The Waffler (8 page)

S
ometimes Monty couldn't
figure grown-ups out. Mostly he couldn't. Before, he and Sierra had Thanksgiving with their mom one year, and the next year with their dad. Now with this flip-flop business they were splitting up him and Sierra most of the time, but teaming up on the holiday. Which felt totally unfair—the first time his parents decide to do Thanksgiving together in an extra-huge party is the first time him and Sierra are at different houses, but
he's
at the house where the dinner is so
he's
the one who has to do all the work! Clear all the shoes out of the front hall. Polish the silver candlesticks. Go snip some parsley from the garden. Answer the door.

“Monty!” called his mom. “There's the bell! Answer the door!”

Monty ran to the door. First came Sierra, looking unhappy in a dress and tights and shoes that weren't sneakers.

“Dad made me dress up,” she whispered.
“To show respect,”
she mimicked, in her imitation-dad voice.

“Well, Mom made me do all the work!” said Monty. He repeated his mom's instructions in his imitation-mom voice.
“Do this! Do that! And do it cheerfully!”

Sierra grinned. “How's Little A?”

Monty grinned back. “Noisy,” he said. “How's Big A?”

“Bossy,” said Sierra.

“Stop talking about me,” ordered Audrey, coming up the steps in boots so puffy it looked as if each one was a tiny sheep attached to her foot. Her blond hair crisscrossed her head in fancy braids. “I know you're talking about me.”

“We are not,” lied Monty.

“Honest,” agreed Sierra. “We're not.”

“Whatever,” said Audrey. “Like I care.”

Behind Sierra came Beth, wearing a bright gold and orange scarf and carrying a pie, and behind Beth came Mr. Sherman, Audrey's dad, who had been invited so he wouldn't have to be alone on Thanksgiving. And behind them came Mrs. Schwarz with Harriet and Leo. Leo was wearing his khaki-colored Lion Cub shirt and a miniature navy blue necktie.

When everyone was seated at the table, Leo tugged Monty's sleeve. “Who are all these people?”

Explaining Monty's family was complicated. Maybe they should be wearing name tags, like when somebody visited his class and Mrs. Tuttle made them write their names on stickers. But even that wouldn't explain exactly who they were. He should have made one of those programs you got when you went to see a show, with a list of the cast of characters.

Monty Greene. That was him.

Sierra Greene, his twin sister.

Their mom, Helen Greene-Day.

Their stepdad, Bob Day.

Aisha Day, Mom and Bob's new baby.

Monty and Sierra's dad, John Greene.

Their stepmom, Beth Sherman-Greene.

Beth's daughter, Audrey Sherman.

And Mr. Sherman, Audrey's dad.

Since Monty hadn't printed up a program with the cast of characters, maybe he should introduce them. Or maybe not. Maybe everybody could introduce themselves. Monty did something he had seen grown-ups do. He tapped his knife on his water glass.
Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Hey, everybody!” he said. “Announcement! I have a favor to ask. Can we all go around and say our names? For Leo?”

Monty's mom was spooning applesauce into Aisha. “Good idea,” she said. “Who'll go first?”

“I will,” said Audrey's dad, rising. He wore a pair of tiny, rimless glasses, and a big, bushy beard. “My name is Edward Sherman, and I would like to give thanks to all of you for including me in your celebration, so I can be with my daughter, Audrey.” He turned to Audrey, sitting beside him. “Your turn!”

“I'm Audrey Sherman,” mumbled Audrey.

Audrey's dad told her to stand up and speak up. Audrey's mom added, “And that was nice, Edward, that you said what you were thankful for. Can we all do that, since it is Thanksgiving?”

Standing, Audrey gave Monty a cold stare that meant he was going to pay for this later. “I'm Audrey Sherman!” she shouted. “And I'm thankful for . . . turkey! Yeah: I'm thankful for turkey.”

Audrey's mom was next to Audrey so she stood next. “My name is Beth Sherman-Greene. I want to give thanks to Helen and Bob for inviting us.”

This was out of control! Monty had figured people could say their names so he wouldn't have to, and now everybody was standing up and giving thanks! What was he supposed to say when it was his turn?

His stepdad rose from his seat. Bob never dressed up, so as usual, he was wearing a T-shirt with a message:
BE YOURSELF
.
EVERYONE ELSE IS ALREADY TAKEN
. He wanted to give thanks to the next generation—Audrey and Sierra and Monty and Aisha. And Harriet and Leo, too.

Aisha was in a high chair in between Bob and Monty's mom; she was too young to go. She just said, “Buh!” and everybody laughed. Maybe Monty could try saying “Buh!”

Next Monty's mom gave thanks for having enough to eat, and all the delicious foods, especially brussels sprouts, which she loved, and the pumpkin pie Beth had brought. Monty didn't know which was sillier—giving thanks to children or vegetables. He did know that he had no idea what he was going to say.

The introductions and the eating kept going. Platters of food were passed around the table. Turkey. Gravy. Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce. The brussels sprouts went by, which Monty was definitely
not
thankful for, because they stank. He was stuffing himself with more stuffing when Sierra stood up.

“I'm Sierra Greene,” she announced. “And I'm thankful because I scored a goal in my last game.”

“Does that count?” demanded Audrey. “Isn't that more like bragging than giving thanks?”

Audrey's mom and dad scolded her in unison: “Audrey!”

Big A couldn't talk about Sierra like that! “It's better than
turkey
!” blurted Monty.

Now it was the turn of Monty's mom and dad to scold
him
in unison. “Monty!”

Sierra sat down and put a heaping spoonful of cranberry sauce straight in her mouth, and Monty's dad pushed back his chair and stood up. He looked like some kind of alternate universe dad, with his familiar going-bald-pronto shaved head, but wearing a dress-up shirt and tie instead of his usual paint-splattered plaid shirt.

“I'm John Greene, and I'm thankful for new friends,” he said, raising his glass in the direction of the Schwarz family—Mrs. Schwarz, Harriet, and Leo. “And new Scouts!” he added, his voice tripping, as if his tie was so tight it was choking him.

Monty wondered if his dad was thinking about his own dad again, who had gone all the way to Eagle Scout. His dad sat down, and Sierra reached over and patted his smooth head. “Good effort, Dad,” she said.

Soon it would be Monty's turn. Seriously, what was he thankful for? He liked the stuffing and the mashed potatoes and the gravy, but he didn't want to say a food. It should be something more important than that. He was thankful that Mrs. Tuttle wasn't putting Band-Aids on his arm and ripping them off anymore. But no way was he going to thank Mrs. Tuttle just because his mom made her stop being so mean. Should he thank his mom? But the decision to stop the decision-aids happened at the special conference, which wouldn't have happened at all unless he'd walked out of school, which he wouldn't have done unless he wanted to go see Leo. So maybe Monty should thank Leo.

As Leo's mom stood for her turn, Monty took another bite of stuffing. Trying to think about where thankfulness for something began made Monty feel as if he was riding in a car speeding in reverse. You could go further and further back in time. It was like when he went to the parade with his dad, and thought about the time before he was born. Before Monty was born, there was a time when his dad hadn't even known Monty's mom, and even before that, a time when his dad was a kid himself.

“Wow!” said his mom. “New Jersey! That's big news!”

What? What was big news? Something about New Jersey? Monty had been spacing out. Now he tuned back in.

“Why New Jersey?” asked Monty's dad.

“That's where my whole family lives, and Leo's dad, too,” said Mrs. Schwarz. “I've been thinking about it for a while, and now I've got a job offer.” She drew a big breath, as if she needed more air to keep talking. “So we're going to move.” She was going on and on, talking about
transitions
and
opportunities
, and how good it would be for Leo and Harriet to be closer to their dad. Finally she trailed off, and for a second nobody said anything.

“Yeah, but
when
?” blurted Monty.

Yesterday Mrs. Tuttle had announced the date for their Culminating Event: next Wednesday, December 3. They would be serving a special brunch in the cafetorium (she needed all students to ask their mom or dad for a food contribution) and the school band would be performing.

“This weekend, actually,” explained Leo's mom.

“But what about the Culminating Event?” burst out Monty. “You'll miss it!”

Audrey's dad asked, “What's a Culminating Event?”

Audrey sighed loudly. “It's what they do at the end of a Learning Expedition, Dad. To show everybody how much you learned.”

Leo's sister, Harriet, who had been at Casco Elementary last year, spoke up. “It's a really big deal. You have a party, and everybody shows the work they did.”

“There's gonna be food,” said Monty, “and the band is learning songs!”

“Do you play in the band?” asked Audrey's dad, Mr. Sherman.

“Flute!” snickered Audrey, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers, as if she was playing an imaginary flute. “La la la, I play the flute.”

Monty wanted to tell Audrey to shut
up
, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. He had bigger problems than Audrey.

“Leo has to be there,” he explained. “He's my Little Buddy!”

“I told you!” cried Leo to his mom.

Harriet added, “I told you, Mom.”

Nodding, Leo's mom said, “I know you did.” To the whole group she explained that she had planned on moving after the New Year, but her new boss needed her to start as soon as possible, and she needed the job too much to say no. She wished she could make things turn out differently, but she couldn't. And she hoped—for Leo's sake—that Monty would understand.

Monty could feel everybody staring at him, waiting to see if he would understand. He understood perfectly! He was supposed to act like everything was okay in front of Leo. Even though it wasn't! Grown-ups claimed they wanted you to tell the truth, but they didn't! If he actually told the truth about how he really felt, he'd be in big-time trouble.

“It's okay,” he lied. “It's not that big a deal.”

Sierra piped up, “It
is too
a big deal,” earning herself the next parental scolding.

“Sierra,”
shushed their mom and dad in unison.

“I'm just
saying
,” insisted Sierra, “the Culminating Event is a really big deal.”

“Well you can just
not say
anything else right now,” scolded their mom.

There was an awkward silence, broken by Monty's stepdad asking who wanted seconds on turkey, and his stepmom saying she did. The round of introductions had been interrupted, and never got started again. If Monty had gotten a turn, he knew what he'd say he was thankful for now. Sierra. Telling the truth. Sticking up for him.

The rest of the meal went by in a blur. Platters were passed around one last time. Desert was served. Aisha got put in her crib for a nap, and Monty asked if he and Leo could be excused. Upstairs, Monty scooped the rat from its cage and plunked it on Leo's shoulder.

“Name?” asked Leo.

“Samuel Whiskers,” said Monty. “I think.”

“That tickles, Samuel Whiskers!” said Leo, giggling, as the rat scrambled over to his other shoulder. He sat down on the bed and looked up at Monty. “I'm moving to New Jersey,” he said.

Monty didn't know what to say. The rat was traveling back and forth across the back of Leo's neck, as if it couldn't decide where to be. Monty thought of stories where a tiny angel perches on somebody's shoulder, trying to get them to be good, and a tiny devil perches on the other shoulder, telling them to be bad. And the person has to decide which voice to listen to.

The angel-rat would say,
Don't make a fuss about Leo moving away. Pretend it's no big deal. For Leo's sake. Tell him how it'll be great because he can see his dad all the time now.
The devil-rat would say
, Why should you have to make believe everything's fine when it's not?

No, that wasn't right. The rat clambered back and forth on Leo, and Monty went back and forth in his head, trying to figure out which voice to listen to.

“Leo!” came the voice of Leo's mom up the stairs. “Five minutes!”