Every Girl Gets Confused

by Janice Thompson

  Through the wall I could hear Queenie laughing in the next room. She must’ve gotten good news from the surgeon. Either that or they were sharing some sort of private joke. I thought about how much my grandmother had changed over the past several months since admitting her affection for Reverend Bradford. She’d morphed from a cranky old lady to a feisty bride-to-be filled with life and laughter. Even her physical appearance had changed. Once terse and stern, she now appeared softer around the edges. Love had a way of doing that to a person.

  Ah, love.

  I glanced up at Brady, who seemed a little preoccupied with his gown, which he attempted to tuck under his thighs. I would’ve laughed and made a comment about miniskirts, but it didn’t seem appropriate. Instead, I focused on matters of the heart.

  We hadn’t done the “I love you” thing yet. I mean, we hadn’t spoken the words. He showed me with every move, every encouraging word, that he adored me. In fact, I’d never been treated better or felt more affirmed. But he hadn’t come out and said it yet. Maybe he was just taking his time.

  I didn’t have time to think about it very long because Doc Jennings entered the room and dove into a jovial conversation with Brady about the Mavericks. The older fellow did the examination while talking, and I could tell he wasn’t pleased with the outcome of the last surgery. Over and over again he asked Brady to move his knee, then to put pressure on it while bending and flexing. I could read the pain in Brady’s eyes, especially when he stood and placed most of his weight on that leg. He took a seat once more, relief flooding his face as the pressure was lifted.

  After the lighthearted conversation, the surgeon’s expression shifted to one of concern, and he wrote something down on Brady’s chart. “I think we’ve let this go long enough, Brady,” he said. “I’ve looked at your most recent MRI and I don’t like what I see. Things are getting worse, not better. Sometimes it takes more than one surgery to get these tears under control.” He pointed to the poster on the wall and began a lengthy, elaborate explanation of what he planned to do to the inside of Brady’s knee. I pinched my eyes shut, unable to fathom it.

  “We need to get you on the calendar as soon as possible. I’ll send my nurse in to schedule you.” The doctor reached out his hand, and Brady shook it but didn’t say anything.

  Turned out he didn’t have to. From outside the closed door Queenie’s voice rang out. “Yoo-hoo! Katie Sue? You in there?”

  I peeked my head out of the door and nodded. “Yes, almost done.”

  “Praise the Lord, I can get married!” Queenie giggled. “Doc even said I’d be good to walk all the way down the aisle without another surgery.”

  Ironic.

  “We’re headed out to lunch.” Reverend Bradford looped his arm through my grandmother’s. “Still want to join us?”

  I glanced back at Brady, who was now engaged in quiet conversation with the doctor about his surgery.

  “Maybe not this time.”

  Queenie’s joyous expression saddened. “Ah. Gotcha. When we’re done with lunch I’ll meet you at Cosmopolitan to pick out my wedding dress. What time do you think you’ll be back up there?”

  “Maybe an hour? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Aunt Alva’s coming too, right?”

  “Yep. We’re swinging by the house to pick her up. I wouldn’t want to pick out my wedding gown without my sister’s help, that’s for sure. She’ll be honest about how I look.” Queenie gazed with adoration at Reverend Bradford. “Just have to ditch this handsome fella before I come. Don’t want him to see me in my gown before the big day.”

  “You’re going to be a radiant bride, Queenie.” He gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose. “A vision of loveliness. I’m counting every moment until our wedding day. You’ll be a princess floating down the aisle.”

  “More like a marshmallow waddling down the aisle, but let’s not go there just yet. Doc Jennings says with a little therapy he’ll have me walking better in time for the big day. Isn’t that right, Doc?”

  The orthopedist turned to give her a smile and a nod.

  Queenie’s gaze traveled through the opening in the door to Brady still seated on the examining table. She looked back at me and leaned in close to whisper, “I’ll be praying for Brady, honey. He’ll do just fine. Trust me when I say that things don’t always work out like you think.” She glanced up at Reverend Bradford. “Sometimes they work out better.”

  The good reverend gave a nod, and seconds later the happy couple sauntered—okay, hobbled—out of the office, Queenie’s cane tap-tap-tapping on the wooden floor. I turned my attention back to the guy in the hospital gown, determined to keep a smile on my face, even if his faded under the pressure. With the Lord’s help, I could surely keep my fella’s spirits up.

  4

  Aren’t You Glad You’re You

  I think it was films. I loved all those Doris Day visuals of her being a tomboy and then changing into this gorgeous girl in a ballgown.

  Stella McCartney, on being asked why she became a fashion designer

  Brady didn’t have much to say on the drive back to the bridal shop. I knew he was silently focused on the November 19th surgery. I did my best to listen quietly to the radio and contemplate my schedule for the rest of the day. Nevertheless, I kept glancing at the calendar app on my phone, distracted by the surgery date.

  Two weeks. Just two short weeks until the man was operated on . . . again. Two weeks to get past the chaos at the shop, the goings-on in Fairfield, and the feeling of anxiety that gripped my heart whenever I thought about the operation that would put Brady through more pain. I needed to come up with a way to encourage him, both before the surgery and after. My guy was going to need me more than ever.

  Not that he wanted my input. No, right now he just wanted silence, obviously. I reached over and patted his arm. He glanced my way and shrugged. “It’s okay, Katie. God’s got this.”

  “Yep.” Not much of an answer, but the right answer just the same. “You sure you’re all right driving?”

  “Of course. I’m fine as long as I’m sitting. Mostly.” He fixed his gaze on the road.

  “Just checking.” I shoved my phone back in my purse, determined to shift my focus to Queenie.

  He glanced at me again and I could read the concern in his eyes. “I’ll be okay, Katie, I promise. Just give Queenie the attention she deserves. It’s her special day. Let’s make sure she has the dress of her dreams.”

  “I will. She’s probably already waiting for me at the shop. I hope Twiggy doesn’t mind helping me with the fitting.” A feeling of comfort wrapped around me as I spoke the young salesclerk’s name. Though I’d only known Twiggy a few months, she’d already won my heart. She’d won my brother Beau’s heart too. Their budding relationship made me so happy.

  “Twiggy won’t mind.” Brady eased on the brake and turned right onto Jackson Street. “You know how easygoing she is.”

  “I’m glad someone is. The design and alterations crew back in the studio . . .”

  “Yeah, they’re a different story altogether. Whatever you do, don’t ask Dahlia for help. She’s overwhelmed. Her whole team is.”

  His words were confirmed the moment we arrived back at the shop. Brady headed to his office to make some calls. I didn’t find Queenie, but I did see Twiggy and Madge at the register waiting on a customer. I waved and motioned to the studio as I called out, “Going to grab some lunch.”

  Twiggy put her hand up as if to stop me. “Do. Not. Go. Back. There.”

  “What?”

  “Do. Not. Go. Back. There.” Her words were so forceful that even the customer looked alarmed.

  I took a few steps in Twiggy’s direction to explain. “I have to go back there. I have some leftovers in the fridge that need to be eaten today or they’ll go bad. We were supposed to go to lunch with Queenie but it didn’t work out, so I’m starving.”

  Twiggy’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Go ahead and starve. Let the leftovers go bad. Do yourself
a favor and skip lunch or go out. You can thank me later for giving you that advice. But whatever you do . . . Don’t. Go. Into. The. Studio.”

  “Twiggy, that’s just plain silly. I know they’re busy, but . . . seriously?”

  She finished waiting on the customer, then turned back to me. “Seriously. Enter at your own risk. You have been warned.”

  I let out a nervous laugh, but I couldn’t get my feet to cooperate. Maybe I’d better not attempt it after all.

  “I’ve been avoiding the studio for days,” Madge interjected. “The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. And you don’t even want to know what happened between Eduardo and Hibiscus earlier. It’s really bad back there right now.”

  “Eduardo and Hibiscus?” I stopped to reflect on two of our newest designers. “But they’ve always gotten along so well.”

  “Until now.”

  With a wave of my hand I tried to dismiss her concerns. “Well, I know they’re in rough shape trying to get caught up with orders. That’s why I encouraged Queenie to pick something off the rack. Not that there’s time to design a new gown anyway. Her wedding is in five weeks. Crazy.”

  “Hey, no point in waiting when you’re eighty-two.” Twiggy flashed a smile and I felt my anxieties ease.

  “I know, right?” Before I could decide what to do about my food, the door to the shop opened and Queenie stepped inside with Aunt Alva on her heels. Oh well. So much for eating lunch.

  “We drove all the way to Alva’s house, but she wasn’t there,” Queenie explained. “Even called her phone, but she didn’t answer.”

  “But she’s here now.” I gestured to my great-aunt, who fished around in her purse.

  “I don’t even know why I bought that ridiculous cell phone. I can never remember where I put it.” Alva shrugged and closed her purse. “And I guess I forgot that Queenie was coming by to get me.”

  “So how did you get here?” I asked, still feeling perplexed by this conversation.

  “Lori-Lou came by and got me.” Alva shifted her oversized purse to her other shoulder. “She dropped me off on her way to her OB visit. I met up with Queenie in the parking lot. She really gave me the what-for since I ignored her call, but I think maybe I left my phone at home.”

  Nothing new there.

  “Can you take me home later?” Alva asked.

  “Of course. If you don’t mind hanging around until I’m done working.” I had to admit, I cringed a little when she mentioned my cousin. Not that I had anything against Lori-Lou. Not at all. She’d welcomed me to the Dallas–Fort Worth area a few months back, after all. But her rambunctious children could be very difficult at times. They’d been known to create chaos at Cosmopolitan in days past. Probably for the best that she hadn’t stayed today, what with tempers flaring all around us already.

  Still, I was thrilled to see Queenie and Alva getting along so well. The two sisters were inseparable these days, quite a contrast from the past several years when they’d barely spoken.

  Today they gabbed with Twiggy as if they’d never had a care in the world. Brady popped his head out of his office to say hello and then disappeared back inside the inner sanctum once again. Not that I blamed him. Staying away from all of the estrogen was probably a good thing, especially with so much on his mind. And the next few hours were all about my grandmother anyway.

  “Where did Reverend Bradford go after he dropped you off, Queenie?” I asked.

  My grandmother waggled her finger. “You know, Katie Sue, you’re going to have to stop calling him Reverend Bradford at some point. He’s going to be your grandfather in a few short weeks.”

  “True.” I pursed my lips as I thought about that. “But Grandpa just doesn’t seem right.”

  “No, of course not. What about something like Pap-Paul?”

  “Pap-Paul?” Seemed a little . . . informal for a reverend. “I’ll think about it, Queenie, I promise. Maybe I’ll come up with my own name for him.”

  “You could call him Paul,” Alva suggested. “That’s a very twenty-first-century approach to the problem. Just call folks by their name. That’s what I always do.”

  “Or you could call him Grampy,” Twiggy said. “That’s what I call my step-grandfather.”

  “None of that step-stuff here,” Queenie scolded. “But we don’t need to settle on a name today. As long as it’s not ‘hey you,’ I think we’ll be fine. But let’s cut the reverend stuff, okay? Paul is family now.” Her eyes glistened as she looked around the shop. “At least he will be once I find a dress and sashay down the aisle to take his hand.”

  “So, where did Reverend—er, Pap-Paul—go?” I asked.

  Queenie walked over to a rack of dresses and started looking through them, nearly dropping her large purse. “He dropped me off and headed over to Starbucks to work on his sermon for this Sunday. We’re doing a whole series on the prodigal son.”

  “We? You’re preaching at the Presbyterian church now?”

  “No, no.” With a wave of her hand she corrected me. “That sweet man just asks for my help with his messages. I think he values my input.”

  “Sure he does, Queenie. You’re a wealth of knowledge.”

  “When you’re eighty-two years old, you should be. I like to think of my brain as a big file box with millions of dusty files inside just waiting to be brushed off and used.”

  “Paul is lucky to have you,” I said. “Truly.”

  “No, honey . . .” She reached over and took my hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m the lucky one. I never thought I’d have the opportunity to find love again, and I’ve done it. We’ve done it. We’ve defied the odds.”

  They had defied the odds, all right. To marry at eighty-two? Who had that sort of blissful second chance?

  Second chance. That was what I’d been given with Brady. Maybe my grandmother wasn’t the only one with a fresh opportunity.

  “That’s a blessing,” I said.

  Queenie gave me a knowing look. “Yep. That’s our December sermon series, honey: God’s abundant blessings. But we can talk more about that later. Now let’s look for my dress, shall we? It won’t do me any good to plan a wedding if I’m walking naked down the aisle.”

  Ew.

  She guffawed and slapped her thigh. “Now, wouldn’t that be a sight?”

  It’d be a sight, all right, and not one the Baptists or the Presbyterians would stop talking about anytime soon.

  “Let’s get this show on the road.” Queenie gestured to the rows and rows of gowns. “Shopping for a wedding dress isn’t something I do every day. In fact, it’s been fifty-plus years since I looked at gowns like this.”

  “Fashions have surely changed a bit since then.” Twiggy took Queenie by the arm. “And I have a vested interest in your gown, Queenie, so I want to help you in any way I can.”

  “Oh?” My grandmother gave the young woman a suspicious look. “And why is that?”

  “Because I might need you to return the favor someday.”

  A collective gasp went up from all in attendance. “Are you saying that grandson of mine has proposed?” Queenie clasped her hands together in apparent glee. “God bless Beau for seeing the light.”

  “Not exactly. But I feel sure it’ll come any day now. I think Beau’s settling into his new job with Stan before he pops the question.”

  “What exactly does he do with that Stan man, anyway?” my grandmother asked.

  “Stan is Brady’s agent,” I explained. “And he’s training Beau to become a sports agent too.”

  “But right now Beau mostly manages things for Stan,” Twiggy said.

  “Someone needs to manage Stan,” Madge chimed in. “That old fart has been unmanageable for as long as I’ve known him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Alva shrugged. “He seems pretty great to me.”

  “The point is, Beau and Stan are doing well with the agency, so I don’t think it’ll be long before he pops the question.” Twiggy giggled. “Beau, not Stan.�
��

  Madge slapped herself on the forehead.

  I tried not to sigh, but Beau and Twiggy had known each other less time than Brady and I. They’d passed the “I love you” stage a couple months back, and Brady and I were just now at the “I love being with you” one.

  “I’m just saying that one day I’ll be a happy bride too, so Queenie and I can lean on each other.” Twiggy fussed with some of the gowns on a nearby rack. “And Katie too.”

  I put my hands up. “Oh, I don’t really have any experience with wedding planning. Not really. I mean, I’ve never been a bride.”

  “She just played one on TV.” Queenie laughed and slapped her thigh. “That’s pretty funny, if I do say so myself.”

  I didn’t particularly find it that funny but offered a strained laugh just to feel like part of the crowd. “I’ve never been on TV, Queenie,” I said. “Well, unless you count that one time when Pop filmed a homemade commercial for the hardware store. But I was only seven.”

  “True, but you looked mighty cute in that painter’s apron and tool belt. Folks in Fairfield are still talking about that.”

  “Painter’s apron?” Twiggy asked. “Tool belt?”

  “Don’t ask.” I groaned. “And please, whatever you do, never bring it up around my mama. She and Pop almost got divorced over that one. He made her wear a placard that promoted a new toilet line. She was humiliated.”

  “Your parents never came close to divorce, Katie Sue.” Queenie clucked her tongue. “What an exaggeration.”

  “You didn’t hear all of the goings-on behind the scenes. But we’re not here to talk about that. Today is all about you, Queenie—nothing else.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “You might not’ve played a bride on television, Katie, but you looked pretty convincing on the cover of Texas Bride in that magnificent Loretta Lynn gown last month,” Twiggy said. “So I’d say you fit the role nicely.”

  “Yes, indeed. And perhaps it won’t be long before some fella snaps to attention and pops the question.” Alva gave me a pointed look and then hobbled over to the rack to finger a taffeta gown.