Read Online The Most Mauve There Is by Nancy Springer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Springer
Tags: Humor
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loud and say something I can’t repeat.
“Yeah, I know,” Mark agreed placidly, “but Val has reasons for wanting a Victorian wedding. Did she ever tell you?”
No, she hadn’t. Actually, I’d never thought to ask.
“Val says her main skill as a person is boiling apple butter,” Mark went on. “All her life she’s been doing that, or gathering eggs or butchering beef or shoveling manure. Which is fine—but for just this one day she’d like to get away from all that, the manure end of things especially, and be different. Just for her wedding she wants to be a lady.”
We walked out from under the hunchbacked old apple trees and started through a newer part of the orchard with more sunlight. I still felt like my sister was stupid but maybe not Mark so much. I wished I could think of something to say but my mind was in kind of a mess.
“So anyway,” Mark went on after a while, “what kind of dog would a Victorian lady like?”
And, get this, the mess in my mind cleared up. Right away I knew the answer. “A lap dog. Maybe a Papillon or a Pekingese or a Bichon Frise. Something cute and little and fluffy and probably it should be white, unless you want to dye it mauve.”
He laughed so hard I had to smile as he asked, “Could we do that? Really?”
“It probably wouldn’t be good for the dog.”
“Then we won’t,” he said. “But listen, here’s what I was thinking…”
We walked and talked for quite a while. By the time we headed back toward the house, I had a whole new outlook on the wedding and a very different, much better opinion of Mark.
“Are you sure?” I asked him last thing before we went back inside to all the mauve mayhem.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “It’s my wedding too, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Avery, I take full responsibility.”
He held up his hand, and I gave him a high five.
*
The first really cool part wasn’t even planned. It just happened, the day of the wedding—which, luckily for everybody, turned out sunny, the way Valerie wanted it. I put on my ring-bearer outfit and went downstairs for inspection. There stood Val in her white princess bride dress, satin skirt big enough for a parachute and lace up to her ears, with her hair piled on top of her head full of flowers, looking like a real lady—but she sure didn’t sound like a lady when she saw me and screamed, “Oh, my God!” Her freshly manicured hands flew to her professionally made-up face. “Avery!” she wailed.
“What?” I hadn’t even done anything yet, just thrown on my “ensemble,” ruffles and ribbons and all, not caring because it didn’t matter anymore—but Val didn’t know that, and I had to keep acting like I hated her wedding.
So I scowled, while my sister looked like she was going to cry. “Avery Holsopple, you must have grown three inches since they measured you!”
Whoa. My growth spurt at last? I stood up taller, and it was hard not to grin.
“Mom!” Valerie yelled toward the kitchen. “Ma! C’mere, please! I don’t know what to do. Avery looks like a scarecrow!”
Mom came out with her biggest apron covering her mother-of-the-bride gown, looked me up and down, then said, “Oh, dear.”
Julie came out too, all angelic in her fluffy mauve flower-girl dress, that is if angels say, “Ew.”
“His bony wrists are sticking out!” Val wailed. “The jacket’s short! The knickerbockers don’t cover his knees!”
“I told you to get some little kid!” I was starting to feel bad for her, and I hate that.
“Avery Alexander, hush,” Mom said, turning to Valerie. “Honey, don’t worry about it. Nobody will notice.”
“The heck they won’t!” It was time for me to throw my fit.
Mom ignored me, telling the teary-eyed bride, “They’ll all be looking at you . ”
“Fine!” I yelled. “Then I don’t have to be there!”
“Yes, you do!” Mom snapped at me.
“Avery, I’m sorry!” cried Valerie at the same time, which was the last thing in the
“Yeah, I know,” Mark agreed placidly, “but Val has reasons for wanting a Victorian wedding. Did she ever tell you?”
No, she hadn’t. Actually, I’d never thought to ask.
“Val says her main skill as a person is boiling apple butter,” Mark went on. “All her life she’s been doing that, or gathering eggs or butchering beef or shoveling manure. Which is fine—but for just this one day she’d like to get away from all that, the manure end of things especially, and be different. Just for her wedding she wants to be a lady.”
We walked out from under the hunchbacked old apple trees and started through a newer part of the orchard with more sunlight. I still felt like my sister was stupid but maybe not Mark so much. I wished I could think of something to say but my mind was in kind of a mess.
“So anyway,” Mark went on after a while, “what kind of dog would a Victorian lady like?”
And, get this, the mess in my mind cleared up. Right away I knew the answer. “A lap dog. Maybe a Papillon or a Pekingese or a Bichon Frise. Something cute and little and fluffy and probably it should be white, unless you want to dye it mauve.”
He laughed so hard I had to smile as he asked, “Could we do that? Really?”
“It probably wouldn’t be good for the dog.”
“Then we won’t,” he said. “But listen, here’s what I was thinking…”
We walked and talked for quite a while. By the time we headed back toward the house, I had a whole new outlook on the wedding and a very different, much better opinion of Mark.
“Are you sure?” I asked him last thing before we went back inside to all the mauve mayhem.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “It’s my wedding too, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Avery, I take full responsibility.”
He held up his hand, and I gave him a high five.
*
The first really cool part wasn’t even planned. It just happened, the day of the wedding—which, luckily for everybody, turned out sunny, the way Valerie wanted it. I put on my ring-bearer outfit and went downstairs for inspection. There stood Val in her white princess bride dress, satin skirt big enough for a parachute and lace up to her ears, with her hair piled on top of her head full of flowers, looking like a real lady—but she sure didn’t sound like a lady when she saw me and screamed, “Oh, my God!” Her freshly manicured hands flew to her professionally made-up face. “Avery!” she wailed.
“What?” I hadn’t even done anything yet, just thrown on my “ensemble,” ruffles and ribbons and all, not caring because it didn’t matter anymore—but Val didn’t know that, and I had to keep acting like I hated her wedding.
So I scowled, while my sister looked like she was going to cry. “Avery Holsopple, you must have grown three inches since they measured you!”
Whoa. My growth spurt at last? I stood up taller, and it was hard not to grin.
“Mom!” Valerie yelled toward the kitchen. “Ma! C’mere, please! I don’t know what to do. Avery looks like a scarecrow!”
Mom came out with her biggest apron covering her mother-of-the-bride gown, looked me up and down, then said, “Oh, dear.”
Julie came out too, all angelic in her fluffy mauve flower-girl dress, that is if angels say, “Ew.”
“His bony wrists are sticking out!” Val wailed. “The jacket’s short! The knickerbockers don’t cover his knees!”
“I told you to get some little kid!” I was starting to feel bad for her, and I hate that.
“Avery Alexander, hush,” Mom said, turning to Valerie. “Honey, don’t worry about it. Nobody will notice.”
“The heck they won’t!” It was time for me to throw my fit.
Mom ignored me, telling the teary-eyed bride, “They’ll all be looking at you . ”
“Fine!” I yelled. “Then I don’t have to be there!”
“Yes, you do!” Mom snapped at me.
“Avery, I’m sorry!” cried Valerie at the same time, which was the last thing in the
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