Made of Honor

by Marilyn Griffith

  “Nothing else I can think of to tell you.”

  Cool. I had nothing else to tell her, either. It’d take a week of sleepless nights to figure out what I was thinking, let alone trying to decipher Adrian’s thoughts. “There’s just one thing.” I retrieved the cheetah from behind the counter. “He bought me this.” What happened to keeping my mouth shut?

  “I knew it! You’d better act right, Dane. This is it.”

  “This is something, that’s for sure.”

  Rochelle counted out six French fries and nibbled them one at a time, like carrots. Though I’d seen her do it before, I watched in amazement, wondering how long it had taken her to get that down to a system. More time than I had, I decided, shoving a handful of fries into my starving mouth. My taste buds sang in my head.

  My joy must have reflected on my face.

  “You are pitiful, you know that? A few fries and you light up like a Christmas tree. A handsome man comes in here, hauls some stuff to your back room and gives you a gift and all you can think about is how it’s going to affect your business.”

  I shrugged, licking the salt off my fingers. They usually didn’t put enough salt on, but someone had known just how bad I needed it. “What else am I supposed to be concerned about? Everybody can’t go from Singleville to becoming the Bachelorette of the Year in one swoop—”

  “I resent that.”

  “Really? I’m glad to hear it. I know this stuff with Jordan is weirding you out, but you’re really scaring me. That dress you wore Sunday was down right obscene…” I scooped a spoonful of chocolate shake to my lips, glad to have something to shove in my mouth besides my foot. Why was I discussing this with Rochelle? I knew she was going through something, but hey, so was I. Several somethings, in fact.

  The fact that no ring had appeared on her finger or that my brother had neglected to surface hadn’t been lost on me. Neither had her sudden surge of desire for a relationship. What I couldn’t understand was why? Did she need someone to want her now? To make her feel pretty again? All she had to do was look into the mirror.

  I stared at the cheetah on top of the cash register. It went deeper than wanting to be pretty. That much I knew. “Have you heard anything else from him?”

  Rochelle turned her back to me, continuing her fry nibbling in silence.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t expect you to understand. There are some things even you can’t get.”

  On the outside again. “So I can’t ‘get it,’ huh? Why, because I’m not a mother? Because I’ve never been almost-married or whatever you and Jordan were?” I guess Trevor’s proposal didn’t give me any points.

  She shoved a box of Coconut Lime body lotions over to the display case. “That about sums it up.”

  Six containers of Banana Berry Mint mask lined the facial cart, all as fresh as when I’d pureed them this morning. Though I’d sell the fruit products as good for twenty-four hours with refrigeration, I wanted to give the cooler a trial run and do some bacteria challenge tests for my own information—now that I knew how to do such things. I should have given my comments to Rochelle a trial run, too. This conversation had taken a turn into the abyss of famous last words.

  And of course, I started it.

  Where is Tracey when I need her?

  Off fighting with her husband instead of fighting with us. Leaving me on the outside of the circle of the wed and/or childbearing. How long would it be before Tracey entered the Mom Club, too? Her bumpy beginning with Ryan didn’t fool me. Tracey was too stubborn to give up on anybody. She was still my friend, wasn’t she? Lord willing, they’d stick, Rochelle and Jordan—or somebody, the way she was acting—would work things out and here I’d be, as always, the last Sistah standing.

  How would I ever survive without them? Really bad, considering how I was cutting up right now. Rochelle stacked on in silence, her perfect placement showing the tangerine-colored bottles from every angle. Her rapid breathing meant she was fuming but too loyal to leave.

  Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up in due time.

  I shoved another mouthful of shake down my throat to cool my burning thoughts. Humility? Again? People who thought Christians were wimps had another thing coming. It was hard. Crazy hard.

  Rochelle caught me staring off into space. “Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to do some work? There’s a lot to do here and I have to go get Jericho from basketball in a couple hours. I don’t have to be here.” Rochelle sniffed and righted the last bottle of lotion on the top shelf of the three-tiered display. I’d wanted them down on the table, but she’d insisted everything be eye level or above. And she was right.

  As usual.

  I opened my mouth again, but not for chocolate this time. Rather for a heaping dose of humble pie. I was determined to swallow, no matter how bad it tasted. Hopefully, she’d go easy on me. “I know you don’t have to be here.” I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders, careful not to touch her skin in case some lye from earlier might have snuck under my fingernails. I’d gone to scratch my back after a batch once and almost killed myself.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me the past few months. You’re always here for everybody. Me. Tracey. Jericho. Tracey’s wedding totally rocked and it wouldn’t even have happened if not for you. Shoot, Tracey probably would have forgotten to show up. But you made it possible, because that’s what you do—look out for people and it’s okay for you to look out for yourself, too. I guess I’m—well, I guess I’m just a little left out, you know?”

  Rochelle nodded. “Yeah. We’ve all done everything together for a long time. It feels real weird that Tracey isn’t here today. Opening this shop…”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I knew there was too many fries for some reason.”

  “You two are some eating fools.” She shook her head. “But I know what you mean about feeling left out. Right now, my son has locked me out of his life while he waits for his ‘Dad’ to arrive. Tracey has moved on…and you—”

  Me? “What? I’m still the same. Nothing’s changed.”

  Rochelle swallowed hard and looked up at the chandelier, then around at the slowly filling shelves. “Everything’s changed, baby girl. You just don’t know it yet.”

  The grand opening wasn’t exactly grand, probably because I was comparing Wonderfully Made’s one little, two little, three little customers with the line of giggling women spilling onto Adrian’s sidewalk. I did manage to snag a few browsers who wanted to buy everything in the store—at a discount.

  Brides. Mothers-of-the-Bride. Wedding planners. Even a few grooms. They’d come in small but steady numbers looking for favors for their weddings. I could just imagine the possible impetus of this phenomenon—Renee waving one of my baskets and comparing the prices with her latest Fingerhut catalog.

  “Can I get this in lavender? This salt scrub?”

  I gritted my teeth at the silver-haired matriarch, so much like my mother would have been. “No. That’s the bottle for the Plumeria products. The lavender is a much lighter shade. If you’d—”

  “This is lavender. That’s lilac. Brook’s wedding colors are not lilac. Can’t you just pour that into some of these bottles and put her name on this cute label?”

  Oh, fun. “I’m really not set up to do personalized favors. My printer—”

  “I’ll pay extra and we’ll take all that you have here for the spa party with the bridesmaids.” She fumbled with a large Mount Blanc pen. “What do you say?”

  What could I say? To have any hope of paying Rochelle back, I needed to sell as much as possible. “Sold. Let’s step over here to work out the details. Can you spell Brook’s last name here…”

  The morning continued like that, bargains struck and checks written, all for projects I hadn’t planned on. As much as I appreciated the business, the glee and glow of the soon-to-be-wed, and their uptight family members, was do
ing damage to my nerves. Could anybody be that happy? And for how long? Tracey had smiled like that, too.

  Days turned in my devotional Bible, each one dotted with little sleep and much stress as the exacting wedding planners and haggling mothers-in-law flooded my shelves.

  As much as I wanted to go berserk over Jordan and confront Rochelle, I didn’t have time. I’d seen her at church last Wednesday night, tripping up the step in a new pair of shoes—lime green. Her guilty color. Though she waved and ran on, I figured Rochelle had probably seen Jordan and didn’t want to feel bad because he still hadn’t bothered to contact me. Her contrition was thoughtful, but unnecessary. My brother and I hadn’t been close. Though I’d prayed for this time to be different, there was no use breaking the rules now.

  Adrian had been a curiosity, too, working hard outselling me, and spending the rest of his time trying to hook up with me and talk business. Though I knew we needed to be getting together, strategizing, I knew that neither of us would be thinking of marketing if we were within a foot of each other. What I didn’t know was where I wanted those feelings to go. But like I said, such things would have to wait for when I had time to think about them.

  For now, I went to work and to church—on slow days, I slipped off to noonday prayer. Those retirees know how to pray. I hadn’t had time to touch the phone outside of business…or the computer, thanks to Tracey handling my Web site and covering my devotionals. Being out of touch was great, in a way. I’d forgotten what it was like to just pray and sing all by myself. Like it was when I first got saved and Rochelle was busy with her business and Tracey was in school for the tenth time, before finally hitting upon her call in life, graphic design.

  I took a deep breath and took my church dress out of the closet, hoping it would be looser since the last time I wore it. I slipped it over my head, noticing at once the grip the sleeves had on my shoulders.

  Tighter, not looser.

  I frowned, thinking of Tracey, who’d given me this outfit when she’d abandoned her flab. Amazing what affect Ryan had on her. When I’d dated him, he’d driven me so nuts, I was on a first-name basis with the pizza man. Tracey, on the other hand, was so in love she’d forgotten to eat…or so she said. Whatever the case, she’d sure looked good in that wedding gown. And here I was about to explode out of another dress.

  I’d been doing okay with my eating, but couldn’t seem to squeeze in time to get to the gym. The blistering cold kept me from my summer walks and work seemed to beckon from every corner. Gone were the days where excess pounds dropped off in a week or a month. Less than a year shy of thirty, I had to fight to lose even an ounce. And at this time of the month, it was pretty much a lost cause.

  Shoving back my closet door, I stared at the satin cemetery of bridesmaids gowns in the back—ten dresses in a rainbow of pastels, peach, lavender and robin’s egg blue. A lovely canary yellow that had actually looked good on me. The last, a shocking pink with a ruffled skirt, sported two slits down the sides.

  Remembering it was the third Sunday and the choir needed to dress the same, I reached for a black wrap-around skirt and white blouse, both in a size I’d vowed never to wear again.

  Why’d you keep them, then?

  Just in case, the same reason I still had my hope chest full of dishes that Mama had given to Adrian and me. The thought made me a little queasy. I’d have to get rid of that. It was just weird.

  I stared at the clock. Six-thirty. At noonday prayer on Friday, I’d promised Mother Holly I’d pick her up for church this morning. Did she go to the early service? I’d forgotten to ask. I’d been too busy soaking up her powerful prayers for my situation with Jordan and Rochelle. I didn’t give the details, but having been my mother’s friend, she knew enough to read between the lines.

  “Don’t worry about it, baby,” she’d said in that singsong voice of hers. “You just do your thing. Keep your eyes on Jesus. He’s got this.”

  I smiled at the thought, both knowing and wondering if she was right. He did have this thing, didn’t He? ’Cause I didn’t.

  Peeling off the tight-sleeved dress, I smoothed my skirt down over my stockings, then tucked my blouse into the flexible waistband.

  Ahh…much better.

  Nothing like elastic when you bloat up like the Good Ship Lollipop.

  The phone rang, interrupting my silly thoughts. I walked toward it, put my hand on the receiver, but didn’t pick up. Surely Rochelle wouldn’t choose now to try and “get things straight” as she had on many other Sunday mornings. Nah. Maybe later, after her solo, when she felt especially holy.

  What about Adrian? Besides our inopportune run-ins in the business owners’ parking lot and my constant glances across the street, e-mail had been our only contact. And even that proved more than I could deal with. Three messages from him awaited my reply.

  “You have reached Dana Rose. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Leave a message and have a blessed day.”

  “Dane! It’s Tracey. I know you’re there. Probably standing up in your stockings talking to yourself. Pick up! I—”

  She knew me so well. “What is it, silly? And I’m not talking to myself. I’m thinking, thank you.”

  “Mmm-hmm. In your stockings.”

  I shrugged, staring down at my toes peeking through the black sheer. No sense arguing the obvious. “How’ve you been? Things any better?”

  Tracey didn’t respond. I slipped my foot in one shoe and waited, growing concerned with the lengthening silence. When there was something big to tell, Tracey went quiet on you. Surely their marriage hadn’t gone totally sour in two months? “Tracey? Is everything okay?”

  Sobs poured through the phone. “No…it’s not…okay.”

  I stared at the clock. Six forty-two. Mother Holly wasn’t going to make it to the early service. Neither was I. “Take your time, hon. Whatever it is, we can work it out. God can work it out.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  I could imagine Tracey nodding, tears trailing under her chin. Besides her laughing capabilities, she was a great crier, too. Should have been an actress. Only these tears were all too real.

  “Just say it. I’m here.”

  “I’m…I’m…”

  My neck rotated in circles as if I could make her spit it out. “Yes?”

  “I’m pregnant!”

  I let out a long breath. “Wow.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Oh, no, there’s a lot more I could say, but I’ll hold my tongue for now.

  Rochelle is going to blow.

  “I’m so happy for you, Tracey.” And I meant it. I think. A baby. I so did not see that coming.

  “Are you, really? Happy for me, I mean?” Another sniff.

  “Really.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring into my closet. Who knew? Maybe this would be the thing to help them get closer. I doubted it, but maybe. “Aren’t you happy, too? I know it’s not the best time, but you both want children.”

  Her voice turned to a whisper. “I know. It’s just—I’m scared, Dana. Ryan seems happy about it and everything, but I feel the munchies coming on and you know how fast I can gain—”

  Boy did I. Nobody could gain or lose weight like Tracey. I maintained a steady up creep to keep things interesting, but over the years, Trace had earned stock in everything from Deal-A-Meal to Jenny Craig, only to drop it all when she finally fell in love. Still, I was surprised that weight was her main concern.

  “You’ll be fine. Just walk the block. Eat some fruit and veggies every day and don’t overdo.” Good advice. Why didn’t I take it?

  “That’s easy for you to say, Dane. You always look good.”

  I tapped the receiver. Was this thing on, or had my just-married-now-pregnant friend lost the last bit of her mind? “You called Dana, not Rochelle. Dana.”

  “I know who I’m talking to. Rochelle is too skinny to live. You’re a great size. You just insist on buying clothes that don’t fit and make you look bigger than you are.
You’re beautiful. And those eyes? Man. I was so afraid Ryan still liked you. Really afraid.”

  Whoa. What was this, Black Confessions? I could only take so much. “Afraid? Of me? Trace, you’re like a genius, you dress like a goddess and you’re so nice. Everybody loves you. Everybody.”

  She sniffed again. “Not everybody. It’s horrible out here. Everybody at church has kids. All the women are perfect. Just perfect. A bunch of stay-at-home moms—”

  I rubbed my eyes, suddenly feeling very sleepy. “But that’s what you want to be, remember? You’ll be perfect, too. The best mom ever. Now go back to sleep.”

  “Sleep? Ha. I can’t. I have to run to the bathroom every ten minutes and then I get thirsty. Then I’m hungry, then I get sleepy and right when I nod off, and it starts all over again. I—”

  “Tracey.” For all my friend’s bubbliness, she had a manic side, too, the side I’d considered dousing with punch at her reception. Getting her to stop this hysteria wouldn’t be easy. “Let’s pray.”

  “Okay. You go.”

  Of course. “Lord, You said that children are a blessing from You. Thank You for giving Tracey and Ryan this gift. Help her to stay calm to trust You and do the things she knows to do. Give her the peace that passes all understanding.”

  She sighed through the receiver. “That was soo-oo-o good. Peace that passes all understanding. You always know just what to say.”

  I groaned. “It’s in the Bible, Tracey.” She always made it sound like I’d made some Shakespearian performance every time I prayed. Her kid would have disgustingly high self-esteem. She’d probably cheer every time she changed a diaper.

  “I know, but you just say it so well.”

  “Whatever. Look, I’ve got to go. Your church doesn’t start until eleven, right?”