Ann Martin - Dawn And The Impossible Three

When I heard that the ocean temperature (the Atlantic Ocean temperature, that is) was fifty degrees, I called the weatherman a moron.

Nevertheless, my mother, who was giving a picnic on Saturday, decided to hold it outdoors. I told her it was probably going to be the first picnic ever attended by people wearing down jackets.

Mom just rolled her eyes heavenward and said, "For pity's sake, Dawn. It's perfectly pleasant outside."

No, it wasn't.

I tried to be enthusiastic about the picnic, anyway. It had started off as just a small party for my parents and grandparents, but it had grown. First, Mom had invited Mr. Spier and Mary Anne. Then I had asked if I could invite the Thomases, the Kishis, and the McGills. Then Jeff had asked if we could invite the Pikes, and finally I decided to ask the Barretts and (out of guilt) the Prezziosos.

Most of them couldn't come, since they already had plans. In fact, apart from my grandparents and the Spiers, the only people who were able to attend were the Barretts, and Kristy and David Michael. (Mrs. Thomas was giving a party for her relatives and Watson and his kids on Saturday night, so she'd be busy getting ready for it during the day, but Kristy said she wanted to come to our picnic, anyway. I was very flattered.)

On Saturday morning, shivering in a sweat shirt and blue jeans, I helped Mom set up a table and our lawn furniture in the backyard. Then, while Jeff hosed everything down (the furniture was dusty from sitting in the barn) and decorated the yard with balloons, flags,

crepe paper, and lanterns, Mom and I worked on the food.

"You know, Mom," I said, surveying the messy kitchen, "some people don't like tofu."

"Really?" she replied vaguely.

"And Mom, before the guests arrive this afternoon, could you find matching socks? Mr. Spier would probably really appreciate it if your socks matched. And your earrings."

"My earrings? I know they match, honey. I just put them on. ... I wonder if I could substitute raw honey for sugar in this recipe."

"They don't match, Mom. They're both gold hoops, but they're different sizes. Here, let me look at that recipe." I was beginning to feel nervous.

"I've got a great idea," I said on impulse. "Instead of trying to make this fancy stuff, why don't we go to the grocery store, buy hamburger patties, hot dogs, buns, and potato salad, and serve that? Grandpa can barbecue. We won't have to cook at all."

"Red meat?" exclaimed my mother. "Hot dogs? Do you know what's in a hot dog?"

"Yes, and I don't even want to think about it. I'd rather eat tofu any day. But we're in Connecticut. In Connecticut, people barbecue things. Especially at picnics. Don't you think we should serve food our guests will like?" I

tried to imagine Kristy looking at a table of dried fruit, tofu salads, and raw vegetables. She'd go hungry before she'd touch a thing.

"I suppose," said Mom. I could tell that the idea of not having to cook was very appealing to her. "Do you really think we can buy ready-made potato salad?"

"Sure. In the deli section at the grocery. I've seen it. Vats of it. We could probably buy ready-made green salad, too. It might be a little expensive, but we won't have to prepare anything."

Mom considered this for all of two seconds. "Let's go!" she cried. "What a relief!"

We made a dash for the car. On the way to the shopping center I realized we didn't have a grill, so we had to buy one of those, too. It was a costly morning, but it was worth it.

As we were driving back home, the car loaded down with food and a big red Weber grill, I said casually, "Hey, Mom, I thought when you were in high school your parents didn't approve of Mary Anne's father."

"That's right, sweetie."

"Well, what's going to happen when they see each other today?"

"Oh, nothing. That was years ago," Mom answered mildly.

But I thought she looked uncomfortable.

Our guests were invited for one o'clock. In California, one o'clock means two or two-thirty. Here in Connecticut, every last guest had arrived by 1:15. Luckily, since we didn't have much to do except start the Weber grill, we were ready, anyway. The backyard was decorated and the furniture was clean. All we had to do was carry out the food.

When that was done, I pulled Kristy and Mary Anne aside so we could survey the scen2. Jeff, David Michael, Buddy, and Suzi were playing ball. Mrs. Barrett was bouncing Marnie on her knees and talking to my grandmother. My grandfather was lighting the fire in the grill. And Mom and Mr. Spier were sitting as close together as they could possibly sit, their heads bent in quiet laughter.

"Keep an eye on them," I said to my friends. "This is a good opportunity to see how they're acting with each other these days. And keep an eye on my grandparents and your father, Mary Anne. It could be interesting. We may have to — to avert a crisis," I said, remembering words Mrs. Barrett had once used.

"Okay," whispered Mary Anne.

"Hey," Kristy exclaimed, looking awed. "Mary Anne, where are your father's glasses?"

"He got contacts," Mary Anne replied.

"Your father?"

Mary Anne nodded.

"Got contacts?"

"Yup."

I began to giggle.

"I don't believe it. I absolutely do not believe it," said Kristy. "It's amazing. Get me a chair, somebody. I may have to sit down."

Mary Anne made a great show of pulling up a lawn chair, and Kristy made a great show of collapsing into it with one hand pressed over her heart.

When we calmed down, I dragged a lounge chair next to Kristy's chair and Mary Anne and I both sat in it. Then the three of us watched the adults.

It didn't take me long to realize that my grandmother was only pretending to have a conversation with Mrs. Barrett. All she did was ask questions that required long answers, and while Mrs. Barrett was talking, Granny would keep shooting little glances over at Mom and Mr. Spier.

Pop-Pop (my grandfather) was watching them, too. Once he got the fire started, there wasn't much for him to do until the coals were hot. Even so, he stood over the grill, occasionally poking a lump of charcoal, but mostly just gazing at the lovebirds.

Lovebirds. Thaf s exactly what they looked like. If one of them had cooed — even Mr. Spier — I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

I tried to read the expression on Pop-Pop's face. He didn't look angry. I nudged Mary Anne and then Kristy. "How would you say my grandfather looks?" I asked them.

"Well, he looks very nice," replied Kristy. "This is the first time I've ever met him, of course, but I'd say he looks good, although his shirt doesn't exactly match his pants."

"No!" I exclaimed. "I mean, what does he look like he's thinking about as he watches my mom and Mary Anne's dad? Mary Anne, what do you think?"

"I don't know, I can't tell."

"Do you think he looks like he disapproves?"

"No," answered Mary Anne and Kristy.

"Do you think he looks deliriously happy?"

"No," they replied.

"Deliriously proud?"

"No."

We weren't getting anywhere.

"What about Granny?" I asked. "She's been watching them the whole time she's been talking to Mrs. Barrett."

"It's hard to tell," said Mary Anne. "If you want my honest opinion, she has to pretend

she's interested in what Mrs. Barrett is saying, and there's no room on her face for any other expression."

Adults certainly are hard to understand. Sometimes they seem to have several faces. It's as if they own masks, and you know they own masks, but you can't always tell their masks from their real expressions. Why do they make everything so complicated?

The picnic became more interesting when we started eating. Mom settled the little kids — Jeff, David Michael, Buddy, and Suzi — at a child-sized picnic table. Then she arranged Mamie and the adults — who were going to eat on their laps — in a semicircle of lawn chairs. She left Mary Anne and Kristy and me on our own, so we just inconspicuously tacked ourselves onto one end of the semicircle. From there we had a bird's-eye view of the adults.