Better Than Your Dreams

by Dee Ernst

  I shook my head again. “No, honey. Ben and I would have had the same conversation even if you and David had never met. With everything that’s coming up in the next few months, Ben and I aren’t going to have the time we need to figure our situation out, so we’re going to slow things down. That’s all.” I pointed my fork at Miranda. “As for you and David, I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for any of you girls. So if you think David Cutler can make you happy, I’m behind you. I don’t particularly like it, but I since I couldn’t stop you anyway, I promise I’ll try to get with the program, okay?”

  She got up and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Mom. And I’m sorry about Ben.”

  “Don’t be sorry yet. This isn’t the end for us. It’s just a little time-out.” I stuffed more bacon into my mouth and prayed my words were true.

  Lily dropped another waffle onto my plate. “I invited Carmella Ciavaglia over for lunch,” she announced. “I’ll make chicken pot pie.”

  I inhaled deeply and reached for more syrup. “Who?” Not that I really cared. Lily’s chicken pot pie was worth the most boring of lunch guests.

  “Carmella. Vincent’s daughter. She’s a wedding planner, remember?”

  “Aunt Lily, David and I can’t afford a wedding planner,” Miranda said.

  Lily waved a hand, coral nails flashing. “My gift to you,” she said airily. “She’s already hard to work on my plans. Besides, it’s going to be tough to throw this together on such short notice, especially with you up in Boston until December. Mona, you won’t mind the help, will you?”

  I shook my head, my mouth too busy chewing for speech. My oldest daughter was getting married in two months. I needed all the help I could get. Even from someone named Carmella.

  “Thank you so much, Aunt Lily. But like I said, it’s not going to be a big deal,” Miranda said. “We want something small.”

  “True,” I said. “But you still need bridesmaids and rings and a dress and a place to get married. And food. Maybe music.”

  “No bridesmaids,” Miranda said. “Jess and Lauren will be my maids of honor, Ethan is best man, and Tyler will be the ring bearer.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Tyler?”

  Miranda grinned. “Well, Dad called this morning. Dominique’s idea, of course. She wants him in a tiny tux.”

  I pictured his sturdy little body wrapped in a cumberbund and almost smiled. “He’ll look adorable. But remember, he’s going to be two. You’ll probably have to hold his hand as he walks down the aisle.” I glanced at Lily. “Are you planning on a ring bearer too?”

  She shook her head. “No. We’re going to be more streamlined than Miranda. Just the two of us, with you and Joe standing up for us.”

  “Joe? Your buddy Joe?” The well-known Mafia don?

  “Of course,” she answered. “After all, it was Joe who brought Vinnie and me together in the first place.”

  “With a priest?” I asked. As far as I knew, Lily had a very flexible relationship with God. She and my father had both been raised Catholic, and she once confessed to me that she had thought about becoming a nun. She also went to temple with her Jewish husband, spent time in India studying with a guru, and most recently had been frequenting the Center for Spiritual Purity off Route 22.

  She leaned her hip against the counter. “Actually, yes. Vincent is very old-fashioned that way. You know I don’t believe in organized religion, but he seems to have a friend who’s a Catholic bishop.”

  “Nice friend to have,” I said. Surely there would be no wedding violence with a bishop on the scene, right?

  She nodded. “Yes. I don’t mind him being at the ceremony, really. I’m just hoping to avoid lightning and possibly brimstone.”

  Lauren giggled. “Really?”

  Lily winked. “I’ve lived a long life, ladies. Well, must get dressed.” And she sailed out of the room.

  Jessica started loading the dishwasher. “She has got to be the coolest old lady ever.”

  I had to agree.

  Carmella Ciavaglia arrived exactly on time. She parked her shiny Mercedes in the driveway and knocked on the kitchen door. Like family. Which, I guess, she would be.

  She did not look like a Mafia don’s niece. She looked like a Mafia don’s daughter, as played by a very sexy forty-something actress. She was stunning—glossy black hair, red lips, big, dark eyes, high cheekbones. She was short but built, as we used to say, like a brick shithouse. Underneath a mink coat, she was dressed in a clingy blue dress. She was wearing stilettos, no stockings, and had a thick gold cross hanging from an equally thick gold chain around her neck.

  She also had a gold watch with a dial the size of a dessert plate on one wrist, and several chunky gold bangles on the other wrist. She clanked faintly as she shook hands with me. Lily got a hug and kisses on both cheeks. How cozy.

  She stood in front of Miranda, grabbed her by both hands, and sighed. “You’ll be such a gorgeous bride,” she cried. She dropped her hands, sat down, then hauled a large purple handbag onto the kitchen table. “Let’s start. We need ideas.”

  Since I’d never worked with a wedding planner before, I was naturally curious to see how this would play out. I sat next to Miranda and watched as Carmella pulled several things out of her tote, which was the Coach version of the classic clown car. She finally grabbed a fat silver pen and opened to a page in a bright pink moleskin notebook.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  Miranda blinked. “Tell you what?”

  “Your perfect wedding! Every single dream you’ve ever had.”

  Miranda glanced at me, then frowned, thinking. “I always thought the beach in Bermuda would be a good place to get married. I’d ride in on a white horse, barefoot, wearing a raw silk slip dress with pale pink roses in my hair,” she said slowly.

  Carmella scribbled furiously. “Excellent! We can do that!”

  “No,” I said quickly. “We can’t. They’re getting married in two months, are paying for it themselves, and want small.”

  Carmella frowned and drew big slashes in her notebook, then turned the page. “Okay. Forget perfect. Forget dream. Are you knocked up?”

  “No,” Miranda said quickly.

  “Then what’s the rush? Listen, honey, weddings take time,” Carmella said.

  I fought down a smile. Could this woman possibly change my daughter’s mind about this whole thing? After all, she was a stranger. Her opinion would matter much more to Miranda than mine.

  Aunt Lily sat down. “Young love,” she explained. “And that’s why we need your help. A mere mortal could never pull off a spectacular wedding on such short notice.”

  Carmella smiled smugly. “Yes, well, I am considered a miracle worker. You want to stay in Jersey?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “How many in the bridal party?”

  “My twin sisters are my attendants. David’s brother will be his best man. Oh, and my baby brother as ring bearer.”

  “Oh, how adorable. How old?”

  “He’ll be two.”

  Carmella shook her head. “Are you sure? ’Cause I gotta tell you, little kids in a wedding are a real pain in the ass.”

  Miranda lifted her shoulders and let them drop with a sigh. “I’m sure.”

  “Weighed against the adorable factor,” I said, “it’s pretty much a draw.”

  Carmella was scribbling again. “What’s the parent situation?”

  “My mom, David’s dad, my dad, and his, ah, person he’s living with.”

  Carmella threw me a glance. “She the baby-mama?”

  “That’s one way to describe her,” Lily said, “though not my preferred—”

  “Aunt Lily,” I said sharply.

  She smiled sweetly.

  Carmella stopped her scribbling. “Okay. So, we need a venue for the reception. What about the ceremony. Church, temple, what are we lookin’ at here?”

  “David is speaking to his priest.”

  Carmella nodded. “Good. S
o how come the groom isn’t here?”

  Miranda glanced at me. “He and his father will be here in a little bit. For lunch.”

  I didn’t know that. I wasn’t quite ready to see Ben yet. I was still absorbing our decision to “take time.”

  Carmella, watching me, must have seen something cross my face. She tapped the pen against her cheek. “So, what’s the story with the groom? Or is it the father?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly.

  Carmella leaned forward. “Listen, honey, I’ve been doing this a long time. Families are very complicated things, and the parents usually provide more drama than the bride and groom. Tell me now. You can’t shock me. There is no bizarre situation I haven’t seen. Forewarned is forearmed in this business. The more I know now, the fewer embarrassing moments there will be later on.”

  I cleared my throat. “David’s father, Ben, has been…well, that is, we’ve been…you know—”

  “Good for you, Mona,” Carmella said. “Glad to know you’re getting a little.”

  “She didn’t get any last night,” Lily said.

  “Aunt Lily!”

  “Well, you didn’t,” Lily said.

  I leaned forward. “We were,” I said to Carmella. “But not now.”

  Carmella sighed. “See,” she said to Miranda, dropping her voice. “Drama.”

  Miranda glared at me.

  “Mona, take a little advice from a seasoned pro.” Carmella leaned toward me, and as she did, her boobs kind of jumped up into the low-cut neckline of her dress. I stared, waiting for them to roll out onto the table, then moved my eyes to meet hers. “Weddings, even the simplest and, you would think, easiest, bring about great changes, and I’m not just talking about the two people getting married. It makes everyone involved rethink love, commitment, all that happy crap. It looks like you’re confused about this guy. Are you? Because if you are, planning this wedding is not going to make things easier for you.”

  Lily rose from the table. “Oh, dear,” she said.

  Miranda smiled brightly. “So…”

  Carmella went back to work. “How many people were you thinking?”

  Miranda shrugged. “No more than fifty, I would think. Mom?”

  “Well, it depends on how many friends you and David want to invite. I know that the Cutler family is rather large, but since most of your cousins would never think to come, fifty sounds right. This is a you-and-David decision.”

  She nodded.

  “Let me know ASAP,” Carmella said. “Since we gotta find you a room.” She frowned, her perfectly plucked brows coming together. “Instead of a hotel or someplace like that, there are a few small museums around with nice space. Something like that sound okay?”

  Miranda brightened. “That sounds great. Instead of a sit-down formal dinner, we’d like a buffet. And a wine bar.”

  Carmella went back to scribbling. “’Kay. Great. Band? Deejay? What about flowers? Favors?”

  Miranda put on her thinking face. “Deejay. White roses with lots of green ferns, for me to carry. And for the tables, maybe potted ferns in little white pots, clustered around big white candles. The ferns could be the favors.”

  “Cute idea.” Carmella glanced up at me. “You crafty?”

  “When I have to be,” I said.

  “Whatev. So, this is good. We’ll wait for the groom, what’s his name—David. And Ben.” Carmella sat back and smiled.

  That was when the back door opened, Miranda sprang up to give David a hug, and in walked Ben, looking so handsome and sexy in a dark blue sweater and faded jeans that I almost choked. Yesterday I would have wrapped my arms around him and known he was all mine. Today I had to smile and nod. It was the hardest thing I had had to do in a very long time.

  Miranda was introducing Carmella, and there, right before my eyes, the current in the room completely changed. Carmella lingered over her handshake, touched Ben lightly on the shoulder, and had him laughing in under twenty seconds.

  The woman had a certain style. Lucky for me, I knew that Ben would never fall for her charms.

  Right?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  YES, AUNT LILY’S CHICKEN POTPIE was delicious. So was the salad of mixed baby greens with homemade vinaigrette. And the flakey apple tarts from Bettinger’s bakery were to die for.

  It was the most awkward and uncomfortable luncheon of my life.

  Ben was charming (as always) and funny (as always) and had Carmella completely in his thrall. He didn’t know it, of course. In the years I’d known him, he had been completely oblivious to the effect he had on woman. One deep, sexy laugh, a few nods of that handsome head, a casual wave of those strong, beautifully formed hands, and they fell at his feet.

  Carmella Ciavaglia was obviously enjoying the view from down there.

  Lauren and Jessica joined us. I had to hand it to Carmella; she worked all through lunch, taking notes, her silver pen flashing as often as her brilliant smile. Guest list—up to seventy people. Tuxes for the guys—downgraded to navy three-piece suits. Dresses for the twins—their choice, just simple and matching in whatever color they chose. Miranda’s dress—off the rack at a great place Carmella knew of, where we would be treated, she assured us, like royalty.

  Lily beamed. “I’ll go with you. I need something too, you know. After all, I’m a bride-to-be as well!”

  Heavens. I kept forgetting that.

  I couldn’t look at Ben. Here I was, surrounded by the most unlikely brides-to-be, when, in a world where I did not feel so afraid, I should be the bride. I felt that tightening in my chest again.

  “What kind of dress are you looking for?” Jessica asked. Of all my three girls, she was enjoying Lily’s upcoming nuptials the most. “I say go for something bold—how about red?” Jess had a rather warped sense of humor.

  Lily, dressed today in a multicolored blouse tucked into black pants with orange ballet flats, looked thoughtful. “No, not red. But for spring, I was thinking pink? And an armful of white tulips. Can we do that, Carmella?”

  “Of course. We can do anything.” Carmella put down her pen and sat back. “I imagine the best time to go dress shopping would be during your Thanksgiving break, Miranda. Not Black Friday, of course. Saturday would be more bearable. Shall I set something up?”

  Miranda nodded. “That would be perfect.”

  “And what about the gentlemen?” Carmella said, her voice dropping to almost a purr. “I’d be happy to set something up for you too. Just say the word. I know a fabulous shop in Bay Ridge. Dad gets all his suits there. We could make a day of it—fittings, then lunch.”

  David frowned. “Fittings for what?”

  “David, I know you’re on a budget, but I’m sure I could get you a great deal on a suit.”

  “Can’t we just go to the mall?” David asked.

  Carmella raised her eyebrows and turned to Ben. “Surely you want to look your best on your son’s wedding day?”

  Ben chuckled. “I do. There’s actually a little men’s shop right here in town. We’re good. But thanks for the offer, Carmella. It’s very generous.”

  She leaned forward, allowing her boobs to bounce up like matzo balls bubbling to the surface of chicken soup. “Generous is what I do,” she said, smiling.

  Ben smiled back. “I’m sure.”

  Oh, my God. Was he really falling for that? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and strictly speaking, we hadn’t even broken up, and already he was letting this woman sharpen her claws instead of warning her to draw them back in. Maybe I shouldn’t have been feeling quite so sure of myself.

  Miranda kissed David on the cheek. “You’ll look amazing no matter what you wear,” she said.

  David kissed her back. “You too.”

  They were so sure of themselves, so confident in their feelings for each other. Just like Ben and I had been just yesterday. I finally looked over at Ben, and he was watching David and Miranda too, with a wistful, slightly sad expression on his face. Was he thinking the same
thing? I hoped he was.

  “Speaking of Thanksgiving,” Lily said, “we need to figure that out.”

  I’d been stabbing what was left of my tart with my fork. “Figure what out?” I asked.

  Lily shrugged. “Well, there’s Vincent and his family now. I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with him, naturally, as well as with you and your usual crowd.” She waved a hand at Carmella. “Mona always has the most fun dinners here. Very unusual guests. How do holidays work in your family, Carmella?”

  Everyone at the table looked at Carmella. Yes, how did a known organized-crime family celebrate the most American of all holidays?

  “Everyone comes to my house,” she said. “But there’s not a big crowd. My sister Assunta is in Santa Monica, and Vincenza is down in West Palm, and their kids are scattered everywhere. So there’s just Dad and me and my boys. There’s the occasional cousin, but we usually keep it small. This year, of course, Dad asked about inviting Lily. And, of course, Mona, and your lovely daughters.” She smiled. “Would you all like to come out to Brooklyn for Thanksgiving?”

  “But, Mom,” Miranda said, “I thought David would be here this year. And Ben and Ethan.”

  The year that Brian left me, I had invited Ben to share Thanksgiving with my recently broken family. Since then we had not shared the holiday again, for various reasons. The next year, Ben and the boys went down to spend the weekend with the boys’ grandmother, because she had just been diagnosed with cancer. The year after that, my ex-mother-in-law invited the girls and me out to Brooklyn. Then Dominique had a baby boy, and the girls all wanted to spend Thanksgiving with them, and I had been invited. I didn’t want to appear to be a bitch, so I said yes. Last year David got an invitation to ski out in Colorado for the whole week, and Ben and Ethan went along.

  I looked at Ben. “Of course you’re invited,” I told him.

  He smiled. “Why, thank you, Mona. The boys and I will be delighted. What can we bring?”

  Why was he being so polite? Almost formal? Like he hadn’t eaten dinner in my house hundreds of times before, always bringing wine or flowers or a box of cookies from my favorite bakery? And then I saw, quite clearly, that he was detaching himself. He was no longer making assumptions about his place in my life. He had said he wanted distance. And this was his way of doing that.