A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  “Well, I have,” said Julia. “And if you think I wanted to see my oldest daughter married in the courthouse, you can think again.”

  “I know you didn’t want me getting married in the courthouse.”

  “You didn’t even want you getting married in the courthouse. But you married the man you loved in the dress you picked out, and I was there to support you. It was your decision and I had to live with it. In the end, that’s all a mother can do. Unless, of course, she wants to become a Momzilla,” Julia added, obviously enjoying her new word.

  “It’s a gorgeous dress,” put in Kendra, “and Laney looks beautiful in it.”

  “She didn’t even try on the one with the jacket,” Anne muttered.

  “If I get like this when my daughters get married, somebody shoot me,” Kendra said from the backseat.

  “You will,” Anne predicted. Maybe it wouldn’t be over a gown, but it would be about...something. Suddenly she had empathy for the Laurel Brownes of the world. Being the mother of the bride wasn’t easy.

  Both her mother’s and her sister’s final words to her when she dropped them off were to call Laney and tell her she could have the dress, which left her feeling self-righteous and misunderstood.

  She drove home, her eyes stinging with tears. She hadn’t actually said not to buy the dress. All she’d wanted was for her daughter to be open to different options. How was that so bad?

  Laurel Browne’s words haunted her. “We never fight.” But they had, and over something as inconsequential as goldfish.

  When it came to mother-daughter disagreements, Anne had seen it all. She’d seen mothers and daughters get into it over everything from whom to include on the guest list to what flavor cake to serve. She’d always watched with smug tolerance, assuring herself that when they planned her daughter’s wedding, there’d be none of that. She and Laney were too close for such nonsense, and although they might not have had the same taste in fashion, they certainly shared the same taste in weddings. They always had.

  Until now. Now it felt as if every choice was a challenge and every decision her daughter made a surprise. And not necessarily a pleasant one.

  Okay, so Laney was her own woman now. And Anne had no problem with her daughter making her own decisions. This was her wedding, a once-in-a-lifetime event (well, theoretically), and she wanted only to make sure Laney got it right, that she had no regrets later. Was that so wrong?

  She came home to find Cam grading papers. “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Not good,” she said and proceeded to give him a blow-by-blow account of what had happened.

  “Not good,” he agreed. “What are you going to do about it?”

  She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to implant a chip in her daughter’s brain so she’d make the best choices.

  No, she was trying to make her a Stepford Bride. She was trying to make Laney not be Laney.

  The realization was horrifying and humiliating. Laney loved her mermaid tat, considered it part of her artistic expression. If Anne was ashamed of that, wasn’t she also ashamed of her daughter?

  She was proud of Laney, proud of how well she was doing, what a talented young woman she was. Did the tattoo matter so much? Obviously, it bugged her, but why? Because she thought people would judge her for her daughter’s extreme tattoo and consider her an inferior mother? And what did that say about her? She suddenly felt selfish and small. This was her daughter’s big day. It was about Laney, not Anne, and if Laney wanted a sleeveless dress, then she was going to get a sleeveless dress.

  Anne called the dress shop and caught Glenda just as they were closing. “We’re going to take that sleeveless dress with the sweetheart neckline.”

  “It is a lovely dress,” Glenda said encouragingly. “And your daughter will look beautiful in it.”

  “Yes, she will.” Laney would look beautiful in anything.

  “My daughter has a tattoo,” Glenda said. “She went sleeveless with her wedding gown, and you know, it looked fine.”

  Anne sighed and gave the woman her charge-card information.

  “Good decision.” Cam nodded in approval when she hung up.

  “It is all about her,” Anne said as much to herself as him.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I guess I’d better call and tell her she can pick up the dress.” Compromise. They all had to compromise. Hadn’t she told herself that a while back?

  She called Laney’s cell but, big surprise, her daughter wasn’t picking up. She was probably off somewhere with a voodoo doll marked “Mom,” sticking pins in it. Hopefully, she’d listen to Anne’s voice mail message.

  “Hi. It’s Mom. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve paid for the wedding gown you liked.” Loved. Laney had loved it, and every bride deserved to have the wedding gown of her dreams. “You can pick it up anytime. I’m sorry we quarreled, sweetie. I want you to be happy and have the wedding you want.” And there was still so much to do between now and the big day. She added a verbal PS. “Oh, and by the way, have you sent out the save-the-date announcements yet?” Okay, that sounded a little...critical. “If you haven’t, I’ll be glad to help you.”

  “Interesting way to end an apology,” Cam observed as she ended the call.

  “We have to stay on top of things.”

  “Yeah, I see how well we’re staying on top of things for our anniversary.”

  She decided to ignore that remark. They’d get to it eventually, when she wasn’t feeling completely wrung out. Planning a wedding had never been so stressful.

  Of course, she’d created much of the stress herself. How tangled mothers’ and daughters’ lives got! She could still see her own mother’s face when she announced that she and Cam were getting married at the courthouse ASAP.

  1990

  Julia stared at Anne as if she’d just announced a death in the family. “You what?”

  It was only the two of them, seated at the breakfast table with cups of coffee and banana bread left over from the day before. Anne gripped her mug tightly. “Cam and I are getting married next week at the courthouse,” she repeated, smiling insistently.

  “Anne,” her mother protested, “that doesn’t make any sense. You wanted a church wedding and a big reception. You don’t even have a ring yet.”

  As if she didn’t know. “We’re going to look at rings tomorrow.”

  Julia shook her head. “I don’t understand. You two have been an item since high school. Why the rush all of a sudden?” And then a disapproving look took over her face. “Anne Marie Wellington, are you pregnant?”

  Anne was still trying to compose her answer when her mother said, “You are,” in tones that were just as disapproving as her expression. “Oh, Anne, what were you thinking?”

  That I love him. Obviously, she hadn’t been thinking about getting pregnant. They should’ve waited until they were married to have sex. Too late now. Anyway, she wanted Cam’s baby, wanted to have something of him to love while he was so far away.

  “How am I ever going to tell your father?”

  Anne bit her lip. She had no idea, but she hoped it was when she wasn’t around. He’d be as disappointed in her as her mother was. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

  Julia expelled her frustration in a long sigh. “We raised you better.” Now she was shaking her head. Okay, so they’d messed up, but her mom didn’t need to carry on as though she’d committed the crime of the century. Women who weren’t married got pregnant all the time. They even moved in with their boyfriends.

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but I love him.”

  This inspired another long sigh. “I know. Still, there’s still no need to rush like this.”

  “Yes, there is. He’s shipping out in a few weeks. We want some time together before he goes. If he doesn’t c
ome back...” Her throat tightened and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “You’re going to regret this haste.” Her mother went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “All those dreams you had, those plans, all the times we talked about your wedding. All these years your father’s dreamed about walking you down the aisle.”

  That was when Anne realized she wasn’t the only one who’d had to give up a dream. Her mother had been anticipating a wedding, too.

  This was not how she’d planned to start her married life, but she couldn’t turn back the clock. Anyway, she’d meant what she said. She did want as much time as possible with Cam, wanted to give him some happy memories to take with him. Maybe things hadn’t turned out according to plan—the old plan—but they’d make the new plan work.

  She said as much to her mother and Julia came around the yellow Formica kitchen table and hugged her. “You’re right. We love you, and we love Cam, too.”

  “And what about the baby?” Anne asked.

  “Of course. We’ll love the baby to pieces.” Her mother frowned again. “I just wish... Oh, never mind,” she said brusquely. “We’d better go shopping for a dress this afternoon.”

  And so they got right down to the business of getting Anne ready for her courthouse wedding. Her mother said nothing more about her disappointment and helped her pick out a dress and bouquet. Her father hugged her and told her he’d be happy to give the bride away, and so they made the best of things. On her wedding day her parents hosted a family dinner featuring standing rib roast and baked potatoes. And that horrible cake the neighbor made. At least it’s a wedding cake, she thought.

  Her parents gave Cam and her two entire place settings of fine china and a check for a hundred dollars. Other friends and neighbors, upon hearing the news, sent gifts, as well, but Anne’s courthouse wedding hung over the day like a black cloud. She’d disappointed her mother; there was no denying it. Still, if she had it to do over, she’d probably make the same choices. The bottom line was that she loved Cam and he loved her. And later that night, when they were in their motel room at Ocean Shores, wrapped in each other’s arms and listening to the crash of waves on the beach, she was able to sigh happily. Thank God, she thought, that even when life wasn’t perfect, when daughters weren’t perfect, there was usually a plan B.

  * * *

  In the end, weddings were about the bride and groom, Anne reminded herself now. Yes, she planned weddings for a living, but she had no business telling her daughter what gown to wear.

  No more Momzilla, she vowed. From now on she’d back off—but there was nothing wrong with offering guidance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Roberta, Mother of the Year

  It had taken a while after the last wedding mishap for mother-daughter relations to return to normal. Roberta had not reacted well when Daphne dropped the wedding cake; she’d be the first to admit it. But honestly, what grown woman tripped over her shoelace? Anyone would’ve reacted the way Roberta had.

  Maybe not. Muriel Sterling, Daphne’s new guru, would’ve hugged her and kissed her frosted face, told her accidents happened. But Muriel Sterling wasn’t running a business where cake was a necessity. And Roberta thought she’d shown considerable restraint, all things considered. All she’d said was “Oh, Daphne.” All right, she’d also tagged on “For heaven’s sake!”

  With one little phrase she’d hurt Daphne’s feelings. Again. It seemed she was always upsetting her daughter. But that same daughter kept her in a near-constant state of upset, as well. Years of worry over Daphne’s relationships and her future security had grown every gray hair on Roberta’s head.

  If she didn’t accomplish anything else in this world, Roberta needed to get Daphne’s life sorted out. Then she could stop worrying.

  Somewhere along the mother-daughter timeline, Daphne had turned from a well-loved child to an obsession. Obsessions were exhausting.

  This day was going to require yet more emotional energy. Hank Hawkins would be arriving soon to put the fishpond in order and do some planting, and Roberta needed to find a way to get her daughter gone. It shouldn’t be too hard, since this was Daphne’s day off. Surely she’d want to go have a latte or something.

  Roberta had already taken her morning walk, eaten her granola and was on her second cup of coffee when Daphne made her appearance in the kitchen, wearing a ratty old T-shirt, the circles under her eyes testifying to a poor night’s sleep. Even in her rumpled state she was a beautiful woman.

  “You look tired,” Roberta greeted her.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night,” Daphne said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I kept having these awful dreams. I was back with Mitchell and he wanted me to have a threesome with him and Betty White.”

  “Betty White?” What was happening to her poor daughter’s subconscious?

  “And Betty dragged me to Macy’s to shop for a black negligee for her. We couldn’t find one and Mitchell got mad and said he was leaving. But he came back and set the house on fire with me in it.” Daphne rubbed her forehead. “I hate him, Mother. I truly hate him.”

  “Well, you’ll soon be rid of him,” Roberta said, hoping that was a comfort.

  Daphne frowned into her coffee cup. “The sooner, the better.”

  “Meanwhile, there’s nothing to take your mind off your troubles like a day of shopping.”

  “I don’t feel like shopping. There isn’t anything I need.”

  “Well, I need something.”

  “Like what? I asked yesterday if you needed anything and you said no.”

  “I forgot I’m almost out of Metamucil,” Roberta improvised, “and we could use some more double-A batteries. And maybe while you’re at the drugstore, you could pick up my prescription.” She was bound to have some prescription or other waiting. She always did. “Oh, and why don’t you get us a couple of lattes.”

  Daphne was looking at her with a mixture of perplexity and irritation. “Anything else?”

  Nothing Roberta could think of. She wished she’d sent something to the dry cleaner. “That should do it.” She hoped.

  “All right,” Daphne said. “I’ll go as soon as I have breakfast.”

  Her daughter took forever with breakfast, putting together an omelet and then sitting down to eat it while reading the copy of People she’d brought home the day before. Hank would be here any moment.

  “You’re not done yet?” Roberta said, coming into the kitchen to check on Daphne’s progress for the third time.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I’d like to get my prescription as soon as possible.”

  That worked. “I guess I’d better get dressed, then,” Daphne said, shutting the magazine.

  “I’ll clean up.” Roberta took her plate. “You go get ready.”

  Daphne had just left the house when Hank arrived. Whew, Roberta had gotten her daughter away from temptation in the nick of time.

  And a good thing, too. Hank Hawkins was a fine specimen of manhood; he was also polite and hardworking. But he would never do. Being divorced made him a very poor risk, especially for Daphne. Honestly, at this stage any man would be a poor risk for Daphne.

  She must have run her errands on winged feet because it seemed Hank had barely started working and she was back. With plants.

  She handed Roberta her usual plain latte. “They didn’t have a prescription for you at Johnson’s.”

  “I forgot—I already picked it up,” Roberta lied. “What’s this?” She pointed to the box of pansies Daphne had set on the kitchen table.

  “I stopped by the nursery. They were on sale. We’ve got a few spots in the flower beds where they’ll fill in nicely.”

  Roberta wasn’t sure if she was pleased or irritated that her daughter was making landscaping decisions for her.

  She
was still trying to decide when Daphne said, “Since Hank’s here he can get them in the ground for us right away.”

  “I’ll do them later,” Roberta said.

  “Mother, you don’t want to be out there on your hands and knees. That’s why you hired a gardener. Remember?”

  Roberta wished she’d never confessed how tired she was of yard work.

  “Don’t worry,” Daphne said. “I’m just going to take him these plants. I’m not going to ask him for a date.”

  Roberta scowled at her daughter’s departing back. Really. When had Daphne become such a smart aleck?

  And why had she returned home so quickly? Had she known that Hank was coming over? Roberta certainly hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t known he’d be coming by herself until the day before, when he’d called and told her he had to change his regular day due to a dental appointment. She’d automatically agreed to the change, forgetting that it would be Daphne’s day off.

  She should’ve called him first thing in the morning and canceled. Or asked him to send someone else. All this forgetfulness. Perhaps she had a subconscious desire to match her daughter up, a longing for one of them to grab the romance brass ring.

  No, no, no. Everything Daphne grabbed turned into something smelly. There would be no grabbing going on here at Primrose Haus, especially with a man who already had one strike against him. That made four strikes between the two of them—a very bad combination of numbers.

  Roberta could hear voices outside the kitchen. She stole over to the back door and opened it a crack. Then she leaned in for a listen.

  “Met any interesting lesbians yet?” Hank asked.

  Roberta blinked and shook her head. She must have misheard. She pressed her ear closer to the door.

  “I saw someone at Zelda’s who looked interesting,” said Daphne.

  What? Since when did Daphne decide she preferred women to men?

  “Uh-huh,” Hank said. Even through the door Roberta could hear his skepticism.

  “You know, I was where you were. Emotionally, I mean.”