Ann Martin - Here Come The Bridesmaids

What did they say to me? "Hello," and "You got tall," and "Do you have any girlfriends yet?" (Gag me.) That was it. Nothing else.

Then they turned right back to each other and kept talking. Forget it. They didn't stop in the car. They didn't stop when we went to a late night diner for dessert. They didn't even stop in Dawn's bedroom. That was when it got worsel I could hear them right through the walls.

How was a guy supposed to sleep?

If Dawn didn't have to go to school the next morning, they would have talked right through the whole day.

You know what? It was the first time in my life I couldn't wait to go to school.

You know what else? On Christmas Day I'm supposed to fly to Connecticut with Dawn and stay there during Dad's honeymoon. Which means I'll have to listen to all that chattering on two coasts!

I try not to think about it too much.

Anyway, after school Dawn and her friends went to a We V Kids Club meeting together. When I got home, my house was totally quiet. Well, almost. Mrs. Bruen, our housekeeper, was humming to the radio as she cleaned up.

"Hey, what’s up, Jeff?" she asked as I walked into the kitchen.

"Nothing."

Mrs. Bruen is cool. She never gets mad, and she laughs at all my jokes. Sometimes she bosses me around, but I don't mind it that much.

I saw the journal, lying on the kitchen table. A note beside it said, WRITE IN THIS IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU.

"Who wrote that?" I asked.

"I did," Mrs. Bruen said. "I'm tired of your

sister bugging you about it. Make her happy, will you, honey?"

She smiled. I grumbled.

And now you know the real reason I wrote in that dumb thing.

When I finished, Mrs. Bruen was dusting in the living room. "Like the rug?" she asked. "I had it cleaned."

We have this fancy rug — Persian or Moroccan or something — and it had gotten dirty. But now it looked great. "Wow," I said.

To tell you the truth, the whole house looked great. Mrs. Bruen had been working overtime all week.

Why? Because of the wedding. Dad wants the house to look good for guests. He's having a party here afterward.

If you ask me, cleaning up was a ridiculous idea. First of all, it’s an outdoor party, complete with a tent. Second, parties always leave a mess, so why not dean up after? And third, when Carol moves in, the movers are going to drag in all her furniture and stuff, right? That'll get everything even more dusty and dirty.

Sometimes I think kids are way smarter than adults.

I sat down on the couch. I looked around.

We have a wall unit, just across from the couch. I helped Dad put it in. It was so much fun. He kept moving the TV around in it while I sat on the couch, until it was in the perfect place.

Oh, well. Now that would have to be moved, to make room for Carol's wall unit (which is HUMONGOUS). Maybe I'd always have to watch TV on a slant. Maybe the remote wouldn't work at that angle.

Maybe I'd walk around with my head permanently tilted to one side.

Too bad we can't keep the house the way it is. There's just enough stuff in it. What do we need more furniture for?

You should see Carol's furniture. It’s ugly. She has these things called lava lamps, which look like pig embryos swimming around in colored water tanks. Her couch has an old afghan on it, which covers up all the rips. And her posters are disgusting. All this dumb-looking art with museum names underneath. Most of it is like kindergarten painting.

Plus framed pictures of Mickey Mouse in the bathroom. Even I'm too old for that.

"Mrs. Bruen, where is it all going to go?" I asked.

She stopped whistling. "What?"

"Carol's furniture."

"Beats me. Why? You want it all in your room?"

"No way,”

Mrs. Bruen was dusting with a feather duster. As she went past me, she did this funny little dance, dusting behind her back, shaking the duster like a tambourine, using it as a microphone.

Sometimes Mrs. Bruen cracks me up.

I got up to go to my room. Halfway there, my stomach kind of clenched up.

Mrs. Bruen. What was going to happen to her?

Dad hired Mrs. Bruen because he's a slob (even he admits it). He didn't used to be so bad, but he got much worse after Mom left. Now Carol was moving in. Dad might be neater again. Carol's a good cleaner-upper herself.

We wouldn't need Mrs. Bruen anymore. Which means Dad would have to fire her.

Send her out into the street.

Ruin her whole life.

I would never see her again. And why? All because of Carol. Carol and her pukey furniture.

Why do men have to be married anyway? Dad and Mom used to fight all the time. Dad and Carol fight. It doesn't make sense. I mean, if you want to fight, you can just do it with your friends. Then you can go home and chill and not have to kiss and make up.

I tried not to think of this stuff. I started reading My Teacher Is an Alien, which was scary and funny. That got my mind off everything. But each time I heard Mrs. Bruen, I felt sad again.

Soon I saw Carol's red Miata pull up into the driveway. She and Dad got out, all smiley and laughing. A minute later I heard Mrs. Bruen greet them at the door. She sounded happy, too.

Little did she know she was going to be betrayed.

I heard the thumping of footsteps, then a knock at my door.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in!" Dad said.

Ugh. He has been doing that since I was a baby! Usually I try to rank on him. I say, "Use the chimney," or "I gave at the trough," or something else stupid.

This time I just said, "Yeah."

Dad turned the knob and came in. "Hey, buddy, you all right?"

"Yeah."

"Something happen at school today?"

I shrugged. "No."

"Mrs. Bruen try to air out your sneakers again?"

"No."

Now Carol peeked in behind him. "Hey, Jeffers," she said.

Jeffers? That was new. I didn't like it.

"Hi," I said.

"Something's bugging Jeff," Dad told her. He sat down on the bed next to me. "You sure you don't want to say what it is? Something about the wedding?"

I took a deep breath. I didn't really feel like saying anything. I especially didn't want to talk about Mrs. Bruen when she was close enough to hear.

But I could mention the furniture. Dad was being pretty nice. And maybe I was worrying for nothing. Maybe Carol was going to sell her stuff, or give it to a charity, or to the Museum of Modern Ugliness.

"Um, when are the movers coming?" I asked.

Carol rolled her eyes. "The evening of the wedding, if you can imagine that."

"Where's all your stuff going to go?" I asked.

She shrugged and looked at Dad. He shrugged, too.

"We haven't thought much about it, to tell you the truth," he said, looking toward his room. "I suppose the dresser will fit in our bedroom."

"It had better," Carol said.

"What about that wall unit?" Dad asked. "We don't really need two."

"True," Carol agreed.

"And I'm sure the Salvation Army will make a pickup at your house on short notice — "

Carol frowned. "My house?"

"Well, yeah," Dad replied. "You don't want to keep that thing, do you? I mean, it's not very well made. And you said you've had it since just after college."

"So? It's already a period piece, sweetheart. I came of age with that wall unit. It would be like losing a part of me."

Dad chuckled. "I lose a part of me when I clip my toenails, but — "

"Jack, did I hear you right? Did you say what I thought you said?"

"I was kidding, Carol. But — "

"Besides, your unit is smaller than mine. Maybe you could put it in Jeff's room."

"Yeah!" I blurted out.

Dad gave me a Look. Then he sighed and turned to Carol. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else."

They said good-bye. I closed my door.

But I could hear them arguing for the next fifteen minutes or so. While Mrs. Bruen cleaned up around them.