She set her sewing machine down on the counter without a word, then hurried back outside without another word. Five minutes later, she was back, trying to shoo Daddy through the door.
“Come on, Joe,” she coaxed. “It’s just Weezie right now. It’s her wedding day.” She turned to me. “Today, of all days, he’s as mulish as I’ve ever known him. It took me forty minutes to talk him into putting on his suit. I was this close to leaving him at home.”
I stepped outside and found Daddy sitting on the wrought-iron bench in my little courtyard garden. He’d picked a red camellia from the shrub by the gate, and he was twirling it by the stem, studying it intently.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said, sitting down on the bench beside him. “How was lunch?”
He didn’t look up. “Marian burned the grits. Forty years we’ve been married. Forty years of burned grits on Sundays.”
I managed to stifle a giggle. He turned and flashed me a grin. “You won’t burn Daniel’s grits, will you?”
“No,” I promised. “Because usually he cooks the grits. And I do the dishes.”
He patted my hand. “Good girl.”
He stood slowly, and it pained me to see his stooped shoulders and his shuffling gait as he made his way into the house.
Mama sat him at my pine kitchen table and handed him the Sunday paper. “Your crossword puzzle is inside.”
He took a pencil from the breast pocket of his starched white dress shirt and began leafing through the Savannah Morning News, the same way he’d done every morning of my life.
“You sure look handsome today,” I told him. He was wearing his good navy blue suit, a white shirt, and a red tie with a design of white snowflakes—Mama’s doing, of course. He even had a red silk pocket square.
“Don’t look at his shoes,” Mama said, exasperated.
I did. He was wearing his favorite scuffed brown leather house shoes.
“I like these shoes,” Daddy said, scribbling letters with his pencil. His wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the tip of his nose. “They don’t pinch my toes like those black lace-ups.”
“Those are slippers!” Mama said. “Who wears a navy suit and brown slippers to a wedding?”
“I do,” Daddy said. “Nobody but you cares, Marian.” He glanced up and gave me a loving smile. “Weezie’s the only person anybody’s going to look at today.”
“And what about me?” Mama pretended to pout. “Don’t I matter?”
She’d done her own hair, teasing it into a 1980s bouffant, and she was wearing a pink lace dress with long sleeves that fairly screamed Mother of the Bride. She was wearing her everyday white Keds over her Sunday-best suntan-tinted support hose, but I had no doubt that a pair of dyed pink heels were tucked into the enormous tote bag she’d placed on the counter.
“You look lovely, Mama,” I said.
“Pretty as a picture,” Daddy added, beaming over at us. “Both my girls.”
* * *
I sucked in my breath and tugged at the side zipper on my wedding dress. Maybe I’d overdone it a little in New York. Finally I managed to get the balky metal zipper fastened. I tugged at the skirt and walked into the bedroom.
Mama’s face fell. “I knew it. I just knew it. BeBe had me hold it up to her to check for the length, but with that big old baby belly of hers poking out, I couldn’t really gauge properly.” She plucked at the tulle skirt.
“It’s miles too long on you.”
I fanned out the skirt and looked down. The hem rested right above my ankles. Not exactly tea-length, but not necessarily an earth-shattering development either.
“It’ll be fine. I’m wearing four-inch-high heels.” I scrabbled in my closet, brought out the shoe box and slipped my feet into the creamy satin Jimmy Choo sandals I’d bought at an Atlanta consignment shop. Even secondhand, they’d cost $125, which I considered a huge splurge, but once I saw that they were my exact size, I had to have them. I laced the narrow satin ties around my ankles and struck a pose.
“See? Perfect.”
“No.” Mama shook her head. “Still too long. Take it off. It’s a good thing I brought my seam ripper and my machine. I’ll just have to take that skirt off and cut it down again.”
“We don’t have time for that,” I protested. “It’s nearly four o’clock. It’s fine just the way it is.”
She held out her hand and gave me the look. The warning look that told me that Marian Foley was still the final authority on matters such as this.
“Give me the dress,” she ordered.
* * *
Daddy was still in the kitchen, working on his crossword puzzle. Mama set up her sewing machine across from him, and was trying to rethread a bobbin. The back door flew open and two furry torpedoes launched themselves into the room.
Jethro bounded over, jumped up, and planted his muddy paws on my chest to give me an enthusiastic Milkbone-flavored slurp on the chin.
“Hey, Ro-Ro,” I laughed, scratching his ears. “Did you miss me?”
“I’ll say he did.” BeBe leaned against the island. “I wasn’t going to mention it—but he ran away twice while he was with me. The cops had to bring him home the other night. It got so bad I didn’t dare leave him home alone with Jeeves.”
“Ro-Ro!” I admonished. He slunk off to his customary spot under the kitchen table, where Jeeves had already taken up residence.
“Sorry about bringing them both,” BeBe said. “But I really do think Jethro is suffering a little from separation anxiety. Jeeves started barking his head off when he saw me loading Jethro in the car. I was afraid my guests would start complaining about the racket. We can put them both out in the garden when the wedding starts.”
“A wedding is no place for dogs. And neither is a house,” Mama said with a sniff.
“Hi, Joe.”
Daddy looked up and gave her a vague smile. I realized he couldn’t remember her name. “Hi, Marian,” BeBe said. “I love your pink dress. Very festive.”
“Thank you. You look very nice too, BeBe. All things considered.”
BeBe looked tired. Her blond curls were swept up into a loose topknot, but all the concealer and blusher in the world couldn’t hide her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing a bright turquoise maxi-dress with gold metallic banding at the V neckline and the cuffs and hem.
She made a face. “I think this would have been called a caftan in my mother’s day. But I don’t care. It meets all my maternity-wear requirements—doesn’t bind or chafe, doesn’t involve elastic, and best of all, doesn’t require me to worry about shaving my legs, panty hose, or fancy shoes.”
BeBe lifted the hem of her dress to show off her chic gold sandals.
“Love it!” I said.
“No panty hose? To an evening wedding?” Mama’s shrug shouted her disapproval.
“Where’s Harry?” I asked, looking toward the kitchen door, expecting to see him stride through at any moment. “Don’t tell me he’s still fishing.”
“No, he finally made it home around four,” BeBe said. “He got caught in that awful storm last night, they took a wave across the bow, one of the boat’s engines quit, and then all his electronics quit working. I had to send the Coast Guard out looking for him. Worst night of my life. Ever.”
“You poor thing,” I cried. “You must have been out of your mind with worry.”
“Totally crazed,” she agreed. “But he’s home, without a scratch on him. And that’s all I care about. He was still sleeping when I got ready to leave. He’ll be along later, after he goes to check on the boat.”
* * *
“There!” Mama snipped the thread and held out the wedding dress with a flourish. “Go try it on, Weezie.”
“I can’t right now. I’ve got to get my cake out of the freezer and get it frosted so the layers set up in time.”
She pressed her lips tightly. “I’ll just take it upstairs and hang it up until you do have time to try it on.” She looked over at Daddy, who w
as still laboriously filling in blanks in his crossword puzzle.
“Joe, could you please take my sewing machine and put it out in the car?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Daddy nodded pleasantly.
I got my grandmother’s big milk-glass cake pedestal from the bottom shelf of the Welsh cupboard, then removed the wedding cake layers from the freezer, setting them on a waxed-paper-covered cookie sheet to thaw.
“Hand me that jar of lemon curd from the fridge, would you?” I asked BeBe.
In the meantime, I took the sticks of softened butter and cream cheese and put them in the KitchenAid’s stainless-steel mixing bowl. I dumped in a large bag of confectioner’s sugar, some lemon extract, and a dribble of half-and-half. I lowered the beaters and set the bowl whirring.
Daddy put the newspaper down and looked over at me. “What was it your mama asked me to do? Water the tomatoes? I just watered them yesterday.”
BeBe shot me a startled glance.
“Never mind, Daddy. I’ll put the sewing machine in the car. You just enjoy your paper.”
After I got back inside, I handed BeBe an organically grown lemon and a zester. “Grate this peel into a small bowl, will you? And make the shavings as long and curly as you can. Think artistic.”
When the icing was the right consistency, I set the largest, bottom cake layer on the pedestal, “gluing” it in place with a dab of frosting applied to the plate. Using a flat spatula, I spread a thin layer of frosting on the first layer, followed by a thicker coat of the lemon curd. Then I carefully placed the middle layer on top of the curd, centering the cake in the middle of the first layer.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Daniel’s people from the restaurant, with the food. I’m gonna show them where to put everything in the dining room.” BeBe followed right behind. “I’ll help.”
It took us a good thirty minutes to ferry all the foil-wrapped trays out of the Guale truck and into the house. Julio, Daniel’s assistant manager, got busy transferring everything to the silver chafing dishes and trays that Cookie had arranged around the tabletop, while Hayley, one of the waitresses, started bringing the china and wineglasses from the kitchen to the sideboard.
When I got back to the kitchen, Daddy was staring intently down at his crossword puzzle. I picked up my spatula, ready to frost the second layer of my cake. But it was gone.
I looked around the countertop. “Daddy, do you know what happened to my cake?”
“No, shug,” he said mildly. “Did you fix me a birthday cake? That’s nice.”
“Oh no.” I bent down until I was at eye level with the two dogs cowering under the kitchen table.
Jethro had telltale smears of white frosting on his brown muzzle. Jeeves was in the process of barfing up what looked like a glob of homemade lemon curd.
“BeBe!” I screamed.
* * *
“What do we do now?” she asked. I’d just finished mopping the kitchen floor, after banishing both dogs to the courtyard garden.
“Not sure,” I admitted, looking around the kitchen. The dogs had left two cake layers intact, but they were the two smallest top layers, only six and seven inches in diameter—not nearly enough to feed the forty people we were expecting.
“Well, all I can say is, thank goodness we have my groom’s cake,” Mama said. “Everybody loves chocolate cake.”
“Yes, thank goodness,” BeBe drawled.
“And I’ve got a surprise for you,” Mama added. She reached into her tote bag and lifted out a small cardboard box. She plucked out the contents and placed it squarely in the middle of the groom’s cake. “Ta-da!”
“How sweet,” BeBe said.
It was a plastic bride and groom cake topper. The bride with orangish skin and a gown of crimped white crepe paper, the groom with a dark crew cut and a black tux. They stood under a heart-shaped arch fashioned from yellowing pipe cleaners.
“I made that myself in my crafts class when Joe and I got engaged,” Mama said proudly.
“Wow.”
My strictly unsentimental mother wiped away what looked suspiciously like a tear. She had never saved any of my baby clothes or my childhood toys, but she’d saved this one memento of her own wedding forty-some years ago.
“I love it,” I said. And I did.
While Mama was interfering with the restaurant people, I snuck upstairs and put in an SOS call to Uncle James.
“Jonathan and I are on our way over right now,” he said. “Is your mother driving you crazy? John’s offered to sedate her iced tea with one of his mother’s chill pills.”
“Yes, she’s driving me crazy. But no, I don’t guess you should slip her a mickey,” I said reluctantly. “But I do have another emergency. Can you run over to the Publix and pick me up some kind of a cake from their bakery?”
“You want a store-bought cake? I thought you baked your own cake.”
“Jethro and Jeeves ate most of my cake. Just get me the biggest cake they have. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. Yellow would be best, but I can’t be picky at this point.”
* * *
“Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?” BeBe glanced at the kitchen clock. “It’s nearly six.”
“In a minute,” I replied. “You’re sure Mama’s not coming?”
“The coast is clear. John’s mom has got her in the den, and your mama is talking her ear off about her Pinterest boards.”
“Good.” I opened the cardboard bakery box and quickly sliced the sheet cake into quarters. With my spatula, I proceeded to wipe away the thick blue-tinted commercial frosting, along with the flowery orange “Happy Birthday Bubba” piped writing.
I put the first quarter on the milk glass pedestal, iced the now-nearly naked cake with my own cream cheese frosting, spooned on a thin layer of lemon curd, and placed the second layer on top of that. I followed up with the third and fourth layers.
“Genius!” BeBe said. “Nobody would ever guess you didn’t bake that.” She glanced over at the groom’s cake. “Think your mama will be mad that you out-caked her?”
“Probably,” I said.
“What goes on the top?” BeBe asked. “It does look a little naked.”
“I know,” I said. “I kept looking for just the right vintage topper while I was in New York, but the junking up there was pretty slim pickings.”
“You didn’t buy a single thing?”
“Just some vintage Christmas ornaments…” A thought popped into my head.
I ran upstairs and was back five minutes later with the pink hatbox.
“What’s all that?” BeBe leaned in to look.
I plucked the pastel bottle-brush trees from their tissue wrapping and planted a small grove of them on top of the cake.
“Ohhhh,” she breathed.
Digging around in the layers of tissue, I finally found one of the vintage mercury glass Christmas tree decorations. It was the largest of the church ornaments, the only one that still had an intact steeple. I pressed it firmly into place in the frosting, then stepped back to admire the effect.
“Absolutely the perfect thing,” BeBe exclaimed. “Are you sure you didn’t plan this, Weezie Foley?”
“Trust me. I planned nothing that has happened today.” The doorbell rang. She gave me a gentle push. “Go. Get dressed. I think your wedding guests are starting to arrive.”
Chapter 35
BeBe
“Okay,” Weezie said. “I think I’m ready.”
But Marian was still fussing, plucking at nonexistent stray threads on the dress, tugging the bodice up, and the hem down.
“Mama,” Weezie said sharply. “I love you, and I love the dress. But if you touch me one more time, I cannot be responsible for my actions.”
“Honestly,” Marian said. “That’s the thanks I get for working my fingers to the bone. If I had talked to my mother like that on my wedding day…”
“Mama?”
This time Marian got the message. She headed for the doorway of Weezie’s bedroom.
“I’m going to go downstairs and try one more time to get Joe to put on his good shoes.”
When she was gone, Weezie sat down at her dressing table and opened the bottom drawer. She took out a small silver flask and took a long swig.
“Bourbon?” I said longingly. I held out my hand, took the flask, and inhaled sharply.
“God, I miss this stuff.”
Weezie took the flask back and took one last swig before capping it and returning it to the drawer. She reapplied her lipstick, then stood up and fluffed her skirt.
“Now I really am ready,” she announced.
“You look amazing,” I told her. “Like something out of a fairy tale. And I’m not just saying this because you’re my best friend, but you truly are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”
“I can’t believe this day is finally here,” Weezie said. “But I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something.”
“Not the groom. I saw Daniel and Harry pull up in Harry’s truck half an hour ago. You’ve got your something old and something new, right?”
She nodded. “Mama’s dress is the old. The borrowed are your pearl drop earrings and the bra and panties set you gave me are the new. Although I can’t believe you spent two hundred fifty dollars for two pieces of lace that tiny.”
“That’s what maids of honor do,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of vicarious pleasure I got shopping for sexy lingerie. Not after I had to go buy nursing bras. Ugh!”
“You’ll be back to your old size in no time,” Weezie said.
“What about your something blue?” I asked.
“That’s it!” she said, snapping her fingers. She scrabbled around in her jewelry box, finally bringing out a small blue rhinestone brooch in the shape of a Christmas tree.
“Is this the one you bought the year you and Daniel got engaged?” I asked, pinning it to her satin waistband.
“No,” she said quietly. “This was his mom’s. Daniel found it with her things after she passed away last year. Paula didn’t have a lot, you know, but it really touched him that she’d kept it for all those years after he and his brother saved up to buy it for her the first Christmas after their daddy left.”
Christmas Bliss Page 21
