Page 34 of A Very Merry Matchup
I finally plop back in my seat as we all take a moment to look at each other. “Whydidwe start doing the chicken dance with Yahtzees?” Dad asks Mom.
“Beats me,” she says, turning to face Nana, who shrugs.
“Was it because of Uncle Cecil?” asks Janey. “Wasn’t he a chicken farmer or something?”
“I got pecked by a chicken at that farm when I was a kid,” Dad says, holding up his hand as if we need proof of the chicken peck we’ve been hearing about our entire lives. “See that? Still got the scar.” He points to the base of his thumb.
“You grow up with any weird house rules, Ivy?” Mom reaches for the Chex Mix bowl, then frowns when she realizes it’s empty.
“Like doing the chicken dance every time you get a Yahtzee?” Ivy’s cute little face squints as she pretends to mull it over. “Nope. Can’t really say we had anything like that. Can’t really say we spent much time playing games together though, either. Now my grandma on the other hand, she loved games. Her favorite was Uno. She called my brother a mean weenie once when he wouldn’t stop hitting her withthe wild draw four cards. After that we always referred to wild draw fours as mean weenie cards.”
“Your grandma sounds like my type of gal,” Nana says, scooting her chair back. “I think it’s time for some popcorn.”
“Your turn.” I hand Ivy the dice and cup. “What else did your grandma like to do for fun?” I love watching Ivy’s face light up whenever she talks about her.
“Dance. She used to host parties down in her basement. Had special tile flooring put in and everything. She’d always try teaching my brother and me how to dance whenever we visited.” Ivy shakes the cup, then rolls the dice onto the table.
“I used to teach dance lessons down at the Y back in my younger days.” Nana’s carrying a big tin container of popcorn when she returns from the kitchen. “Tried teaching Beau here, but the lessons obviously didn’t take.”
I press a palm to my chest in mock indignation while Ivy takes another roll. “Excuse me, but did you not just see my amazing moves two minutes ago when I got a Yahtzee?”
“We did, and we’re all trying to wipe it away from our memories,” says Dad, reaching for some caramel popcorn.
“I took a few of your lessons, too, Nan,” Mom adds. “Remember? I was one of your prize pupils. Would have been the next Ginger Rogers if I hadn’t fallen for Rob here in seventh grade. I knew then I’d have to choose between a dancing career and true love.”
“She was a terrible dancer,” Nana says in a loud whisper to Ivy.
“But I had the passion,” says Mom. “And sometimes that’s more important than talent.”
“Except when it comes to aYaht-zee,” Ivy yells when her third roll gives her the last six that she needed. Without any prompting she jumps out of her chair and starts jazz handing and twirling. That alone is the best sight I’ve seen in a long time, but it’s the bird call that really gets me.
“What is that?” I ask, grabbing my stomach. This may be the best workout my abs have gotten in weeks.
A popcorn kernel shoots out of Janey’s mouth. “Is that a duck?”
“I think it’s an owl.” Mom’s face is red and her shoulders are shaking.
“Do ostriches have mating calls?” Dad says in his typical deadpan tone as he heads into the kitchen.
“What are you talking about? This is a chicken,” says Ivy, jutting her head side to side.
“Sort of reminds me of how she used to dance in my classes,” Nana says, pointing at Mom.
“I’ll have you know I can still shuffle-shuffle-tap-tap with the best of them,” Mom says, popping out of her chair.
“I want to shuffle-shuffle-tap-tap.” Now Janey’s up, imitating Mom’s tap dance moves.
Dad must’ve let the dogs back inside. While they scamper and yap around us, Ivy continues her terrible interpretative duck-style Yahtzee celebration, Nana stands next to Janey and Mom showing them how totrulyshuffle-shuffle-tap-tap, and Dad returns from the kitchen swinging his arms and legs, saying, “Hey, are we doing the Charleston?”
And I just sit in my chair, watching it all unfold, thinking Ivy doesn’t know it, but this is exactly where she belongs.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Run, run, Hamish, Ivy needs to make it to town
Ivy
The next morning I’m in bed researching statistics about baseball players.
