by M. C. Cerny
The aunts push a coffee mug in my direction—prepped with cream and sugar, from the sweet smell.
“Keep groveling, boy. My brother-in-law may kill you yet. Military man or not, he’s got thirty years of hard labor under his belt,” one of the aunts comments, snickering.
I hope the coffee isn’t poisoned and take a sip of the offered brew. I prepare to get my ass beat by a two-by-four and three ornery women.
“Being away these thirteen weeks solidified any doubts I had for my feelings. Beatrice and I have come to an understanding, but I want to do this the right way.”
“Oh, he’s hankering for a beating, Hank.” The aunt with glasses nudges Mr. Brennan.
“Shush, Elise.” Mrs. Brennan shoos at her sister. “Let him talk. I want to know what his intentions are toward my daughter. My very heartbroken daughter,” she emphasizes.
Her reminder isn’t necessary. I know what I did was shitty, and this is clearly my one chance to make it up.
“I know we haven’t had a chance to meet, or get to know each other the proper way we should. I’d like to marry your daughter and make a life with her. I have a good career lined up, and housing that’s coming my way, but I have to marry her first before she can live with me on base.”
“You love her?” Mr. Brennan says.
I hang my head down, hoping to convey the need to be with Beatrice. “I want to marry her more than anything in this world.”
“Son, that doesn’t answer a father’s question about his only daughter,” Mr. Brennan presses and I’m not afraid to tell him how I feel. There’s a strength in loving Beatrice that makes me feel like I can do anything with her by my side, because she makes it worth it. I want to be worth it.
“I love your daughter the way the sun needs the moon. She’s the reason I want to get up in the mornings, and the reason I want to be a better person. Forgive me, but she’s the only person I want beside me.” I don’t know if I’ve answered his question sufficiently. Putting into words how much she’s come to mean to me goes beyond a simple verbal response. My actions will have to speak louder than promises anyone could give.
“Phoebe, can you give us a minute, my love? I need to speak to Henry here.”
My eyes dart up. I hadn’t been sure if her father actually knew my name. The women leave and it’s just us, man to man. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Sir, I—”
He stops me with a hand up. “Save it, Henry. I looked you up on the computer—or what little I could find. I know your family in town, but I don’t know much about you. You’re here proposing to marry my only daughter, and all I know for sure is that you left her three months ago, crying her eyes out until she made herself sick. She doesn’t know I know that, but it’s hard to hide much in this house with the walls paper-thin and her anguish killing me each day.” Hank Brennan is speaking the truth, and I’m floored by how little Bea told me. Sure, she said she was hurt, but not the level of pain I couldn’t comprehend. I did this to her and I’m ashamed.
To hurt someone like that breaks through all the tough-guy training they give us in the military, and I feel myself choking up. I can’t compartmentalize what I feel for her, nor should I.
“I find it hard to forgive myself for what I did, and for the rest of my life I’ll live with that mistake.” I thought my hands had shaken knocking on the door; now they shake because I’m so angry with myself.
“See that you do. Beatrice went to work this morning humming to herself, but I guess you already know that. I hadn’t heard that sweet sound in a long time. Just know that as quickly as you brought it back, you can take it away again. If my daughter has so much as cause to feel heartbroken again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”
“Mr. Brennan, sir, I can’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve that and I deserve what I’m about to ask for even less, but I’m compelled. I’d like to humbly ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.” I don’t know what I would do without her.
Her father’s face breaks into an unexpected smile. “Ain’t me you gotta ask, son—it’s her mother.”
Mr. Brennan calls his wife back in. The aunts back her up, half glaring and half smirking at me. Mr. Brennan clears his throat and nods at his wife. She doesn’t look pleased one bit, and clearly spent the time eavesdropping.
“Well, how much time do we have to plan? I’ve been on the phone with your mother this whole time.”
I should be questioning why they’re aren’t questioning this more. I should be wondering why they’re okay with this. If this were my daughter, I wouldn’t let some kid walk into my house proposing marriage with the plan to whisk her off to fuck knows where.
“Henry, there are things to organize. Snap out of it.” Mrs. Brennan snaps her fingers much like the way Bea did at me last night. A glance at Hank tells me I better get with it because this is how things roll with the Brennan women. It’s humbling, but I accept it wholeheartedly.
“Uh, well, I leave in eight days.”
“Lord have mercy,” the aunts chant. I think the lord was going to need something closer to a miracle at this point. I’ve never planned anything like this before. Weddings are supposed to be one-time deals, and this wasn’t a part of boot camp training.
“Okay. We can do this.” Mrs. Brennan whips out a planner and lays it on the table. She hands me a pen and paper to take notes. Mr. Brennan grabs two beers from the fridge and hands me one, popping the top off. I think it’s a bit early for drinking, but who am I to argue? Getting married isn’t exactly a coffee kind of moment.
“You’re gonna be here awhile son, get comfortable.” Mr. Brennan smiles and the women in the family start organizing. Two hours later they’ve got my whole life story and I’ve got a list of fifty or so items to take care of. I’d say it was productive, but I don’t get to see Bea and I wonder if she planned it this way.
Honeybee: I hear you survived my parents and the aunts.
Tank: A little warning next time?
Honeybee: Now where would the fun be in that?
Tank: Because you love me?
Honeybee: I’m still deciding if I’m showing up.
Tank: Fair enough.
“You got enough favors for all this?” Ms. La Croix, the baker, pulls out a book with cake pictures.
“I got cash, if that’ll help.” I pull out my wallet, wondering what this will run me. I need a cake for at least a hundred people on short notice. For all I know, half the town will show up and we’re not even advertising this wedding. It’s mostly my family here and hers, with friends we know, and then the church in town. I’ve got a choir singing, and my brother’s marching band playing the wedding march for extra credit.
“Put your money away. You’re gonna need that for other things.” She pushes my hand away and flips her book open to a page with various white sheet cakes lightly decorated.
“Now we don’t have much time for anything fancy, but this I can make in a day and you’ll have it ready on time.”
“How much?” The cake looks elaborate, with basket weaving, vines, and flowers despite it not being “fancy,” but what the hell do I know? I’ve never planned a wedding before.
“It would be my pleasure to see the two of you wed. I know Miss Bea loves my pumpkin spice doughnuts, so how about I make a pumpkin spice cake and do up a special vanilla buttercream frosting?”
My mouth is watering thinking about it, but all I can get out is a nod and a muffled “thank you.”
“Lovely, I’ll drop it off the morning of. You have flowers yet?”
“No ma’am. Not yet.” I scratch the back of my head and then pull out my list from Mrs. Brennan.
“Well then you head over across the street. I expect Miss Maisy Danvers is waiting on you to call.”
“Thank you.” I move to shake her hand, but she wraps me up in a hug that smells like sugar and cinnamon. I tell her goodbye and jog across the street. My list still has about half of it left. The flowers will be a huge item.
I step insid
e the flower shop, which is warm and a little humid.
“Finally! I figured you was gonna make me come find you.”
“No, Miss Maisy.”
I let the older woman wrap me in a bear hug. She already knows why I’m here. It’s not like our town can keep secrets, especially with an event like this. There are only a few reasons weddings happen this quickly, and both my mother and Mrs. Brennan were keen to tell their social circles that Bea wasn’t knocked up. Not that it was anyone’s business, but getting married was the only way I could secure housing on base as a couple living together.
“What are you wearing to the ceremony?” She doesn’t bother beating around the bush.
“My dress blues.”
“And the bride?”
“Her mother assures me it will be an ivory lace dress, but that’s all I know.”
“Hmm.” Miss Maisy taps her finger to her lips, walking around her shop. “I’m thinking burgundy wine-colored fiddle roses or ranunculus, a little foxglove and thistle. Oh, and some Scabiosa, and maybe quicksand roses for that blushing bride look.”
“That sounds flowery.” I have no idea what any of that is, but I hope they look pretty.
“Oh, you!” Miss Maisy taps my chest, smiling. “You’ll have a boutonniere, don’t worry.”
“It sounds beautiful and everything Beatrice deserves. How can I ever repay you?” I’m thinking cash and a round number, but she clucks at me and turns away.
“You have that brother of yours come over and mow my lawn, maybe shovel my walkway if we get those ice storms again.”
“Are you sure, Miss Maisy?” If I get off light on the cake and flowers, I might be able to stretch my budget and get Bea a nice wedding gift—something besides the wedding band. We don’t have time to pick out a proper ring, between our schedules, and she asked me to wait on that until things were settled, but it doesn’t feel right marrying my girl and no diamond ring.
I spot on a shelf in the shop a pair of matching bears. One has a wedding dress and one a suit. I point up at the bears asking, “How much?”
“Well now, I think we can work out something fair.”
I whoosh out a relieved breath.
Miss Maisy motions for me to grab the bears and I do, handing them to her. “I’ve got something for the boy bear you’ll like better.” She takes them in the back and comes out a moment later with a bear dressed in military camo. It’s perfect.
“Aww, Miss Maisy, they’re exactly what I need.”
“Get out of here. I know you got more favors to hit up on your list before the big day. Go on with you!” Miss Maisy shoos me out of her shop and I think of my good fortune. I couldn’t do any of this without the help of the whole town rooting for us.
Tank: How do you feel about ranunculus and Scabiosa?
Honeybee: Are you trying to tell me you have an STD?
Tank: Hell no. Those are flowers.
Honeybee: Are you sure you shouldn’t be seeing a doctor about this?
Tank: I’ll see you tomorrow?
Honeybee: Not unless you get that shit cleared up.
The big day is finally here. My legs shake while I stand in the gazebo, which is covered in white holiday lights. They twinkle and my heart follows the pattern, thumping in my chest. I don’t know if Beatrice will walk down the aisle, and if she doesn’t, I wouldn’t be angry with her. I called in every favor I could—and some I didn’t have a right to—thanks to my family.
The wine-colored rose pinned to my dress blues smells like spring and promises even though it’s the fifth of December. A canopy leads out to the gazebo as dusk rolls in. Most everyone had to work and tomorrow I leave to go back, but tonight is ours and I don’t need sleep. All I need is Beatrice in my arms again, pledged to be mine. It felt like hell trying to get here, but I know heaven is on the other side as long as Beatrice is there with me.
I asked Frankie, who’s in my training group with me, to stand as my best man. We’ve been through a lot and he’s as close to me as my brother Cole. He might as well be my brother from another mother. He’s got his dress blues on while my little brother is playing in the marching band. The music starts and I can’t wait another second. I turn and scan the aisle for my Honeybee.
There’s a hush over the crowd and the pastor wears a concerned look on his face. I don’t know if she’s there; I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s left me standing here. I hear the faint jingle of sleigh bells and smile.
5
Bea
“Are you sure you want to do this, Sweat Bea?” My mother stands in the doorway to my bedroom. Her face carries concern the way only mothers can. She’s been hovering more than usual since my breakup with Tank and my brother gone chasing his own happily ever after across the country.
“Yeah, Momma. I think I do.” I can’t help the smile on my face and the warmth I feel for him. I sit on the bed and finger the lace of the dress she and my aunts worked tirelessly on. I’m going into this marriage with nothing but this dress on my back that carries family memories and traditions I haven't begun to understand in building my own household. I’ve packed a few things, but I can’t take it all as we work out the housing arrangements on base.
She joins me on the bed and brushes a hand over my hair in a soothing way. I lean into her as she peppers me with questions. “How well do you know this boy?”
“Ah, not well enough for this.” I can’t help the giggle that comes out of my mouth. It’s not that we haven’t had family discussions about this until late into the evenings over the remaining pieces of pie and turkey scramble. It’s been a whirlwind of planning, all of which Tank took out of my hands, as promised. He’s been all action and few words lately.
“He seems like he’s determined to make you happy.”
We both get off the bed and I let her help me slip the dress on, stepping into it and lifting the long lace sleeves that once adorned her arms. The aunts are skilled seamstresses, and between the three of them they turned my mother’s beautiful gown into something new and special.
“Well isn’t that a sight to see.” Aunt Doris beams, followed by Aunt Elisa, who has her arms full.
“What is all this?” I ask as they put down items on my bed, unwrapping things.
“It’s your something old.” Doris plucks at the sleeve of my mother’s dress.
“Your something new.” Elisa drapes a small bolero over my arms in white rabbit fur, explaining, “I had a man once who liked to spoil me. Bought me this fur which I never wore. Seeing as how it’s winter, you don’t want to catch a chill before the big night.” She winks and my mother fans herself. We’ll need to turn the AC on if this keeps up, because my husband to be is seriously hot.
“And this, my darling daughter, will be your something borrowed.” Mom reaches for a box on the bed and opens it up. It’s her county fair tiara—a beautiful, delicate crown made in silver with pearls and sparkling gemstones. She places it on my head and adjusts the veil. “Perfect,” she murmurs, kissing my cheek.
“Not quite, but I got it. Girl needs something blue.” Doris waddles around my room, reaching for a shoebox. She tosses the lid and pulls out a pair of open-toed blue booties. The same blue as Tank’s uniform.
“Doris, I love them.”
She ushers me to sit at my vanity and helps me put them on.
“Well, I think our work here is done.” Elisa grins, clutching her bosom.
“You think it’s time we had that talk about wedding nights or what?” Doris cackles, and my mother shoos her from the room.
“Pretty sure she don’t need that talk, Phoebe.” Elisa snickers, following them out of my bedroom and giving me a wink.
I’m going to miss my aunts and their meddling ways. I walk to the top of the stairs and see my dad standing below in his best suit, a dark gray pinstripe.
“Beatrice Nicole.” Dad uses my name with a waver in his voice.
I sniffle, taking his arm as he leads me to the car. “Dad, don’t make me cry.�
��
He pats my hand, nodding. “Let’s get you there on time.”
It’s true what they say about weddings: they’re fun to attend but you barely remember your own beyond the fleeting highlights. Champaign was passed, but I barely drank. Food was served, but I couldn’t eat. My stomach had been twisted in knots, being the center of attention. My feet ached from standing, greeting, and dancing the night away. For a rushed affair, Tank did more than deliver on his promise.
The things I remember most from the day start with the way he sighed in relief as I walked up to him, like he was weak in the knees. His perfectly pressed dress blues made him seem larger than life as my dad handed me off to Tank. I’ll remember the vows he wrote, declaring to love me and care for me always as a partner should. I wonder if his dad and mine gave him a crash course on women, the way they bantered back and forth at the reception while I stood across the room being oohed and ahhed over by his mother, mine, and the aunts who seemed to think we missed out on an opportunity for fireworks and another parade through town. I think I’ll always remember the way he grinned, toothy and wide, as the priest told him he could kiss me. My back ached a little from the buttons pressed into me when he dipped me over his knee to kiss me with everyone cheering. It was a heady rush feeling, that love, as my mother dabbed her eyes. As far as fantasies go, Tank is the real deal.
A lacy garter and bouquet toss marked the end of the evening and the beginning of all our tomorrows, with Tank hoisting me into his arms to carry me off into our happily ever after. Sure, my family had reservations. I had reservations, but I also had a man looking at me like I was his everything, and tonight I believed in him.
“My wife.” Tank carries me to our bridal suite. He swings around to shut the door, locking us in. Rose petals are crushed under his boots as he puts me in the middle of the bed.
“Henry,” I whisper, pulling him close. I kiss his lips and taste the shots of whiskey I watched him take with his friends during the party. It’s not nearly as potent as the alcohol, but his lips on mine make me drunk with need.
