay! Come to order! It’s time to start the meeting.”
Automatically, I checked Claud’s digital clock. It read 5:30 on the nose. I couldn’t believe it. During the entire party, Kristy had been clock-watching.
Oh, well. That’s Kristy for you.
The meeting went by quickly. At six o’clock, as we were getting ready to leave, I said to Dawn, “Remind Dad and your mom that I won’t be home until around ten tonight, okay?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Dawn replied. “You’ll be at Logan’s, sitting for Kerry and Hunter.” She paused, then added, “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I mean, I like Kerry and Hunter, and I’m flattered that they specifically asked for me to be their sitter. But I don’t know if I can face seeing Logan and Olivia leave the house on their date.”
“Who’s Olivia?” asked Dawn, Jessi, Kristy, Stacey, Mal, and Claud.
I realized two things then: that everyone had been listening to my conversation with Dawn, and that the nonexistent Olivia had become real to me. Did that mean I was cracking up?
My friends were waiting for an answer, so I mumbled something and then dashed out of Claud’s room. Behind me I could hear Stacey saying, “What? His cousin?” and Mallory saying, “I think she said, ‘No one.’”
Anyway, I walked quickly to Logan’s house. The evening was cold, so I stuffed my hands in my pockets. I was glad I was wearing jeans and an old ski sweater under my parka. I didn’t look glamorous, but I was warm.
A few minutes later, I reached the Brunos’. (I could have found my way there blindfolded.) I stood on the stoop, reached up to press the doorbell — and froze. My finger wouldn’t move. I was too afraid of what I’d find in there. Logan and his girlfriend ready for their date? Mrs. Bruno taking pictures of them?