Butterfly Dreams (A Christian Contemporary Romance)

by Bonnie Engstrom

  Yes, if we buy a certain amount of the food from them, they will provide people in Hawaiian shirts to set up and serve, for an hourly fee. Oops! We bought almost all the food from Fry’s market. I try to come up with something we still need that we haven’t purchased yet.

  “How about baskets of flowers?” I ask the manager. “Little nibbles, too. Like your wonderful almonds and cashews? Would that work?” He agrees, and we are ready to roll!

  I had forgotten about the Chinese lantern lights, but Nancy hadn’t. Her back yard was aglow with them hovering over the tables and food. I knew she had it in her. She is now the perfect hostess. In my book, anyway.

  The salad bar is set out beautifully. The tables sport white linen cloths and white napkins in the shape of cranes. Four men and a woman in Hawaiian shirts are serving salads and pouring drinks. All Brie and I have to do is oversee and supervise.

  Thanks to all the help, cleanup is a breeze. Nancy hugs us both so hard I feel my back crack. But, the best is that Lester took her in his arms and danced to their special song. Everyone cheered and sang along. Brie and I are out of there by eleven.

  FIFTY THREE

  Two weeks! Just two, until Noel and I say our vows. Scary.

  I decide to call Bett. For updates, and tell her how grateful I am about her doing the invitations.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I hear the anxiety in her voice. “I wanted to do this for you and Noel.” I can almost see the makeup crinkling around her eyes. “Don’t you trust me?” Then I visualize the tear drops.

  “Of course, I do, Bett. This is so much what you are doing, so over the edge.” I pause to catch my breath. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “I already have. After all, the wedding is only two weeks from now.” She pauses, perhaps to catch a breath or wipe a tear? “I deliberately waited to send out invitations. To locals. I did send the ones to your family in California two weeks ago.” Another pregnant pause. Yikes, what is going on? “I have only received a reply from Julia, but not from James. You and your son have an okay relationship?” I think I hear a tissue being pulled from a square box.

  “Yes, James and I are great. He’s a very busy IT guy, but his wife, Sandra, is extremely socially adept. You sure you sent to the right address?”

  “Yes, sure. You gave me the list.”

  “Don’t worry, Bett. I will call them.”

  Suddenly, I have become my own wedding coordinator. Isn’t that what wedding gurus are supposed to do, call the people who haven’t responded and ask why? Where is Jill S. when I need her? She did such a super job when I hired her for Julia’s and James’, and Brie’s very expensive weddings. Brie’s was over the top in every way—financially, eloquent, mostly financially. But, Brie is my baby, and Derek is my second son now, at least.

  I look at the list I gave Bett. Is Derek’s dad on it? Check? My son and daughter and families? Check. Oh, Muriel? Check. How about Nurse Jones, or was it Nurse Smith? Confusing, but check. Fancy Nancy and Lester? Check. Mom and Dad? Check. Coffee house Mitch? Check. I can’t think of anyone else. Of course, Consuela, but she would be there anyway since the wedding will take place at Bett’s and she has agreed to return, at least for the wedding.

  I should have gotten an invitation. So should Noel. For keepsake, at least. I run to the gatehouse to collect my errant mail that I haven’t picked up in several days. There it is!

  Butterflies! Bett decided on butterflies. It is stunning. Of course, embossed with raised lettering. A lovely butterfly graces it.

  Ms. Elizabeth Alice Emma Wysinotski

  And

  Dr. Noel Daniel Sheppard

  Request your presence at their

  Marriage Ceremony

  Blah, blah.

  It’s beautiful. I love the butterfly. It’s a theme.

  Noel’s middle name is Daniel? Like in the Bible? Am I the lion in the den?

  ~

  “Bett, it’s lovely! But, why the butterfly? How did you know I love them?”

  “Because, sweet girl, you flit around like one.” She giggles softly. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “Like doesn’t say it, Bett. I adore it. Noel is right, you are so creative.” I hesitate, but I need to ask. “What else do you have up your sleeve? Brie is so excited about your designing my wedding dress. I’m sure I will need a fitting, so it can’t be too much of a secret. Right?”

  “Wrong!” comes the answer accompanied by another giggle. “Maybe, possibly, the day before your nuptials. I do want you to be excited about it, but I don’t want you to fuss over every little thing. For instance,” she continues, “I will take some measurements tomorrow. You can be free for about an hour, can’t you? I have a wonderful on-site alteration seamstress in my local boutique.”

  “But, the wedding is only two weeks away.” Surely Bett has thought about that. What if the dress is too long, or too short, or worse, too tight. I don’t want to look like a blimp.

  “Not to worry, Betsy. I’ve known you all…these past few years.” I wonder why she has hesitated. She goes on. “I know your style, at least when I’ve seen you in street clothes, and not in that silly chef uniform.” She pauses, again. “Forgot to ask about what you want to wear on your head.”

  I am too old for a tiara, and certainly too formerly married for a veil. What should I request? Maybe a flower or two? My wonderful stylist Francine who indulges my weekly extravagance with a Friday shampoo and blow dry will style my hair. She has this new tool that forms masses of curls. She is also very talented at styling, even French braids. Naw, not my style. She will design the ultimate hair style for me. After all, her business in Salon Boutique is called The Concept of Hair. She will also style Brie’s hair, and Bett’s, even Mom’s. Oh, dear. What on earth will she do with Brie’s mass of curls?

  Not to worry I tell myself. Francine is a Master Stylist whose specialties are cut and color. She does perfect work.

  I discuss head gear with Bett who poo-poos the single flower idea. “I will come up with something perfect, something special,” she declares. “Trust me.”

  We chat about the ceremony and the refreshments to be served at the small reception. I know Bett has excellent taste, and I really don’t care about hors d’ourves. They aren’t my specialty. Salads are. But, the reception will be brief with no time for salad.

  Mr. Crayon Blue Eyes and I will leave post haste to catch a flight to Hawaii. I’ve never been, and I am so excited, and worried. Yes, worried. About wearing a bathing suit. I even went to Dillard’s and tried on the expensive ones with the tummy and derriere inserts that promise to take off ten pounds. I was so discouraged I went on to Nordstrom’s. Finally, Brie dragged me to a specialty shop. How she, who is from California, knows about these places in Scottsdale is a mystery. Winifred, the sales associate with the old-fashioned name, took one look at me and pulled a suit off the rack.

  “This,” she said, “will be perfect for you. Tucks the tummy, pulls in the butt, lifts the girls and looks sleek.”

  It is black with a diagonal sash sort of stripe and high cut leg openings. Who would have thought? Also, a very low cut back. Winifred was right. I still would love to lose fifteen or twenty pounds, but this suit does the trick. I am so thrilled I hug her, and she doesn’t even blush. She must be used to that kind of enthusiasm from post-menopausal, overweight women. The suit is packed in my carry-on luggage, just in case the big suitcase gets lost.

  I tell Bett about the bathing suit, and she hoots. “Yea for you! You will look beautiful.”

  I am still worried about the wedding cake, the one I wanted to make myself, but it collapsed. “What are your plans for the cake, Bett?” I swallow hard waiting for her answer.

  “It’s all taken care of, Betsy, all arranged.” I can almost see the smug smile on her face. Trust is a big issue with me, but at this point in time, I need it.

  I want this wedding, my third, and definitely last, to be more than special. It is also Noel’s second wedding, and I k
now his with Maizie was very special. It actually did last ‘until death do us part’.

  Bett says she has also designed Brie’s matron of honor gown, and Mom’s mother of the bride attire. That woman has been busy.

  “What will Noel wear?” I ask. I hope not a tux or tails. Something in between.

  “He is all outfitted,” she says. “Don’t worry. He will look handsome.”

  I am sure he will, even in jeans and a tee shirt.

  “Who is standing up for Noel?” I had never thought to ask him this. He has no children, no male relatives that I know of. So, I ask Bett since she seems to be the fountain of information about my wedding.

  “It’s a last minute thing with him. He hasn’t decided yet whom to ask. Usually, Noel is very decisive, but he’s vacillating. At this point, I think, and this must be very confidential,” she sucks in a breath I can hear over the phone, “it is between Derek and Mitch, the coffee guy, and possibly Lester, Nancy’s husband.” She sucks in another breath. “Maybe even Muriel?”

  Yikes! What the heck? No, not Muriel, please. I am okay with her now as a friend, but I don’t want memories of Maizie invading our wedding. Derek would be wonderful, and even Mitch would be great. He and his coffee house played a great role in our romance. I could even accept Puffy Face from the hospital, or even the hunk EMT guy. They both have some history with us. But, not Muriel. At least not with me. Oops, other than with Derek.

  Doesn’t he have a good colleague friend? Someone who supported him during Maizie’s illness, or a mentor from chiropractic school?

  I say goodbye to Bett after confirming Dad will walk me down the garden path in her extensive back yard. I take some solace knowing her roses are blooming and the setting will be beautiful.

  The only thing we haven’t discussed is bouquets, mine and Brie’s. I think I need Mom to take over from here.

  ~

  “I am so glad you asked, Bitsy.” I can hear Mom pulling a tissue from the silver box next to the phone. “I didn’t want to interfere, but I have been concerned. Bett can sometimes be a little over the top with her ideas and plans.”

  “Mom, you are so right. You will never interfere. I should have asked you to plan this from the get go, but you planned two other weddings of mine, so I didn’t want to overburden you.” I pause for a breath. “I, too, worry about Bett. She can get overly enthusiastic, maybe a bit crazy.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. I will take care of it. Bett and I go back a long way.”

  They do? Never thought about that. I know they are friends, but for how long? I thank Mom and hang up.

  I feel so much better after having talked with Mom. She has a logical head on her shoulders. I forgot to ask her about favors for the guests, so I call her back.

  “Little details, Mom. What about favors for guests? What about a photographer?” I pause with a really big question. “Is the butterfly theme too femmie? For Noel, I mean.” I hear another tissue being pulled from the box. “I worry it’s too cutesy for a grown man. What do you think?”

  I imagine the tissue being crumpled. I wait patiently for her response.

  “Yes, Bitsy, I’ve worried about that, too. Bett seems so determined, so excited. I have a call into her voicemail to ask that very question. Don’t worry, please. I will handle it.” She hangs up, and I feel much better. I trust Mom completely.

  It is going to be okay, actually not just okay. It will be wonderful. I need to remember I am marrying a man who loves me, and I love him. That is all that is important.

  ~

  Brie rushes into the kitchen and hugs me, hard.

  “Don’t worry, Momma, everything is going to be wonderful. About the wedding, I mean.” And, she laughs.

  “But,” I say, “I stress when I have no control.”

  “For once, could you please relax, and trust? The decorations and all the other stuff is just fluff. The important thing is your vows.” She squeezes my hands. Ouch, Brie! “I am sure whatever Bett has planned will be lovely.” She lets go of my fingers, and I feel blood flowing through my arms again.

  “Okay. Since you know so much, has anyone contacted the pastor who is going to marry us?”

  “Uh, Momma. The pastor at your church isn’t available. But,” she continues with enthusiasm, “we have a great backup. I think you will be pleased.”

  “What? Who?”

  Brie hesitates too long for my comfort.

  “Mitch!”

  I roll my eyes and swallow hard. Actually, I almost gag. Mitch, the coffee house proprietor? He is not a pastor or minister, certainly not ordained. This cannot be right.

  “In fact, Momma, he is legal to do weddings. He took some online certification. He is okay. Really. And,” She pauses with emphasis, “he is thrilled to be bonding you two together.”

  ~

  Everything seems to be wrong. Mitch is a very nice guy, actually a former patient, now friend, of Noel’s. Noel sends me a link in an email that shows Mitch is certified. Maybe not exactly ordained, but like a judge, he can perform marriage ceremonies.

  Okay. So, what will he wear? I don’t care about GQ fancy, but I do care about tasteful attire. Mitch’s daily attire is usually a rumpled tee shirt and khaki cargo pants and leather flip flops. I groan and call Noel.

  I tell him my concerns, and he cheerfully replies, “Don’t worry, my love. I have already chosen Mitch’s outfit for him.” He waits for my response, then hearing none continues. “What say you about a blue button-down shirt, dark gray trousers, a lightweight linen blazer and a pair of my Topsiders. Polished!” he adds.

  Linen wrinkles. Doesn’t he know that? Guess he hasn’t thought of that, so I say it aloud, firmly. “Linen wrinkles.”

  “Well, he won’t have it on for long. Besides, wrinkles are in.” I can almost see him grinning. Mr. Up On All the Latest Male Styles.

  “What about a tie?” I want Mitch to look proper and, yes, legal, to marry us. “And, clean-shaven? Haircut? No ring in his ear?” It never bothered me when the sixty-something man was serving coffee, but it worries me now. After all, there will be photos with him. I cut Noel off.

  Oh, dear, another worry. Photos by whom? I yell for Brie and call Bett.

  Brie gives me the don’t worry hug, the one I gave to her the week before her marriage to Derek. Bett answers with, “What now?”

  I explain my concerns about a photographer. At Noel’s and my ages, I don’t care that much about a videographer, but I do want timeless photos. Good ones that show our happiness.

  “Betsy,” she sighs so loud I move the phone away from my ear. “Please, don’t be a bridezilla at your age.” She waits to see if that offensive remark sinks in. It does, but I remain silent. Ignoring my lack of response, she carries on. Suddenly, I realize she used my name properly. I chalk that up as progress.

  “I have engaged the professional photographer who takes all the runway photos of my models when I have a fashion show. He is great. Perhaps a bit flamboyant, do you get my drift?” she asks innocently.

  “That’s okay,” I reply while gritting my teeth. I, stupidly, never arranged for one, but I hope my very traditional family will be accepting and smile brightly when he tells us to wet our lips and turn sideways.

  Mom calls to tell me she has found butterfly flowers on an internet search. Two exotic kinds that actually look like miniature butterflies. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to get The White Ginger Lily, from Cuba and the Blue Wings raised in Africa. Then, she remembered her friend, Marg, who owns North Scottsdale Floral. Marg not only came through, but was very excited. She called a vendor in Miami and one in Los Angeles. The Miami one came up with the Cuban flowers, and the LA one is providing the others. I can’t wait to see them, and I am grateful I am not paying the bill for this extravagance. Marg has excellent taste, so I know my bouquet and Brie’s will be gorgeous, as will Mom’s and Bett’s corsages. Mom says Noel will have a boutonniere to match my bouquet, and Derek, who Noel finally asked to be Best Man, will have o
ne to match Brie’s bouquet.

  Did I forget to say that Brie will be my only attendant? I would have had Julia, too, but she declined graciously. Too much being so far away, as well as bringing kids to the ceremony. Noel doesn’t know my son, James, so that wouldn’t have worked to ask him to stand up for Noel. James is pleased for us, and I have sent him lots of updates about Noel.

  Derek is the best choice. He and Noel have gotten to know each other, mostly through Brie, and because of Muriel’s physical therapy with Derek. I do wonder about Lester, though. Seems as if he and Noel go back a long way. Still, I am pleased he asked Derek. Good choice, Noel.

  At almost the last minute I decide to ask my five-year-old granddaughter, Chelsea, Julia’s child, to be a flower girl. All of the other grandchildren are too old, but Chelsea is adorable and very confident. So, I think she will add something special to the wedding. Children always do.

  Julia finally puts aside her anger over her father, The Jerk, who abandoned her. She agrees and is pleased, as any mother would be, to have her daughter in a wedding. But she is concerned about a dress for Chelsea. I call Bett.

  “Aw, how sweet,” she says. “Have Julia send me her size, plus measurements. And, her shoe size, please.” She explains the children’s boutique next to hers in Scottsdale is owned by a good friend. Chelsea will have a gown. Post haste. This time she calls me Bethy. Oh, well.

  I call Noel. “Y-you never answered about the tie for Mitch, and the haircut and beard trim.”

  “Bitsy, calm down.” He calls me by my mother’s nickname for me. “All is well, all is in control. Not your control, Bits.” I hold the phone away from my ear and seriously contemplate slamming it down. Then, I remember God never stutters. He reminds me He is in control. Carry on, Betsy!

  ~

  I wiggle my toes and form little circles with my ankle. The warm water swirling around them feels heavenly. It’s three days before my wedding, and I’m finally meeting the famous Kay, proprietor of Paulene’s Nails.