“And we thank You for this food, which was lovingly prepared by the family You gave us to love. We are eternally grateful for all Your blessings.”
“Ohhhhh.”
Are you kidding me?
“Amen.”
“Amen,” a couple people repeat.
Who was doing that? How unbelievably, unspeakably rude.
Lifting my head to look around, I don’t see anything unusual. The kids are both standing nearby, but neither one of them is being glared at by the adults, and they don’t have guilty looks on their faces.
“Ohhhhh,” I hear again, and look over to see Brittany clutching her abdomen. Her mom has noticed her by this time and has rushed to her side.
“What is it, Brittany?” she asks frantically. “Are you in pain, dear? Should I call the ambulance?”
“We’re not calling any ambulance,” Lance states matter-of-factly.
“Well, what is it, dear? Is it the baby?” Mrs. Huber wonders again.
“I…I don’t know exactly,” Brittany replies, rubbing her hands across her belly. “Something feels so strange.”
“Have you eaten any of the food?” Mom interjects.
There it is: Maddie has finally done it, after all these years. She has poisoned us all. We knew it would happen. Same old Maddie—always messing things up.
“She hasn’t eaten anything, Mom,” Lance lectures. “We just walked in here.”
“Ohhhhh.”
“It’s the baby!” cries Mrs. Huber. “It must be time. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Brittany whimpers.
“Well, if you’re going, I’m going too!” Mom declares, heading toward the closet to get her coat. Dad shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling.
Brittany slowly rises from her chair, places her hands on the small of her back, and pushes her protruding stomach out as far as it will go. Mrs. Huber grabs her arm and slowly helps her toward the door, while Mom is quick to return and grab Brittany’s other arm so she won’t be left out.
“Aren’t you coming?” Mom barks, shooting an accusing look at Dad.
“No,” he tells her calmly, sitting down at the table.
“Well, how am I supposed to get to the hospital, then?” Mom cries, holding up Brittany’s progress.
“Ride with the Hubers,” Dad suggests. Mom makes a low noise in her throat and begins to shuffle along once again.
“We should hurry,” Brittany urges. “The pain is unbearable.”
“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Huber groans.
“Lance!” Brittany belts. “Get a move on.”
“The hospital is ten minutes away,” Lance answers. “I wouldn’t exactly say you’re in a life or death situation here. Why don’t you wait a few minutes and at least time your contractions before we waste a trip? I mean, it is Thanksgiving, after all.”
“I’m dying here, Mama,” Brittany cries. “Please help me.”
“Lance, how can you be so unfeeling?” Mrs. Huber rebukes. “Can’t you see she’s in pain? She’s your wife, for heaven’s sake.”
“This is so ridiculous,” Lance mutters under his breath, going to grab his coat.
“Do we have to go?” Marilyn wonders.
“Of course you do!” Brittany orders. Marilyn and Jordan stomp toward the front door.
“Russell!” Mom shouts at Dad. “This isn’t funny anymore. Come on!”
“I told you, woman, I’m not going.”
“Well, what are you going to do if the baby is born and you aren’t there?” she asks, hands on her hips.
“I’ll come see the baby after I eat,” Dad says nonchalantly.
“Is there anything we can do?” Hazel wonders.
“No, you should stay and enjoy your Thanksgiving,” Mom reasons. “You made all that food for Maddie’s dinner, and it shouldn’t go to waste.”
Those of us who remain watch in shocked silence as the group makes their way out the door and into the driveway, leaving only Dad and Tucker around the table, with Hazel and Audrey joining me in the kitchen. Mom is the last one to button her coat and head out the door, stopping just outside to pull it closed.
“We’ve got to go, Maddie,” she offers as an afterthought. “Brittany’s having the baby.”
Of course she is. Who would have expected anything less?
“You’re a peach, Mad, you know that?”
The call from Josh comes through about two hours after everyone left his house, finding me lounging lazily on the couch, reading my third Camdyn Taylor/C.W. Oliver novel.
“Why exactly am I a peach?”
“You involved my parents in your Thanksgiving,” he states quietly. “You made them feel like part of your family. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“Your parents obviously didn’t give you the entire story.” Gazing at the wall in front of me, I will my heart to start beating normally. Now that I know internally that I have feelings for Josh, I’m constantly nervous that he will somehow draw the information out of me.
“Yeah, they gave me the entire story—the bad, the ugly, and the rude. Like I said, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, finding it hard to come up with anything to say.
“You seem kind of quiet tonight.”
“Probably exhausted,” I joke, giving a slight laugh.
“How are things going with your tennis instructor?”
Pulling at a string at the hem of my T-shirt, I twist my mouth to the side momentarily. “As it turns out, he had a huge flaw—one that I couldn’t look past.”
“Of course,” he says with a sigh. I can imagine him rolling his eyes at me in disgust.
“Well, don’t be too disappointed in me, please, because I have sworn off dating for good.”
“What?”
Rising to my feet, I cross to the window and glance out at the street, suddenly feeling very alone.
“If you were here, Josh…” I begin, but quickly stop talking.
“What? If I was there, what?”
“Nothing. You’d probably be watching football or something and completely ignoring me. Or I’d be stuck at my parents’ house and ready to pull my hair out.”
“Just for the record, I wouldn’t ignore you, and I would gladly rescue you from any hair-pulling situations.”
“I know,” I acknowledge, tears suddenly filling my eyes. “I have things I need to do, so I better go.”
“Oh, okay. Goodnight, Mad. And happy Thanksgiving.” He sounds a little sad himself, probably because he has spent yet another Thanksgiving without his family. And how insensitive am I that I didn’t even consider that until this very moment?
“Happy Thanksgiving, Josh.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I should have known better, really. You’d think after twenty-five years, I would have at least given it some thought before making the offer. Inviting Mom over for Thanksgiving dinner. What am I, a lunatic? The whole thing was destined for disaster from the beginning (from the moment I opened my big mouth, actually).
The funny thing is, as soon as the Brittany parade went out the door, everyone relaxed and we wound up having a very nice meal together. Dad seemed so relieved just to be out of their sight for a few minutes, and even Audrey appeared to enjoy herself. I couldn’t have asked for a better Thanksgiving dinner—no drama, no yelling, and zero complaining. I can only imagine the horror that would have taken place had Brittany not made such a scene and decided to leave.
Oh, and I bet you’re wondering about the baby. Turns out Brittany wasn’t in labor after all. She had gas. What I would have given to see her face when the doctor gave her that tidbit of information.
Mom left a message on my voice mail yesterday. It was nothing like the messages she had been leaving before (in other words, the “I love Maddie” montage). This one was short and to the point.
“Maddie, this is your mother. We drew names for Christmas. I’ll send yours in the mail.
” Click.
If I could just figure out some way to avoid the whole clan of them at Christmas time, maybe my life would be a lot less stressful. Let’s see… I would have to find an excuse to sneak Dad out, because he would be miserable without me there. It’s bad enough when there’s two of us, but I can’t imagine being poor Dad, the only sane one in the bunch. (There’s always Lance, of course, but he is too closely linked with the madness to ever be able to escape.) It makes me so grateful to have Tucker and Hazel. If I didn’t have a sane home to escape to, I would definitely have to move out of state. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
“What do you think of this one, Maddie?” Audrey asks, pushing a black notebook in front of me. We are spending the morning at the florist, trying to decide on the arrangements for the wedding. The picture she placed in front of me shows the front of the church decorated exclusively with white blooms and green ivy.
“It’s lovely,” I reply, “but it doesn’t exactly match your personality.”
“I just thought it looks classy,” she responds with a sigh.
“Classy is good, but we want a personal touch too, right?”
“Yeah,” she mutters, pulling the book away from me and leafing through it again.
“Is something wrong?” I ask her. She shrugs her shoulders.
“I just wish Derrick was here,” she states sadly.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t be very happy about having to pick the flowers. Maybe he can help you choose the food or the music. Those seem like things a guy would be more interested in.”
“I don’t wish he was here, as in here at the florist. I just wish he was around, so I could talk to him.”
“Isn’t he back from Thanksgiving?” Sliding another notebook away from her and in front of me, I look at some simpler arrangements.
“He was back, but he’s gone on a business trip now.”
Derrick is gone practically all the time, from what Audrey says. Once they’re married, she’ll be spending a lot of time alone. Part of me wonders if she’s really considered the ramifications of all his business travel.
“Well, maybe when he comes back to town we can try to get him involved a little bit,” I suggest.
“That sounds good.”
“In fact, why doesn’t he help you pick the food? When we make the appointment, we’ll make sure he’s free as well.”
Audrey nods her agreement and continues staring at the book in front of her, her finger stuck between pages as she keeps flipping back in a way that indicates that something has caught her interest.
“This is pretty,” I say, holding my book in front of her. “You could make the roses the same as the colors you chose.”
“Yes, it’s pretty,” she states uninterestedly, while I pull the book back in front of me.
Even though Audrey is much better than when I first met her, sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so moody. She really brings me down when she acts like this. I was beginning to become accustomed to her two distinct sides of giddiness and intense sadness. Giddy I could handle, although sometimes it was a little too over-the-top. Intensely sad isn’t exactly fun, but usually I can talk her through it. This new, third mood—sort of melancholy without going over the edge into complete sadness—is difficult to understand. There’s nothing I would like more than to say the right words and have her perk up a bit, but I can’t seem to find them.
“What about this?” I wonder, showing her another picture. “The tulips look classy, but you could get them in the colors you like.” She just resolutely nods her head. “What is that you have your finger on?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”
“Come on, Audrey, let me see it.”
“It’s just something I thought was nice, but it won’t work.”
“It won’t hurt anything to let me see it, though.”
“See?” she says as she relents and opens the book. “It’s just way too—”
“I love it. I think it’s great.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” The picture is of Gerber daisies, very bright and vivid. Audrey’s colors could be easily incorporated. They’re bold and cheerful, and they match the spirit of what a wedding is supposed to be. In my opinion, they’re wonderful.
“You don’t think it’s too bright?” she questions.
“I think it’s perfect. You made an excellent choice.”
Audrey sits back in her chair, admiring the picture with a smile. Maybe that was a good start to bringing her out of her melancholy, but I think I have another idea.
We pull into the parking lot at around 1:00 in the afternoon. Audrey has been a little leery ever since we left the florist, wondering what I’m going to make her do. My response is that she should trust me, but she still seems a little anxious, even though she should know by now that I only have her best interests at heart.
“Beautiful Vision Day Spa?” she blurts. “That’s where you’re taking me?”
“That’s right.”
“What are you going to do, make me get a massage?”
“Something like that.” I open the door to the Tahoe and head toward the day spa with Audrey following close behind.
“It smells funny in here,” she comments.
“It smells like a camping trip,” I inform her. Not that I would know, because I’ve never been camping. My mother would have never done such a thing, but if I was to imagine what camping smelled like, it would be the scent of pine trees and rain hitting the dust.
“Hi, can I help you?” a young woman with a sleek ponytail wonders as she emerges from a side door.
“We’re here to see Tish,” I state, and she tells us to follow her.
“Who’s Tish?” Audrey whispers.
“A friend.” We walk around the corner and into the salon, greeted by the sound of hair dryers and people chatting. Tish spots me from across the room and raises her hand in greeting.
“Hi, Maddie!” she calls. “How’s it going?”
“Great! This is my friend, Audrey.”
Tish is about five years older than me, with dark hair halfway down her back interspersed with streaks of green and blue and a little diamond stud in her nose. We’ve been friends for the last two or three years, after I came here once on a whim to get my hair trimmed. We hit it off and I’ve been coming here ever since.
“What are we doing today, ladies?” she asks, smiling at Audrey.
“Total makeover,” I request, glancing at Audrey to gauge her reaction. She just blinks a couple times and looks at me quizzically. “She’s getting married in a couple of months, and she needs to look absolutely perfect.”
“Congratulations!” Tish gushes, pulling a cape from the wall. “So a total makeover—we’re talking the works?”
“The works,” I agree. “I’ll leave her in your hands.”
“You’re leaving me?” Audrey squeaks.
“Don’t worry, Tish is the greatest. You’re going to love it.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” Audrey wonders, worry evident in her voice.
“I think I might get that massage you mentioned,” I inform her breezily, walking away and leaving her standing in the salon.
I snuck a quick peek at Audrey when I came back to the salon, but she was sitting there reading a magazine with tons of foils on her head. Tish caught my eye and asked if I wanted Audrey’s makeup done, which of course was an affirmative. A total makeover is a total makeover, and I am determined that she will leave here today a different person. Maybe a slightly more polished look will give her self-esteem a boost and will help her be a little more confident.
A total of three hours has passed when Audrey finally walks through the door, and I rise and drop my magazine onto a nearby chair.
“Audrey, is that you?” I ask teasingly, to which she responds by laughing. Her hair is now a lovely caramel-brown with subtle blonde highlights, and it looks sleek and polished. No more tousled dip-dyed mess. She will fit in with the most elegant guests at h
er wedding, and her makeup is perfectly applied. No rosy red cheeks or spider eyelashes.
“What do you think?” I question her.
She smiles and brings her hand up to gently touch her hair. “I love it!”
“As well you should,” I inform her, standing proudly in front of me and looking comfortable in her own skin for the first time since I laid eyes upon her. “You look marvelous.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It’s Friday, and Audrey and I are sitting at a secluded table at the RK Steak and Grill. She is unbelievably excited, mainly because Derrick just got into town last night and agreed to meet us here for lunch to do a food tasting for the wedding. He hasn’t seen Audrey since the big transformation, and I’m afraid she is going to burst with anticipation before he even arrives.
“What do you think he’ll say?” she asks me for at least the fifth time. I glance up at her over my menu and smile.
“He’ll say you look incredible.”
She pretends to look at her menu for a moment, and then brings her eyes up and takes a breath. “But what—”
“Audrey, you asked me already. He’ll be here in a minute, and then you’ll find out for sure.”
She forces her gaze to her menu and begins studying each item intently as I notice someone who looks like the picture she showed me walking around in front of the restaurant.
“Audrey, is that him?” I wonder, and she turns to look in the direction I indicate.
“Yes! Derrick, here we are!”
He slowly walks our way, pulling his cell phone out and looking at it once on the way over. He looks much like his picture—relatively fit, dark hair perfectly held in place, caramel-colored eyes.
“Hey,” he says, pulling out his chair and sitting down. “I didn’t recognize you with the hair.”
Audrey smiles and reaches up to smooth her freshly brown tresses. “Do you like it?” she questions expectantly.
“Looks good,” he mutters, not bothering to even glance in her direction. He picks up his menu and starts browsing through the selections.
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 25
