Elliot’s sister, Pip, is standing in the back of the tent by herself. She’s not talking to anyone and is looking quite miserable to boot. I point her out to Elliot and tell him to go get her. I see him encouraging her to follow him but she’s rooted to her spot. When Elliot comes back alone, I give it a whirl.
I approach her and ask, “Pip, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you sitting at your table eating?”
She looks at me miserably and groans, “I have another message to deliver.”
Excitedly, I ask, “Oh, yeah, who’s the lucky guest?”
She rolls her eyes, “Only you would think this is a good thing. I’m not sure which one he is, but his name is Richard Bingham.”
“Richard?” I gasp. “Who wants to send Richard a message?”
Pip responds, “I’m not allowed to tell you and before you ask, I can’t tell you what the message is either. It’s part of the rules.”
I hadn’t considered there might be rules regarding this talking to the dead thing, but I guess it makes sense. “What happens if you tell someone?”
Elliot’s sister visibly shudders, “You know the spots I get when I refuse to share a communication?” I acknowledge that I do. “Well, if I convey the message to someone other than the person it’s meant for, I get the most uncontrollable diarrhea you can imagine, explosive really. Remind me to tell you about the time I found that out.” She adds, “The worst first date of my life.” Then she asks, “Would you mind pointing out Richard to me?”
I smile, “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you to him.”
I lead the way to his table and Pip recognizes him immediately. “Oh yes, he’s the one who stood next to Elliot’s friend Rupert at the altar.” Her voice takes on a bit of a gravelly tone.
“Now, how do I cull him from his crowd of admirers?”
“I have an idea,” I say as a thought comes to me. I walk over to my friend and whisper in his ear, “Richard, there’s someone special I want you to meet.”
He looks up, mid-bite and asks, “Now?”
“Yes, please,” I respond.
He puts his fork down, takes a sip of water and wipes his mouth. Then he stands up and lets me lead him away. I take him over to Pippa and introduce, “Richard, I would like you to meet Elliot’s sister, Philippa.” Then to Pip, I add, “Pip, this is my dear friend, Richard Bingham.”
They greet one other rather awkwardly, which I get on Philippa’s part. She’s about to tell a complete stranger that his dead loved one has a message for him, and we know how well that can go. I almost hit her over the head for her effort. But Richard looks very uncomfortable and nervous. He’s so much smoother and more gallant than his current demeanor indicates. Instead of taking her hand and beaming his thousand watt smile or bowing before her and clicking his heels, he rather uncomfortably mumbles, “It’s nice to meet you.” That’s it. No, “May I have the honor of escorting you to your table? Would you care to join me at my table? How ‘bout a V-8?” Nothing.
So I’m going to have to try a little harder to get them alone. “Richard, would you please be a dear and show Pip up to the house? She needs an aspirin.”
Richard looks at me like he wants to know why I’m asking him. It’s not like he’s ever been to Renée’s before. But he’s polite enough to offer Elliot’s sister his arm and say, “I would be delighted.”
Pippa takes his proffered appendage and reluctantly follows him out of the tent. When I get back to Elliot he demands, “What’s that all about? I hope you’re not trying to play matchmaker between my sister and Richard.” He spits out Richard’s name like he’s trying to spew poison out of his mouth.
I laugh, “The thought hadn’t occurred to me.” Then I add, “Pip has a message for him.” Then I wiggle my fingers, shrug my eyebrows and spooky up my voice for effect, “You know, from beyond the grave.”
At that Elliot actually chokes on his wine. “How in the world do you know about that?”
My husband and I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss my earlier meeting with his sister so I enlighten him. “She came by Renée’s earlier today with a communication for me from my grandma Sissy. It was quite lovely, actually.” I don’t mention the near beaning of his only sibling.
“Dear God, Mimi! I don’t know what to say. We try to keep this business private, you know, so as not to bring Pippa more embarrassment.”
“But it’s what she does, Elliot. I guess it’s part of her deal with the other side. You know, ‘We’ll let you recover from rheumatic fever but now you work for us,’ kinda thing?”
My husband gasps, “You’re not telling me you actually believe this nonsense, are you?”
It’s my turn to be shocked. “Nonsense? What nonsense? How could Pip even know about my grandma Sissy yet alone about a private joke between us? My own sisters don’t know about that.” Elliot doesn’t reply so I ask, “Elliot, are you telling me you don’t believe your own sister? That you think she’s been mentally ill since childhood?”
He grabs at his neck to loosen his tie as though it’s choking him and answers, “I don’t know what to think. I just know hers is not normal behavior and it’s brought a lot of discomfort her way.”
I want to add, “And your way too, apparently.” But I don’t. I have years to figure out how Elliot ticks and to explain the real world to him. Thank goodness I’ve got multiple seasons of the New Jersey Medium on Netflix. This is not an argument I need to take on right now.
Our server arrives to clear our salad plates and right behind him another appears with our entrées of beef Wellington and French green beans. Let’s not forget the bread basket filled with an assortment of artisan breads. Elliot has outdone himself selecting our menu and clearly doesn’t have the boring British palate of some of his countrymen. Yum, yum, yum, I’m eating for two!
My husband seems to have lost his appetite but I’m not letting this meal go to waste. Midway through, I see Richard return to the tent alone and he looks fit to be tied. He’s not only disheveled but he looks steaming mad. Uh, oh. As soon as Pippa returns I’m going to have to find out what happened.
When our plates have been cleared, the wedding coordinator taps her microphone to get everyone’s attention and the orchestra begins the intro of Nat King Cole’s song, Love. Elliot takes me in his arms and pulls me close. It’s the most beautiful moment of my life, waltzing with my husband under the starry October sky. When our song ends we switch partners and I dance with my dad while Elliot glides around the floor with the countess to Frank Sinatra’s, Cheek to Cheek.
We head back to our table and it’s time for toasts. Kevin is Elliot’s best man. I didn’t even have to suggest this to my husband. It was his idea to ask my friend. Without Kevin clearing the way with Beatrice, this night would have never taken place. Without Kevin there would have been no Lady Fielding. Just plain old knocked up Mimi Finnegan raising her bastard child all alone. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?
Kevin stands up, gently taps his champagne flute and then he bellows, “I have something to say! Listen up, folks!” Everyone quiets to a dull roar and he continues, “I have known Mimi since Mr. Phipps chemistry class in high school and let me tell you, she’s only gotten better with age!” Pause while the crowd enjoys his compliment. Although it makes me feel like a slab a beef hanging from a hook.
He continues, “The day I ran into Mimi six months ago was the best day of my adult life.”
I haze him, “Yeah, because it got you and Muffy together.” The crowd chuckles.
Kevin continues, “Well, there is that. But truthfully Meems,” then he gets serious, “you are one of the most remarkable women I have ever known and I love you like my own sister.” My eyes tear up a bit when he turns to Elliot, “Elliot, you are one lucky man. Take care of her and I promise your life together will be magic!” He doesn’t elaborate what kind of magic, bunny out of the hat, wicken wonders or perhaps the old eye of newt, wing of bat variety.
I giggle at my own lit
tle joke when I realize Muffy has taken over. She stands still while everyone settles down after cheering Elliot’s and my impending charmed life. Then she announces loudly, “Mimi has a bunion.” What the heck? Well that sure quiets everyone down. “That is the very worst thing about my sister.” Thank God she’s turning this around. I briefly worried her next line would be, ‘and you should see her blackheads!’ But instead she says, “Mimi has a full heart and an open door to everyone who needs her. She’s always put her family’s needs above her own. I’m thrilled she’s found her handsome prince and is going to be able to put her energies into her own family now. She and Elliot deserve only the best.” Then with her glass held high, she wraps it up, “May they never have any bumps in their road and may their lives always be perfect!”
Dammit, this wedding is turning into a jinx fest! Why don’t people get it that this kind of happily-ever-after they pontificate about doesn’t happen outside of fairy tales? And in order for those to occur, you need to endure an evil stepmother, wicked queen bent on murder or gnarly old witch who wants to fatten you up before turning you into stew. People, DO NOT TEMPT THE GODS with your crazy ‘Nothing bad can ever happen to you,’ talk. Please! But of course it’s too late. They’ve done it and all that’s left to do is move on.
Chapter 10
The post wedding brunch is being held at the country club. We’ve invited all of our families, out of town guests and dear friends to this meal and they are the only local venue big enough to handle our group effortlessly. Elliot and I are planning on leaving for a week to Lake Geneva straight from here. We didn’t want to travel on a plane or go any great distance because we had no idea how I was going to be feeling. All-in-all, I’m glad we’re staying so close to home. It’s less stressful that way.
I cannot believe how many people I didn’t have a chance to talk to last night. I greeted everyone but had almost no opportunity to delve into any real conversation. Take Pip, for example. She never came back to the reception after talking with Richard and Richard made himself rather scarce as well. I’m dying to find out what happened.
But before I can, my new mother in-law corners me. “Mimi, I understand you’ve been made aware of Philippa’s abilities.” I nod my head as she continues, “Please keep her talents to yourself and don’t broadcast them. This is something we keep in the family.”
So two things, one, apparently the countess believes Pippa’s got something real going on here, kudos to her for that. And two, what kind of gossipy Nelly does she take me for? Of course I’m not going to prattle on about Pip to all and sundry. She senses my offense and offers an olive branch of sorts. “You’re a Fielding now and I just want to make sure you understand how our family operates.” Then she kisses me on both cheeks and I wake up in bed with a dead horse. Fingers crossed I’m joking.
After Victoria leaves, I realize I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to call her. I search out Pip. She’s sitting at a table by herself picking at her kippers, an English dish we’ve added to the menu for Elliot’s side. It is singularly the grossest thing I have ever smelled. I mean pickled fish, yuck. Thankfully it’s not enough to make my nausea return, but just barely.
I sit down next to her. “So, you didn’t come back to the party after talking to Richard. What happened?”
Pip rolls her eyes. “I can’t tell you everything but I can tell you this. He doesn’t believe me.”
I beg to differ. “He looked furious when he came back into the tent so I’m willing to bet he believes enough to be angry about it.”
She agrees, “Oh, he was mad alright.”
I’m dying to know something so I beg, “Come on Pip, can’t you give me a hint, anything?”
“Mimi Fielding,” oooooh I like how that sounds, “I will defecate in my pants the very second I allude to anything to do with the message Richard received. Is that something you want to witness?”
I immediately scrunch up my face in disgust. “Not really, no. How ‘bout this, can you tell me why Elliot doesn’t believe in your gift but your mother does?”
“Mother believes because she’s been the recipient of some messages I could have known nothing about. She believes because she has not been given the option not to. Elliot on the other hand hasn’t had anyone beating down his door with communications, so he chalks it up to female hysteria or brain damage. Either way, it’s not particularly flattering.”
Richard walks into the dining room and I immediately signal him over. He starts to head my way until he sees I’m sitting with Philippa. Then he turns at a ninety degree angle and strides straight for the buffet. What the heck? I excuse myself in an effort to find out what’s up.
I grab a white dinner plate and get in line right after Richard, “Hey you, what’s going on?”
Richard stiffens and simply answers, “Mimi.”
“Richard, are you mad at me or something?”
He replies, “Mimi, when I asked you to find my replacement, I told you I wanted the woman to be quirky and unique, an individual. I do not remember asking you to find me a basket case.”
“Richard, what are you talking about? I sat you at a table with several unique and lovely women. I gave you exactly what you asked for.” I want to stick out my tongue at him but I’m aware this will only make me look petulant.
He turns to me and answers, “What about Elliot’s sister? What in the world was that all about?”
“I have no idea. I only know that she wanted to talk to you, not what she wanted to talk about.”
He snorts, “I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly what she said to me.”
“I haven’t a clue! Why don’t you tell me and then we can work it out together?” Do you see how I’m slyly trying to gather intelligence?
He scoops up scrambled eggs and simply replies, “I’m done talking about it. Just so you know you’ve been relieved of your matchmaking duties.”
What could have possibly happened between the two of them? I try to make nice to Richard after our discussion about Pip but he’s not having any of it. Before he leaves, he comes over to say goodbye and promises to be in touch. Then he just walks out the door.
I have a little bit of time to talk to Beatrice and her friend, Clive. He seems nothing like the type of man I would have seen her with but he obviously makes her very happy and I’m thrilled for them both. Kevin and Muffy are taking them out to dinner tonight on the way to the airport. I think Beatrice would have totally gone for Kevin if we hadn’t misled her into believing he was gay. But again, that’s a story from another time.
My parents are busy entertaining their friends and Elliot is “chatting up some mates from university,” so I sit down with my plate of meat and relish a nice moment of contentment. I think the baby must be working on growing something important because I’m all about the protein this week. I’m currently enjoying six sausage links, four strips of bacon and a thick slab of ham.
Two hours later, we make our way through the crowd and say goodbye to everyone. Elliot’s parents promise to come back in time for the birth. I hadn’t expected that and I can’t say I’m too thrilled, but I am pleased by their excitement. Pip says we’ll be hearing form her soon, as well. Many hugs and kisses to my family later and we’re off for our first week together as husband and wife.
Chapter 11
After the wedding, life settles into a nice routine. Elliot is hard at work on the edits for his next novel and I’ve taken to nesting with wild abandon. I’ve even allowed Blaine (hear that name with the disdain in which it’s intended) to show me a few houses. As a tony suburb of Chicago, Hilldale is home to many of the movers and shakers of the Chi-town’s business world. It’s Pipsy adjacent and a world away from my little yellow house on Mercer Street. I’m having a hard time understanding why we have to move at all. Yes, a bit more room would be nice but these estates are big enough to house a large African village. Elliot claims he would like a home far enough removed from the road where random stranger can’t peek
inside the windows to get a look at him (yes, that does seem to happen quite frequently, but let’s face it, he’s the biggest thing that’s happened to Pipsy in, well, forever) and in a neighborhood that does not boast huge pedestrian traffic. That probably goes back to not wanting the Misses Kravitz of the world to have a free show. That is why I’m currently driving through Hilldale with the preppy and holier-than-thou, Blaine Harrington.
After the second house, I broach the subject, “Blaine, Elliot and I are only two people. When the baby arrives, we’ll only be three people. You’re showing me homes big enough to host the Super Bowl. What gives?”
Blaine turns a condescending eye to me and replies, “Mimi, may I call you Mimi?” He has previously been calling me Mrs. Fielding, which at least garnered me a modicum of respect in his eyes.
I smile tightly and suggest, “Let’s start with Lady Fielding and see where we go from there, hm?”
The title catches him up for a moment. “I had no idea your husband was part of the aristocracy!” He’s mightily impressed by this, the prick. “Lady Fielding,” he oozes, “I’m showing you homes that are expected of people in your husband’s position. Surely, you want him to live in a dwelling he’ll be proud of.”
“Listen here weasel, I’m proud of my house because I earned the money for it myself and it’s darling; small, yes, in Pipsy, yes, but darling nonetheless, you douchebag!” What I really say is, “Blaine, please don’t assume to tell me how we’re expected to live. That’s my call, not yours.” Smack, smack, smack. I appear to enjoy being as condescending to him as he does to the middle class as a whole.
Blaine pulls into the gates of the next estate, rather tight-lipped. “I don’t suppose we should bother looking at this one then. Perhaps you’d rather wait until I can find something in a more pedestrian neighborhood.” He regurgitates the word pedestrian like he’s actually vomited in his mouth when he said it.
Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2) Page 5
