Every Bride Needs a Groom

by Janice Thompson

“I’m sure you’re going to be one of the lucky ones, Katie.” Dahlia sighed. “You’re going to marry . . . what’s his name again? . . . and live happily ever after.”

  “Casey,” Brady said. “Her fiancé is named Casey Lawson. It’s in the essay.”

  Dahlia’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “Well, you and Casey are going to have a blissful life in Fairfield and raise 2.5 children and live in a house with a white picket fence.”

  “I’d pay money to see the 2.5 children.” Stan elbowed Madge.

  Madge, God bless her, managed to turn the conversation around, and before long we were talking about basketball once again. She gave me a “whew!” look, but I could read the warning in her eyes. No point in upsetting the apple cart, as Mama would say. I didn’t want to spoil things for Nadia, after all. And with the reporter from Texas Bride coming soon, I’d better mind my p’s and q’s. Looked like I couldn’t get out of the interview, no matter how hard I tried. Not with all of these people surrounding me, anyway.

  A couple of minutes later, Twiggy and Crystal entered the shop from the workroom. Crystal glanced up as an elderly woman came barreling through the front door, fussing and fuming about the weather.

  “Incoming tornado,” Dahlia whispered. “Brace yourselves for a storm, ladies.”

  I was bracing myself for a storm, all right, but not the kind she had in mind. My storm involved a hurricane of emotions that had whirled out of control when Brady mentioned Casey’s name. I bit back the tears, but Brady must’ve noticed. His compassionate look calmed me down at once. He mouthed the words, “You okay?” and I nodded, forcing a smile.

  “Let’s get back to work, shall we?” Madge gestured to the woman at the front of the store. “Someone needs to greet our guest.”

  Twiggy and Crystal headed off to do just that. I brushed the tears from my eyes and, for the first time, could see the woman more clearly.

  “Oh no.”

  I didn’t mean to speak the words aloud, but what else could I do? The woman who fussed and fumed as she crossed from the door to the shoe counter was none other than Aunt Alva, black sheep of the family. She hadn’t yet noticed me, so I ducked behind a mannequin and tried to steady my breathing.

  Madge gave me the oddest look. “Um, you okay back there?”

  “Someone you know, kid?” Stan added.

  I whispered, “It’s my great-aunt Alva.”

  Brady smiled. “That’s great, Katie. Do you think she’ll stay long enough to add a few thoughts to the interview? She knows your fiancé, right?”

  “Well, she knew Casey when he was a boy.” I felt the tops of my ears grow hot. “But we haven’t exactly . . . I mean, she doesn’t know him these days.”

  Madge glared at me.

  Brady leaned in close, his breath soft against my cheek as he whispered, “Are you telling me that your aunt doesn’t know you’re engaged?”

  “Um, something like that. Remember, I told you and your mom that all of this is top-secret information.”

  “Well, you said your parents didn’t know, that you planned to surprise them. It’s the whole family? No one knows you’re getting the gown?”

  Another glare from Madge put my nerves on edge.

  “Gonna surprise ’em, eh?” Stan laughed. “That’s one way to tell the family. Land yourself on the cover of a national magazine wearing a Nadia James original and see their heads roll.”

  “Keeping it from the extended family complicates things, for sure.” Brady released a slow breath. “Guess that means we can’t include your aunt in the interview.” He scratched his head. “Or even tell her about the dress?”

  “I don’t know if she knows about that. If Lori-Lou told her, I’m going to . . . going to . . .” I groaned. “It’s complicated.”

  “Sounds like it. But why not tell them? Your parents will probably be thrilled to save the money, right? I mean, wedding gowns are expensive.”

  “Right. I’m just, well . . .”

  “So you’re scared?” Brady’s brow wrinkled in obvious confusion. “Scared of your family’s reaction to the dress? Or to the engagement? That’s why you’re keeping it all a secret?”

  “I’m just terrified . . . period.”

  Boy, if that didn’t sum it up, nothing did.

  Brady shook his head. “I’m. So. Confused.”

  “Me too, and I don’t even know any of these people.” Stan shrugged and peeked out at my aunt. “Why are we hiding behind a mannequin again?”

  Madge squinted her eyes. “Get over it, girl. You don’t have to tell your aunt about the interview. Just make nice and maybe she’ll go away. Then again, that’s been my approach with old Stan the Man here, but he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

  “I heard that,” Stan said.

  The two of them headed off to the counter, bickering all the way.

  Brady glanced at me. “Katie, I’m just trying to make sense of this. You don’t have a wedding date. Your family doesn’t know you’ve won the contest. And the interview is supposed to be a secret. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Yes, actually, there is.”

  I’d just opened my mouth to add, “My fiancé isn’t even my fiancé,” when something—er, someone—interrupted me.

  Aunt Alva let out an unladylike whoop and then hollered, “Katie Sue Fisher! There you are! I had a feeling I just might find you here.”

  15

  Girl That I Am Now

  A city is more than a place in space, it is a drama in time.

  Patrick Geddes

  Nothing—and I do mean nothing—could’ve prepared me for running into my great-aunt at Cosmopolitan Bridal. I hadn’t seen the woman in years, after all. Why here, of all places? And why now?

  Surely Lori-Lou was behind this. Or Josh. Only, Josh didn’t really know Alva, did he? And Lori-Lou hadn’t spoken to her in years.

  So. Odd.

  I sucked in a deep breath and worked up the courage to “face this like a man,” as Lori-Lou had said. Looked like I was doing a lot of that these days. Brady and Stan disappeared into the workroom, and I headed toward my aunt.

  “Aunt Alva!” I tried to steady my voice. “What in the world brings you here?”

  “Katie Sue Fisher, as I live and breathe!” She extended her arms, and a broad smile lit her chubby face. “That’s a fine how-do-you-do when we haven’t see one another in years. I’d say a handshake is in order if you’re not the hugging sort.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely the hugging sort.”

  She swept me into her arms, which totally threw me. Queenie’s description of Alva was a cold, mean woman, not one who grabbed near strangers and pulled them into bear hugs. I had a lot to process during the thirty seconds that her sagging bosoms held me in their grip. Nothing about this seemed remotely normal. Or expected. Or within the realm of possibility.

  She finally released me, and I did my best not to let the relief show on my face as I took a giant step backwards.

  “Now I’ll answer your question, Katie Sue.” My aunt brushed a loose hair off my cheek with her index finger, a gesture I knew well from Queenie. Weird. “You wanted to know how I came to find you here?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Can we sit down someplace so we can chat?”

  Madge must’ve overheard that last part because she suggested the spacious fitting room, the one with the cozy padded bench in the center. A couple minutes later I found myself closed inside with my aunt, who eased her ample frame down onto the bench.

  “There, that’s more like it. Now, where were we?”

  “You were telling me how you knew to look for me here,” I said.

  “Right, right. Well, it’s the strangest thing. I got this new smartphone. Tried to figure it out looking through the contacts list, and I accidentally telephoned someone.”

  “Oh?”

  “Lori-Lou. Haven’t talked to her in years, but there she was on the other end of my phone. Now, don’t be mad, Katie . . . I’m su
re she didn’t mean to let it slip, but she said something about you being in town. I was floored. Thought you’d stay rooted in Fairfield forever.”

  “Well, I haven’t moved here, Aunt Alva. I’m just here for . . .” I released a sigh, unable—er, unwilling—to complete the sentence.

  “I know why you’re here. She told me all about that contest. So, you’re engaged?”

  Ack. “She told you I’m engaged?”

  “Well, she let it slip that you were in town to be fitted for a wedding gown. What else could I deduce?”

  “I see.”

  “She refused to tell me which bridal shop, but you know me . . .”

  Actually, I don’t.

  “I’m not the sort to give up easily. I’m like a dog following a skunk down a hole. Or would that be up a tree? I’m not really sure where skunks go when they’re running from dogs.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Anyway, I called every shop in town. When I tried this one, I talked to some woman named Twiggy—do you suppose that’s her real name? When I told her I was family, she clued me in that you were being fitted for a gown here.”

  “I see.” I’d have to remember to talk to Twiggy later. So much for keeping things a secret.

  “I couldn’t come right away, what with my knee giving me fits and all,” Alva said. “But once I got past all that, I got in my car and came on up here to have a little chat with that Twiggy gal and ask when you might be coming in next. Just happened in on a day you were here, which is just peachy.” She clasped her hands together, a gleeful look on her face. “So tell me about this fella of yours. I vaguely remember hearing you were dating the Lawson boy.”

  “Oh?” How in the world could she have known that? Was Aunt Alva spying on us? “Casey’s a great guy. He’s really sweet.” When he isn’t breaking my heart.

  “When’s the wedding? I don’t suppose I’ll be invited, but it’s good to know what’s going on in the family anyway. Keeping up from a distance is a sure sight better than not keeping up at all, at least that’s my philosophy.”

  “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be the only one who doesn’t get to go to the wedding, Aunt Alva.” I took a seat on the bench next to her.

  “Figured you wouldn’t want me there.” She let out a little humph.

  “Oh, it’s not that. Not at all.”

  My aunt gave me a pensive look. “Is it because he’s Presbyterian?”

  “W-what? How did you know that Casey is Presbyterian?”

  “I have my sources. I still know folks in Fairfield, you know. Bessie May and I talk every now and again.”

  “You do?” But she was Queenie’s best friend. How in the world . . . ?

  “Is that why I can’t come to the wedding?” Alva asked. “Because it’s at the Presbyterian church?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “If there was going to be a wedding, it would be at our church.”

  “What do you mean, if? Are you saying there’s no wedding at all?”

  I lowered my voice, just in case anyone happened to be standing on the other side of the door. “The whole thing is a giant fiasco, trust me.”

  “But you won a contest. That Twiggy girl said you’re getting a free wedding dress. Isn’t that right?”

  “Well, yes. In theory.”

  “Here you are in the bridal shop. You must be here for a reason.” She paused. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re getting this gown made up if you don’t plan on wearing it?”

  “I’m going to wear it for the photo shoot one month from today, and then one day I’ll wear it at my for-real wedding.”

  “Which isn’t taking place at the Presbyterian church. But at least there is a for-real wedding, right?”

  “Not really.” I rose and paced the little room. “It’s complicated. And why in the world is everyone so hung up on the Presbyterians?”

  “Define everyone.”

  “You. Queenie.” I hesitated. “Though I guess I’ve finally figured out why she is. But why you?”

  “Humph. This conversation just took an interesting twist. And for the record, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the Presbyterians, so if you do decide to get married, feel free to invite me if you have the service there.”

  Ironic. Alva would come, but Queenie wouldn’t.

  Not that I was getting married. I needed to make that very, very clear.

  I sat down and reached for her hand. “Alva, I’m sorry to tell you the wedding is off.” I sighed. “I’m not marrying Casey.”

  “You’re not marrying him? For real?”

  “For real.”

  “Do the folks back home know?”

  “They know that Casey and I have parted ways. He moved away to Oklahoma.”

  “You poor thing. I understand what it’s like to be alone. I truly do.” Her eyes flooded with tears.

  Interesting.

  “But the big question is, do the folks back in Fairfield know you’re here at this bridal shop, getting a wedding dress, even though you’re not marrying the Lawson boy?” She crossed her arms.

  “No. That part they don’t know.”

  Crazy. I’d only been with my long-lost aunt five minutes and had already told her the very thing I hadn’t yet been able to share with Brady.

  Ironically, Brady rapped on the door of the fitting room at that very moment. “You ladies okay in there?”

  I opened the door and saw him standing there with Stan at his side.

  “Aunt Alva, this is—”

  “Brady James.” My aunt took one look at the ball player and almost hyperventilated. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head. “I-I-I know who he is.”

  “You’re a basketball fan?” Stan stepped inside the fitting room.

  “A fan?” She unzipped her sweater to reveal a Mavericks T-shirt underneath. “You never met such a fan! I would have season tickets if I could afford them. But at least I can watch the games on TV. Wouldn’t miss a one!”

  “See there, Brady?” Stan gave him a knowing look. “Told you the fans were clamoring for you.”

  “We’re clamoring, all right.” Alva’s girlish giggle filled the room. “Come over here, young fella. I want to ask you a few questions about that game with the Spurs. Then we’ll talk about your knee. But first, let me show you something I think you’ll be very, very interested in.”

  Brady hesitantly stepped into the fitting room. The four of us fit easily in the large space, but it felt more like eight or twelve, what with all of the mirrors reflecting our images every which way.

  My aunt rolled up the hem of her slacks, showing off mismatched trouser socks. She kept rolling until we saw a whiter-than-snow kneecap. “I’ve got a titanium knee myself.” She patted it and laughed. “Got it six months ago.”

  “Really?” I said. “Weird. That’s the very thing Queenie has.”

  A deafening silence rose up between us. Alva turned to face me. “If you don’t mind, I would like to avoid that subject altogether.”

  “Titanium?” Brady asked.

  “Knees?” Stan chimed in.

  “Queenie.” Alva glared at me. “Now, with that behind us, let’s talk shop. That Spurs game was a complete fiasco, but I guess I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. So let’s skip right on over to your injury. I want to know every detail about your surgery, Brady James. And most importantly, when will you be back on the court? I don’t think I can last a season without you. My heart’s not strong enough for that.”

  “Amen!” Stan said. “Preach it, woman.”

  She stood without rolling down her pants leg. Wagging a bony finger in Brady’s face, she took to preaching, all right. “Things just won’t be the same next season if you’re not there to raise my blood pressure.” Her cheeks flushed red. “Well, you know what I mean. With your plays.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it won’t be the same without you.”

  “Told you.” Stan nudged him.

  “The orthopedist did the best he could,
under the circumstances,” Brady said. “And the goal is to get me back on the court by the time the season kicks off.” He must’ve caught his image in the mirror, because I saw him glance down at the reflection of his bad knee. “Honestly? It still bugs me . . . a lot. I feel like it could go right out from under me sometimes.”

  “A feeling I know well.” She took a step, nearly losing her balance. Brady helped her take a seat once more, and she started rolling down her pants leg.

  “I heard on the news that you were running some sort of shop. This is it?” She stopped fussing with her pants and stared at him. “My favorite player plays around with wedding gowns on the side? That’s kind of . . . odd.”

  “My point exactly.” Stan put his hand on Alva’s shoulder. “Thank you for putting words to what I’ve been trying to say for weeks.” He faced Brady. “See? Do you get it now? The fans are having a hard time and folks in the media are having a field day with your transition from the court to the . . .” He waved his arms around. “Fitting room.”

  “Can’t say I blame ’em!” Alva laughed and slapped her titanium knee. “Ouch.”

  “They can’t get over the fact that my boy Brady here is in the wedding gown business.”

  “So what?” I offered Brady what I hoped would look like an encouraging smile. “He’s multifaceted.”

  “He’s multifaceted, for sure.” Madge appeared in the open doorway. She stepped inside the fitting room with the rest of us. “You should see him behind a sewing machine. The boy can whipstitch like nobody’s business. And he’s becoming quite the expert with veils.”

  Stan put his fingers in his ears. “Make it stop! I can’t take it anymore. I’ve gotta get this boy back out on the court before he slips off to a place where he’s irretrievable.”

  That got a laugh out of Madge. “Don’t worry about him, Stan. He’s still got the love of the game in him. I think he dreams about basketball.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Alva attempted to stand again. “Thought for a minute there I was going to lose my favorite player.” She poked a finger in Brady’s chest. “I’ve heard of fellas falling in love with girly things. Never dreamed you were one of those.”

  “Well, for pity’s sake.” Madge laughed. “It’s not like that.”