The Wedding Bees

by Sarah-Kate Lynch

“No, it’s not another staff member and you know George doesn’t get paid so he’s not really staff.”

  “We don’t need any more volunteers either, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Mrs. Keschl. “Although I guess I could live with a maid.”

  “I would kill for a maid,” said Lola.

  “Is the one more him?” asked Ruby, her face lighting up when Sugar blushed and nodded.

  “Who’s him?” demanded Mrs. Keschl.

  “Just a friend,” Sugar said quickly. “No big deal. Really. Another cocktail, anyone?”

  But it was a big deal and when seven-thirty came and went without Theo knocking at the door, Sugar started to feel sicker and sicker with every relentless tick of the heartless kitchen clock.

  He had told her to trust him, to trust “it,” that time did strange things; and she had trusted him although it hadn’t been easy. She had bounced like a Ping-Pong ball from sinking into the memory of that delectable kiss to plotting her escape from New York silently in the night, never to return. But with every hollow rebound she’d repeated his words, over and over again, until eventually she arrived back at a delicate balance.

  By eight she felt like she had a million Ping-Pong balls, all of them in her stomach. She would never listen to Theo or George or any man ever again. Her life was better without their empty promises and flimsy fairy tales.

  “You should have a cell phone,” Ruby said, sidling up to her in the kitchen. “Then he could call and tell you why he’s running late.”

  “He shouldn’t be running late,” Sugar said. “Running late gives you brain cancer.”

  “No, cell phones give you brain cancer,” Ruby said.

  “You see! They’re both terrible.”

  “I could call him on mine.”

  “And fry your precious brain? No, Ruby, I can’t let you do that.”

  “It’s almost like you sort of don’t want him to come,” Ruby said.

  Sugar stirred her carrot soup a little more robustly than required. Right now, she did not. Right now, she would rather tear her heart out and feed it to the snow leopard at Central Park Zoo than put it through the gut-wrenching turmoil of love. It was so … undignified.

  “Looks like it will be just us,” she said, ladling the soup into bowls. “Can you help carry these out onto the terrace?” But as she spoke a sharp crack in the air above them heralded the arrival of a summer thunderstorm.

  A jagged streak of lightning ignited the sky, illuminating the beautifully laid table, the blooming garden, the surrounding rooftops, the bridge in the distance. Then thunder cracked again and Sugar rallied Nate and Mr. McNally to bring the table inside.

  It was something of a squeeze with all of them and the table jammed between the bed and the French doors, but she stood and watched for a moment as the rain fell in luscious sheets that bounced off the terrace tiles, danced on top of the beehive, shook the leaves on the vines, pummeled the smaller plants and flowers.

  Watching nature in all her spontaneous glory seemed to calm her nerves.

  “It’s kind of beautiful,” she said. “And sad. Like a ballet.”

  Lola and Mrs. Keschl rolled their eyes.

  Then Sugar pushed the sofa and coffee table up against the wall and the seven of them sat down, crammed into the bright little studio that flared up like a pinball machine with every strike of lightning.

  “Again with the orange,” Mrs. Keschl said looking balefully at her soup.

  “Just eat it, woman,” snapped Mr. McNally.

  “Ethan might like it too,” Sugar told Lola. “It’s usually pretty popular with kids.”

  “He’s not so good with a spoon,” Lola warned, trying the soup herself. “It’s good. What’s it made of?”

  “Would you care to have a guess, Nate?” Sugar asked.

  Nate blushed just hearing her say his name, then tasted another mouthful and carefully considered it. “Carrots,” he said softly. “Ginger. And honey, I guess.”

  Ethan took that opportunity to flick a spoonful of the thick, creamy soup across the table where it landed fair and square in the middle of Mrs. Keschl’s wrinkled cleavage. “Most attention that’s seen in a while,” she said, barely pausing as she emptied her bowl.

  “Jesus, Ethan, can’t you just put it in your mouth?” Lola asked, her own spoon falling to the table as if the effort of holding it was suddenly too much.

  “Give the little chap a break,” said Mr. McNally.

  “Let me,” Mrs. Keschl said, dragging her chair over to Ethan, taking his spoon, and feeding him.

  Lola left her to it.

  “Can I help you clear the plates?” Ruby asked, getting up and starting to do so anyway.

  Sugar knew this was a way of disguising that she had barely eaten anything, but she’d had half a glass of her drink, which had another sprinkling of bee pollen in it, providing at least a small spurt of energy.

  Suddenly, Sugar was tired of worrying about Ruby, about Nate, about the balloons. Suddenly, she wanted everyone to go home so she could crawl into bed and sleep away her foolishness at believing, at trusting, at dreaming that she and Theo would one day be lying there together, their naked limbs entwined, their hearts beating in time, her wretched longing finally acknowledged and tenderly sated.

  The room lit up again and the whole table jumped as thunder cracked right above them. It took a few moments after the boom faded away for Sugar to realize that someone was knocking at the door.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Mr. McNally asked. “The butler?”

  27TH

  George stood in the doorway with Theo soaking wet beside him. His lime-green shirt was sodden, its giant bananas plastered to his body in bunches.

  “Please pardon the intrusion, Miss Sugar,” George said. “But I found something I thought you might be missing.”

  “I am so sorry,” Theo said. “But I had to nip in to work and then I was so nervous about being late, which I wasn’t going to be, but I was holding your address too tightly. The ink ran!” He held up the card she’d written on. It was nothing but a blur. “I couldn’t find you. And then it rained.”

  Sugar’s heart was banging so hard she could feel it in her ears. She was not sure how much more she could take of this particular roller coaster. “You do know this is the gentleman whose fall you broke that day,” she said politely, indicating George.

  “Yes, yes, I’ve already apologized for not being more . . . springy,” Theo said.

  “And I’ve accepted the apology,” George offered. “A man who knows how to apologize is a man who knows how to get on in life.”

  “Did you hear that?” Mrs. Keschl said to Mr. McNally.

  “Sugar, I know I seem to do nothing but apologize but I’m so sorry,” Theo said again. “I knew it was Flores Street but I couldn’t remember the number. I knew there were two of them and they were sort of fat like nines or eights or sixes but I’d forgotten they were both the same. I’ve been to nearly every house. And you didn’t call me? I told you I would have to be dead to not turn up.”

  The whole room jumped again as more thunder boomed above them.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going back downstairs,” George said.

  “You should have gone home hours ago,” Sugar said to him, ignoring Theo. “I worry about you standing out there for too long.”

  “It’s me standing up here that you should worry about,” George said. “My head is starting to spin so I’ll bid you all good night.”

  “Please, Sugar,” Theo said.

  “Ah, let the poor fecker in,” Mr. McNally said. “You’ve invited every other Tom, Dick and Harry.”

  “I saw the balloons,” Theo said, pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes. He was taller than Sugar remembered and, inconceivably, even more handsome when wet. “And I remembered you talking about a balloon shop when we were in McSorley’s. And then I found George, and I know I’m late but I’m not usually. I’m actually very punctual.”

  “Yo
u have to let him in,” Ruby said just as Lola emerged from the bathroom with a towel, and passed it over her head to Theo, who took it and started to dry his face. His handsome, worried face with its square jaw and irresistible dimple.

  Sugar had been as rude as she was able. The Ping-Pong ball bounced back in to Theo’s court. “All right then,” she said, standing back and letting him through. “Everybody, this is Theo.”

  “Sit there,” Mr. McNally said, pointing to a sleepy Ethan slumped in the chair next to him. “And I’ll put the little fella on the couch. His eyes are hanging out of his head as it is.”

  He picked up the boy with a tenderness that surprised Mrs. Keschl and Lola, though Ruby and Nate were too busy concentrating on Theo to notice.

  “You missed the soup,” Sugar said, “but you’re in time for honey-roasted chicken and sweet potato.”

  “I’m fine with anything,” said Theo. “Honestly, I’m just happy to be here, inside, out of the rain, where I’m totally meant to be. And I’m not even going to mention that you had my number and you didn’t call me while I was out there looking for you. That’s how happy I am.”

  “She was worried about brain cancer,” Ruby told him. “And she thought you were standing her up.”

  “I’m addled but my brain is fine. Honestly. The address melted!” Theo protested. “I’ve pressed nearly every buzzer in the street. I was offered dandelion wine by the man at number eighty-six and I’m not sure what I was offered by the woman at number thirty-eight.”

  “She is not a natural blonde, the woman at number thirtyeight,” Mrs. Keschl said.

  “I like your dress,” Theo told her. “My grandmother had a dress like that and my grandmother was one of my favorite people.”

  “Can you dance?” asked Mrs. Keschl, blossoming. “I feel like dancing.”

  “I’m a keen but supremely untalented dancer,” Theo answered cheerfully as lightning struck again. “Great apartment, Sugar. Cozy.”

  “Aren’t you the silver-tongued devil?” Mr. McNally sniped, his tenderness evaporated. “You know cozy is just another word for too small.”

  “He might be nervous,” Ruby said. “He told Sugar he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, even though they only just met. He told her she was the one. And so she asked him to dinner but then he never turned up.”

  “Ruby!” Sugar was mortified.

  “I didn’t not turn up,” Theo said. “I was late and it was an act of God. And you make it sound worse than it was about the wanting-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life thing. It was different the way I said it.”

  “Whichever way,” said Mrs. Keschl, “you’re pretty hard to understand. I’ve only just worked out you’re speaking English.”

  “He’s from Scotland,” Ruby told her.

  “So you dance with your arms straight down by your sides,” Mrs. Keschl said, disappointed.

  “No, that’s the Irish. We have our hands above our heads,” Theo said. “Plus we wear kilts.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Mrs. Keschl.

  “Highland flinging aside,” Theo said, smiling at Sugar, “this chicken is delicious.”

  Once again, she melted. Now that he was here, he just fit right in, was the thing, without hardly any fuss or bother.

  “You know, one yard that way and this would be a different sort of party,” Mrs. Keschl cracked, looking at Sugar’s bed.

  “But on the plus side, I can reach dessert right from where I’m sitting,” said Sugar, trying not to think about her bed and what she would like to happen in it sometime soon. She turned and lifted across the cake stand on which she had displayed the nutty, syrupy offerings Ruby had brought her.

  “What is that?” Mrs. Keschl asked.

  “It’s baklava,” Nate said, cheeks aflame. “It’s Turkish. Made of phyllo pastry and nuts.”

  “And honey,” Ruby said. “That’s why I bought it, because of the honey.”

  “It’s really good,” Nate said, licking his lips after trying a mouthful. “Where did you get it?”

  “At Poseidon Bakery up on Ninth Avenue,” Ruby said. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Oh,” Nate said. “Mine too.”

  Mrs. Keschl looked from one to the other. “Well, one of you needs to go there more often and the other one needs to walk straight on by.”

  Sugar made a note to up the rose oil quotient in Mrs. Keschl’s next batch of candles.

  “I have never had baklava before,” Sugar said, “but you’re right, Nate, it’s delicious. I wonder if we could make our own?”

  “Of course,” Nate said.

  “They have really good pistachios at Kalustyan’s on Lexington,” Ruby said. “I think they’re the best.”

  “Or you can order them at Nuts.com,” Nate said.

  “Yes, but I did that once and they mixed Californian pistachios in with the imported ones.”

  “The Californian ones are easier to open, but they don’t taste as good,” Nate added.

  “Exactly,” said Ruby.

  They looked at each other then, finally, and something akin to a smile settled on each face.

  “You have the most excellent taste in sweet, nutty, syrupy, flaky pastry things, Ruby,” Theo said, striking Sugar with his kindness at speaking that way to a girl who clearly never ate such things.

  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped, and the clouds scooted across the skyline, leaving the city horizon sparkling and clear in their wake.

  Sugar opened the doors, breathing in the sweet fresh perfume of recent rain on scented blooms, and turned to her guests. “If y’all want to take the table and chairs back out on the terrace, I’ll clear up in here and prepare a little something special by way of a nightcap.”

  Her guests shuffled around, picking up the furniture and passing around the empty plates and then she and Theo were alone in the tiny kitchen. Their arms touched, and once again the electricity shot right through her.

  “Did you feel that?” Theo asked, his dimple deepening as he smiled.

  His hair had dried a little crinkly and, for a moment, Sugar wondered if the electricity between them had done that as well. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips, almost taste the honey syrup from the baklava.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “May I?” And he took her in his arms and kissed her again, their hearts thumping in perfect time, like two lost musical notes finally finding their place in an unexpected harmony.

  It was the belonging that so surprised her; the belonging that had been missing from her life, and she hadn’t even known it. His hands on her body, his lips on her lips, it was so simple. So right. He did not feel like a complication that would ruin her life or threaten the world she had built for herself.

  What had she been thinking?

  In his arms she felt his strength, she craved his strength, but she felt her own too. In that moment Sugar let the sun shine in on the last of the wounded parts of herself that she’d kept hidden for so many years. Under the warmth of those rays, she did not try to protect her poor broken heart; she just let herself believe that what Theo had told her was true, that it was sudden and foreign and catapulted her out of where she felt safest but it was also what being truly alive was all about.

  “There’s time, Sugar,” Theo said. “There’s forever. Don’t worry.”

  Again, she wanted her guests to disappear. She wanted him to herself, in her bed, for a long time with nowhere else to go and nothing to do but discover each other. But her guests showed no sign of going anywhere and, much as she wanted to stay in the kitchen, lingering on each kiss, she took Theo’s hand and pulled him out onto the terrace.

  Ruby stood and looked as though she was going to give them a round of applause but Sugar shot her a warning look, so she sank back into her seat and just beamed.

  “This is my little piece of paradise,” Sugar said, her arm sweeping around her rooftop; as Theo’s eyes followed he was yet again thankful for the therapist who had cur
ed his aggression toward all things horticultural.

  This was nothing like the sprawling Hamptons spreads that his wife had envied so much she ran away with someone who created them. It was contained, crowded almost, and colorful, but not in a way that had been worked out on a pie chart. Plus it smelled good, which he guessed was due to the heavy rain drying now on the flowering vines that grew up the wall and the blooming shrubs in pots by the wooden box in the corner.

  With a start, he realized exactly where he was. But before he could comment on that, he noticed the hive.

  “What’s in there?” he asked.

  “That’s my beehive,” Sugar said. “They’re my bees.”

  The color drained from his face. “Your bees?”

  “Yes, my bees. I’m a beekeeper.”

  “You’re a beekeeper,” he repeated. “A keeper of bees?”

  “Yes, a keeper of bees. That’s how I make my living. I sell my honey and whatnot at the greenmarket.”

  “That’s how you make your living?”

  “Yes, I guess we never talked about that,” Sugar said.

  “She’s had her bees for fifteen years,” Ruby piped up. “She got them from her grandfather.”

  “Her honey got my kid to quit whining,” Lola added.

  “It fixes acne,” said Nate, blushing.

  “It goes great with bourbon,” said Mrs. Keschl. “She’s nuts about those bees.”

  “But what about the ice cream?” Theo asked. “At Tompkins Square? I thought that was your job. I thought you were nuts about ice cream.”

  “No, I was just getting to know the ropes before I started selling my honey there. Why? What’s the matter? Theo, are you OK?”

  He let go of Sugar’s hand and started plucking at the front of his banana shirt. He was sweating, his breath coming short and uneven. He backed away from her toward the open French doors, still looking around the terrace, his eyes skimming over the heads of everyone sitting there staring at him, wondering what was going on.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” Sugar had never heard him swear. She’d really liked that about him.

  “You look like you just pooped yourself,” Mrs. Keschl told him.