“No, Mom!” Parker complained, jumping up. “I don’t want my hair done. Why can’t I wear it like I always do?”
Katherine gave Parker a stern look. Her daughter’s normal look typically lacked the use of a brush. “Because tomorrow we all have to look presentable. You especially since you’re in the wedding.” As she said this, a pile of bedding flew through the open door and landed on the floor with a thump. Katherine massaged her temple. “Thank you, Isaac,” she said and rolled her eyes. “A-plus effort.”
“No probs, Aunt Katherine,” he called, already halfway down the hall.
Katherine turned back around when we heard his bedroom door slam, and Parker immediately started to pout. “I never wanted to be the stupid flower girl anyway,” she grumbled, kicking at one of the pillows Isaac had slopped on the floor. “It’s stupid.”
“Remember, you’re doing this to make your brother happy,” Katherine reminded her.
This seemed to win the argument, but Parker still grumbled and plopped down on the cot, clearly not happy.
“Good,” her mother said with a curt nod. “You two should go to bed. It’s late and tomorrow is going to be long.”
“Good night, Katherine,” I said as she moved toward the door. The rehearsal dinner had worn me out, and I had no problem turning the lights off early.
“Sweet dreams,” Katherine said to the both of us. When Parker didn’t respond, she glared at her daughter.
“Night,” Parker mumbled.
After Katherine left, I turned to Parker to tell her that I wouldn’t do her hair too girly for the wedding, but the scowl on her face kept me quiet. Gathering my toiletries and pajamas, I decided to go down to the bathroom and get ready for bed, giving her time to cool off. When I got back, Parker had already turned the lights off and was curled up on her cot, clearly in no mood to talk.
I lay awake for a long time, unable to fall asleep. I could sense that Parker was awake as well, even though she didn’t move an inch. There was a tension in the room that could only be caused by another sleepless person.
Finally she sighed. “I don’t want to wear a dress,” she said, her voice coming up out of the darkness.
I wanted to tell her that it would be fun, that the right dress could make any girl feel special, but it was the first time she’d opened up to me, and I didn’t want to ruin it. “How come?”
“They’re so girly.”
“But you are a girl,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“I’m a Walter,” she said, as if that meant something different.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Because you live with a bunch of boys, you’re required to act like one?”
She considered this for a moment, and I could see her outline in the dark, twisting her blanket in her hands as she thought. “Yeah, kind of. Being one of the boys makes me special. Everyone at school knows who I am—Parker Walter, the tough girl with eleven brothers who can play tackle football and burp louder than any of the guys in my grade.”
I laughed. “But what about at home?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re just one of the boys, what makes you different from your brothers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Honestly, Parker, you have the best of both worlds,” I said, sitting up in bed. “You can enjoy doing boy things, like watching sports and playing video games. But you can also put on a dress and be a girl. That’s something that your brothers can’t do.”
She was quiet for a long time. “I never thought about it that way.”
“Being a girl doesn’t make you weak, Parker. It makes you special.”
“I guess I can wear the dress, but just this once,” she said. “And you have to promise not to curl my hair.”
“All right,” I told her. “It’s a deal.”
***
Saturday morning did not go smoothly. Since life with the Walters was always unpredictable, I’d set my alarm an hour earlier than needed as I almost expected some kind of tiny disaster to occur. Of course, the extra hour wasn’t near enough time when something did happen. I was standing at the toaster waiting for my English muffin to pop when I heard a scream.
“Katherine?” I asked, rushing into the dining room. “What is it?”
“The cupcakes,” she said, clamping a hand to her mouth in horror. She was standing at the head of the dining-room table, and for a moment, I was afraid they were gone—how could the boys eat two hundred cupcakes?—but then, she stepped aside, revealing all of baked treats. “I forgot to frost them.”