Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café (The Gingerbread Cafe - Book 3) (A Gingerbread Cafe story)

by Rebecca Raisin

  I close my eyes, partly mollified by his answer, until I remember his mother, and her attempts to destroy the wedding. And maybe our relationship too. “Your mother managed to plant all these seeds of doubt. And you don’t trust me. You believe your mother. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over that.”

  “I do trust you, Lil. But saying my mother is responsible for cancelling the venue…it’s just not possible.”

  I resist the urge to scream in frustration. “Not just that, the other stuff too.”

  He sighs. “She’s says she didn’t do it, Lil. I know my mother — she’s not like that.”

  “Well, who else would do it?”

  “Let’s just leave it for now.”

  Four days. And everything is up in the air. I’m angry at Damon. How can we just leave it? His mother for reasons unknown is set on ruining us and he doesn’t even care. “I’m going to lie down. I’m not feeling great.”

  “Lil…”

  I wake during the night and reach for Damon. He turns to face me, and in the dark room he says softly, “I’m sorry, Lil.”

  Half groggy, I say, “For which part?”

  “For all of it. I’ve been awake all night worrying about it.”

  His skin is prickled with cold. I pull the quilt up, and thread my legs through his. “So what does that mean?”

  “I guess…I need to really ask my mother if she had something to do with it all. It’s not that I don’t believe you — it’s just that I can’t see her doing any of that. I mean, what reason would she have?”

  I run a hand along his arm to warm him. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, but after the things she said I’m certain. I hope we can sort it out for all of our sakes.”

  “I’ll talk with her tomorrow.” He runs a finger across my hairline, and I close my eyes against the sensation. “I shouldn’t have made you feel I wasn’t on your side, Lil.”

  “It’s OK. I probably would’ve done the same if you said that about my mamma.”

  CeeCee, as usual, was right.

  Chapter Eight

  Three days

  “I’m glad you two lovebirds made up. I knew you would,” CeeCee says.

  I smile in response before saying, “I can’t see how I’m ever supposed to work it out with Olivia, though. I can’t see her admitting it, somehow.”

  “Wait and see, cherry blossom. You never can tell what’s gonna happen; life sure can be complicated sometimes.”

  I blow my hair from my eyes. “It sure is.”

  An hour later, Damon walks into the café with his mother on his tail. Here we go.

  I’m serving a customer who is taking his sweet time choosing. He can’t decide between one of CeeCee’s southern lane cakes, or a chocolate hazelnut meringue. CeeCee walks from the office out back to the sound of the bell jingling. Her mouth becomes a tight line when she sees Olivia.

  “I’ll serve, Lil,” she says to me. “You go on and talk to Damon and his mother.”

  Olivia glares at me. I just shake my head, tired of the fight. “Let’s go sit by the fire,” I say.

  Damon’s face is taut with worry. He still pecks me on the cheek, which makes Olivia narrow her eyes. “I hoped we could sort this out, together.”

  I square my shoulders. “Great.”

  “OK, so…” he says slowly.

  “OK, so, Olivia—” I decide I’m not going to pussyfoot around “—I know it was you who did all those things. I know it. Though why you did beats me. I think we can all move past it, though, if you admit what you did.”

  She surveys her fake nails before saying, “Really, Lil? It’s ridiculous. I’m not that kind of person, and Damon knows that. What you’re suggesting is pathetic. Something teenagers would do.”

  Damon sighs. “Well, there’s no question someone did it. We have the email from Guillaume, and I talked to Bessie, and she said someone who looks remarkably like you came in and said Lil wanted her dress amended. I don’t know what else to do here.”

  “To be perfectly honest, Damon, it’s all too much for me.” I turn to Olivia. “The centerpieces you found arrived. Did you want to explain those to Damon?”

  She blushes. “What — you don’t like them?”

  I laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Come on, Olivia! The fake lilies you bought are five foot tall, and are bright pink! I may as well put a flamingo on each table.”

  Damon looks from me to his mother. “What’s this all about, Mother?” My stomach flips.

  Olivia inhales sharply. “Well…I thought they were lovely.”

  I shake my head no. “They’re comical, Olivia.”

  She doesn’t even flinch when she says, “Damon, just because you’re marrying a girl who said herself she wouldn’t mind being wed in a field with a lame horse for a witness doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me. Now, Katie, she would have made a nice wife.”

  I suck in a breath, bewildered by her resentment. Damon narrows his eyes. “What kind of thing is that to say? Jesus, Mother.” His voice rises with every word.

  “I’m sorry to say it, Damon, but I think you’re making a bad decision. This whole—” she waves her hands around “—place isn’t you. You’ve made a rash choice. Your father and I are worried, that’s all.”

  Damon rubs his face, and groans. “God! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Dad definitely doesn’t feel that way. I know he doesn’t.”

  Olivia’s face drops and she says quietly, “I’m looking out for you.”

  “By not accepting Lil? How’s that looking out for me?” CeeCee serves customers, all the while darting glances my way. I nod almost imperceptibly, to tell her I’m OK.

  Olivia’s eyes shine bright with tears at Damon’s outburst. Maybe she is just looking out for her son, but it sort of feels like being sucker punched when the reason she’s behaving like a monster is because she feels as though Damon ran away and picked the first girl he saw, who in her mind isn’t good enough.

  “It’s your life, Damon,” she continues. “But I want you to know, I think your place is in New Orleans with your daughter.”

  “My place is here, with, Lil. And it will always be. I see more of Charlie now than I did when I was working all hours. So that doesn’t wash with me.”

  I do feel for Olivia. There’s obviously something lacking in her life to make her act such a way. And Damon finally believing me and standing up to her only makes me sad. Sad for her in a whole new way.

  “I’ll just butt out, then,” Olivia says, her voice wobbling.

  “Good idea,” Damon snaps.

  That afternoon we close up early. Mamma, Sarah and Missy sit at the kitchen bench finishing off their gingerbread milkshakes, slurping them back like kids. CeeCee and I finish what we’re doing, and get ready to close early. We bundle on our coats and scarves and walk up to Bessie’s shop for the final dress fittings. I’m giddy with excitement, and hope my dress still fits after all the Christmas baking I’ve been sampling.

  We’re chatting away about the last few days and all that’s happened when CeeCee stops dead in her tracks as her handbag vibrates. She pulls out her cell phone and plunges her hand into her bag for her reading glasses.

  Her lips move as she silently reads the message to herself. “You go on ahead,” she says as the light goes from her eyes.

  My throat tightens. Something’s wrong. “No, we’ll wait,” I say, my breath coming out with puffs of fog.

  “It’s Janey. I have to go…” Her voice cracks.

  We instantly gather close and hug her. None of us speaks as we stand outside, the snow drifting around us, as we think of Walt and Janey, and what this might mean. Eventually Missy says, “Is she OK?”

  CeeCee glances down to the message on her phone. “It doesn’t say a lot. I better go. I’m sorry, Lil, sorry, girls.” She turns on her heel and walks back in the direction of the café.

  The four of us watch her retreat. She strides past the town Christmas tree, which sits i
n an apex on the side of the road near the Gingerbread Café. Its shrieking fairy lights don’t catch her attention. Her head hangs low; she’s lost in thought. I fight the urge to run after her, and squeeze her tight. I send up a prayer that it’s good news about Janey that’s called her away.

  “Maybe Janey’s better?” Mamma says almost in a whisper.

  “Yes,” Missy says. “Wouldn’t that be something? She’s better and she’s home for Christmas.” Her voice lilts.

  “Imagine that,” I say softly. “Let’s hope that’s what it is.”

  CeeCee’s walked so fast she’s only a speck in the distance. She must be going on home by the looks. Janey lives at the other end of town. I hope Janey is coming home for Christmas. And not because of any other reason.

  We lace arms and walk with quick steps to Bessie’s, eager to get out of the cold. I can’t help picturing CeeCee’s downcast face, and wish I could snap my fingers and make Janey better.

  For a moment the sun peeks out and brightens the wintry day. With our boots on we trek through the slushy ice, passing shops along the main street. I wave at the local shop owners who stand on their stoops and ask about the wedding. I do my best to sound merry, even though my heart is heavy with worry for CeeCee. Each business façade is decorated with shiny tinsel, and flashing fairy lights. Wreaths of holly hang on doors. Mary-Rose’s bath shop has a gorgeous Christmas tree in the window, made entirely from green bath bombs that she’s stacked in a cone shape. “How don’t they topple over?” Missy points to the bath bombs.

  I shrug. “No idea, but I can smell them from here. Minty. We might need to detour in there on the way back.”

  “Sounds good,” Sarah says. “I’ll pick up some for Christmas presents.”

  We get to the small haberdashery shop, and push open the door to the sound of a sewing machine drumming into fabric. Bessie glances up from her work and cracks a smile. “Well, there you are, Lil. Girls.” She pushes a tendril of silvery grey hair back into her clip. “Wait until you see your dresses now…” She takes her glasses off and blinks to focus.

  Missy immediately goes to the oversized cane chair and tries to drop into it. “Give me a hand, Sarah. There’s a chance I might get beached if I do this wrong.”

  Sarah laughs and guides Missy’s bulk into the cavernous chair.

  “Is CeeCee coming?” Bessie asks.

  “No,” I say, quickly. “She’s got an errand to run.”

  Bessie nods. “Take a seat, girls. And I’ll start the show, shall I?” We nod as Bessie trundles out back.

  Missy pipes up, “Lil, enjoy this, OK? I know you’re worried about Janey and CeeCee but it’s not wrong to push it from your mind for a while. I know what you’re like, but worry won’t change a thing.”

  It’s almost crazy how well my friends know me. “OK,” is all I manage, knowing what she says is true. Guilt sneaks up on me at times, as if by enjoying this experience I’m doing CeeCee a disservice.

  “Ready?” Bessie wanders back out.

  “Oh, Bessie, I cannot wait to see them all!” Missy says, clapping.

  I sit on a stool by the window. Bessie’s shop is cluttered with swathes of fabric, and half-dressed mannequins. Sitting here makes me want to regress to childhood and play dress up. I can imagine pulling out lengths of shiny material and draping them over me or grabbing the feather boas and strutting around as if I’m a flapper from the twenties. It’s like a Pandora’s box of loveliness and Bessie holds the key. She can whip up an outfit in thirty minutes that would leave most designers envious. Missy gets most of her clothes made here — animal print and sequins are her weakness, though she’ll give any loud, form-fitting fabric a go.

  Sarah hunts through piles of sample fabrics, holding them up to the bright light to inspect up close. I wonder if she’s contemplating her future wedding dress. Her relationship with Ridge is the stuff dreams are made of; he swept her off her feet, and treats her like a princess.

  “Lil, I sewed those antique beads on, but you’ll have to be careful you don’t catch them on the satin when you’re getting dressed otherwise we’ll have pulls.”

  “Eek! So excited!” And suddenly I am. The dress. The kind of dress I’ve always wanted is seconds away from reality.

  Bessie ambles over to a rack of clothes on hangers, individually wrapped in clear plastic bags, and picks the garment on the end. My breath catches. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen my dress and I’m ruing the fact the candy canes we made have been so addictive.

  Carefully, she takes the plastic away and drapes the dress over her arm to stop it touching the floor. “What do you think?” she says as she holds the coat hanger forward so we can see the beading.

  Missy says, “Hoist me up, someone! I can’t see!”

  We laugh, and go to help her out of the chair.

  Bessie points to the beads. “So I had to go slow, Lil, because I didn’t want to pull the satin, but, as you can see, the beads are dazzling.”

  I gasp. It’s the most gorgeous gown I’ve ever seen. The creamy satin shines in the dim shop. The antique beads glow as if they’ve got a secret, and I bet they have. I wonder where those beads came from — perhaps another wedding dress decades ago? The beading goes along the front of the straight neckline to give it some sparkle. They’re burnished gold, with a tiny pearl inlay surrounded with diamonds that are so small they look like glitter. Added to the shimmer of the satin, it’s almost as if the dress is lit up. “Wait until you see the back of it,” Bessie says.

  The gown is backless as the satin falls into a gathered cowl at the base of my spine. It’s more daring than I’d usually do, but the effect is so dramatic, and timeless.

  Mamma chokes back tears, “Oh, Lil, you’re going to look like a movie star.”

  Sarah pats Mamma’s back. “Lil, it’s absolutely breath-taking. I haven’t seen anything like it before.”

  Missy lets out a squeal. “Can you get on in there and try it, Lil? If I go into labor and miss seeing it on, there’s gonna be trouble!”

  I laugh, and nod. “Less of the labor talk, Missy. You need to wait at least three more days, you know.”

  She cackles. “Yeah, I know.” She runs a hand over her belly. “I told the little man that a million times, so let’s hope he’s listening.”

  Bessie walks to the change room with the dress held aloft. “OK, Lil, it’s time. Shout when you’re undressed and I’ll help you put it on so we’re careful with the beading.” She’s a diminutive woman, with a soft smile, but her eyes, bright with excitement over the dress, remind me of us at the café when we’ve baked something amazing. The joy in crafting something from raw materials.

  “Lucky I wore my best underwear.”

  Bessie grins, her eyes shining with laughter. “Trust me, girls, I’ve seen it all from so-called granny panties, to full-length body-suction underwear. I’m oblivious to anything bar the dress.”

  The girls laugh, and I shut the curtain and undress.

  “Full-length body-suction underwear?” I hear Mamma say. “I don’t know what that is but I need some.”

  Missy replies, “I’ve seen pull-me-in panties, but a full body suit, I don’t know…the muffin top has to go somewhere. With a full length body suit on wouldn’t it push it all the way up to my neck? I’d have neck fat!”

  “The mind boggles,” Sarah’s voice carries through to the changing room.

  I grin at Missy’s muffin-top exaggeration. She’s voluptuous, and flaunts her curves with pride. Her form-fitting ensembles make me shake my head in wonder. There’s not many people who could pull off that kind of style with such pizzazz. With her heavily made-up eyes, and big auburn curls, and her constant hair fluffing, she’s like a screen siren from another era.

  Pulling back the curtain, I motion to Bessie that I’m undressed. My skin breaks out in goose bumps despite the heating in the shop, half from nerves and half from cold. There’s no mirror in the change room, so the girls will see the dress on before I do.r />
  Bessie steps into the small space with me, and slides the curtain closed. She carefully unzips the side of the dress. “So, you’ll need to step into it, Lil, and then I’ll pull it up, and you gently ease your arms in the sleeves.”

  “OK.”

  Bessie holds the dress as I gently stand inside like she instructed. It’s like a creamy wave at my feet.

  “Here we go, Lil. Stand up straight, and I’ll pull it up, and we can see how it fits.”

  I hold my arms out as Bessie glides the dress over my body, and zips it up. She fluffs it out at my feet. It feels deliciously smooth cascading down my body. I run my hands softly down the side. It’s so different from when I had a fitting three weeks ago, when there were pins holding it roughly together.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Like perfection,” I say almost inaudibly.

  Bessie stands back to survey me, before straightening the neckline, and pinching the satin on one side to make it even. She stands back again and folds her arms. With a grin she whispers, “They’re going to cry, Lil. When they see how beautiful you look.”

  I’m grinning like a fool as excitement courses through me. “Do I really look beautiful?” I think of myself compared with the other girls as more of a plain Jane. But on my wedding day, I want to be glamorous. I want to make the extra effort so Damon catches his breath when he sees me, a vision in satin, walking down the aisle to him.

  Bessie gives me a kind smile. “Lil, beautiful doesn’t even sum it up. Wait until you see it. You are a show-stopper.”

  I nod my thanks, not trusting myself to speak as my emotions roil around.

  “What’s going on in there?” Missy screeches. “Enough with the oohing and aahing — we want to see this masterpiece!”

  I take a deep breath and smooth the fabric, wishing with all my heart that CeeCee were on the other side of the curtain with the girls. Bessie fusses with the train and says, “Ready?”