Harper and Liz stopped and looked around in shock. There was a large banner on the opposite wall that read “Congratulations Lizzy and William!” and a table filled with brightly wrapped gifts. The guests were wearing sparkly hats and popping noisemakers. A few mischievous teenage boys threw confetti on them until William glared at them and they ran the other direction. Liz kept hold of Harper’s hand but used her other to shake hands and hug what felt like every person in the place.
She introduced them all to Harper but he only retained a few names and by the end, he felt like he’d been barraged by Billys, Bobbys, Jimmys and women who seemed to have more than one name for a reason he could not comprehend. He was asked how married life was treating him by Sarah Grace and Anna Beth, and told he was lucky to marry a southern woman by an old lady named Betty Lou. There was also a Charlotte Kate, a Katie Charlotte, and no fewer than three Virginia Anns.
Finally, Liz was asked to dance by a neighbor the age of her father. Will smiled and told her to have fun and gladly took the moment to regain his equilibrium. He looked around at the bare wood walls. There were signed pictures of famous and some not-so-famous musicians framed between various hubcaps and license plates from several states.
The building was fairly large and full, so full that Will felt like he was in a nightclub in New York. Only there it would at least have been dark and he could sit in the corner anonymously. Here, the lights were almost fully lit and everyone seemed to know Elizabeth, and by extension wanted to know him, too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaken so many hands and smiled at so many strangers. Being congenial with new acquaintances was not his usual M.O., but he was playing the part of the besotted newlywed and he was determined to play it well.
Joshua Powell, the first person they’d met when they arrived and Laura Powell’s younger brother, was on stage, playing guitar and singing in a white cowboy hat. Lizzy was running around the floor in a circle and twirling, doing something she called the two-step. He had no idea what this was, but she seemed to be having fun. She had on a huge smile and was laughing heartily at whatever her partner had just said. She'd barely looked at him since they got there, standing by his side and acting the happy-newlywed part while he knew she was still angry with him, then running off on her own to visit with old friends.
“Thanks, everybody. Glad to see y’all dancing and having a good time.” Powell’s voice rose over the noise of the crowd. “Y'all may not have noticed, but we have an old friend in the house tonight.” A cheer erupted through the building. “Lizzy Barrett, walk your sweet self up here and give everybody a good look at you.” Applause and shouts filled the space while Lizzy walked up the three steps on the side of the stage. She was blushing, but otherwise seemed completely at ease.
“What do y'all say we get her to sing us a song or two?” The audience roared while Lizzy shook her head and smiled. “Come on now, Lizzy-Mae, you can't let down the crowd. They came all this way to be entertained.”
“Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?” Lizzy asked with both hands on her hips.
“Come on now. You know you want to. For old time's sake.” He gave her a hundred-watt smile and then turned a cocky grin to the audience.
She let out a sigh and grabbed the microphone, a cheer going up on the dance floor. “What are we singing?”
“How about we go Pickin' Wild Flowers?” he answered as he plucked a melody on the guitar.
Lizzy raised a brow that he matched perfectly. She shook her head and grinned, then started tapping her foot to the rhythm.
Harper's brows shot up to his hairline when he saw Liz give Josh a flirtatious grin as he sang the suggestive lyrics. The same flirtatious grin she gave him.
When Josh reached out to grab her by the waist and pull her closer as he sang, Harper clenched his jaw. Lizzy sang the chorus with him, her sweet voice lilting in an accent he'd never heard from her before. He'd heard her sing around the house, but not like this. Her hips swayed as she walked around Josh, one hand trailing across his broad shoulders. William’s collar felt tight. As the lyrics became progressively more evocative, Harper had to fight the urge to yank Liz off the stage and send Mr. Powell a message he wouldn’t soon forget.
Before he had a chance to act on any of his baser instincts, the song dwindled off and Powell started to speak.
“Lizzy here wants to sing us a little song. Y'all give her a big hand.”
Applause filled the room and Harper reluctantly clapped along, smiling stiffly at the faces watching him.
“This is a little song for a friend of mine. You know who you are.”
She smiled at the audience, then caught Will's eye and winked.
Oh, no, he thought.
The drummer hammered out an upbeat rhythm as the men in the band sang backup.
Oh God, thought Will. She sang about a Cowboy Casanova, a song detailing the tricks of a man who made women fall in love with him and then left them high and dry. He rubbed his temples for a moment and then made his way to the men’s room.
Harper managed to hold it together as Liz sang one more song and left the stage. He ended up spending the rest of the evening talking to an old man who insisted on telling him all about his crop rotation and how they “used to do things” when he was young.
Finally, the night ended and Neal drove everyone back to the house. Will silently followed Liz upstairs to their room while the sisters called out sleepy goodnights to each other.
“I’m going to go clean up,” Liz said tiredly as she grabbed a bag and her pajamas and left the room. He was tired and wished he could sleep, but the smell of fried food and cigarettes was too strong to ignore. He checked email again until he heard the shower turn off and Liz came in with wet hair and blue pajamas a few minutes later.
“Shower’s free,” she said dully. She sat down on the bed and rubbed moisturizer into her skin.
“Thanks.”
Will gathered his things and went to the bathroom, wondering how long this stalemate with Liz would last. She seemed to have gone from being angry at him to simply ignoring him. Maybe she was close to getting over it? As he thought about this while he soaped up, he came to a conclusion. This couldn’t go on. If she didn’t want to talk to him, then fine. He’d quit talking to her, too. Two could play that game.
She was planning on spending the entire day tomorrow cooking with her mother anyway, so it wouldn’t be too hard to avoid her. With his plan set, he dried off, pulled on his pajamas and slipped back into the hall and through the door to their room. Liz had left a small light on for him, Well, at least that’s something, and he flipped it off and climbed into bed beside her. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since their wedding night, and that one had been significantly larger.
He tried not to touch her and lay as close to the edge as he could. He could hear her even breathing and smell her lotion as it made its way to his side of the bed. Determined to ignore her and her sweet smell, he rolled over and tried to go to sleep. He stared at the wall for a while, then lay on his back and closed his eyes, attempting to still his mind.
This wasn’t working. Being mad at Liz was exhausting. For one thing, no matter how much she ignored him, she was still there. Still perky and charming and a little bit weird and completely endearing, though he would never have put it that way. But examining his own feelings, now that he wasn’t distracted with phone calls and mergers and clients to keep happy, he could admit that he was very fond of Liz and that they’d developed a relationship that he genuinely enjoyed. It was all the companionship of a girlfriend without any of the pressure of serious expectations. He missed her. The talks, the food, the affection. She was a warm person and once that warmth had been turned off, he’d felt it acutely.
There had to be a way to fix this. What was she even mad about, anyway? She didn’t even know Sandra. Did she think he’d raised her hopes and done a runner? Well, he hadn’t. He’d been genuinely fond of Sandra. But it would never have worked. Surely she saw th
at? Sandra hadn’t even seemed that upset when things ended. They’d drifted apart, and they’d never exchanged any promises or declarations of love. She wanted a quiet life in the country with a house full of kids and dogs and he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps. She had no desire to travel all over doing business deals with him and would have been lonely in England on her own. He couldn’t begin to imagine her in New York City. She would have hated it.
Oh, sod it! He was never going to figure out what Liz was so mad about.
Just as he was wrestling with the blankets in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, he heard Liz sigh.
“Liz?” he asked quietly. “Are you awake?”
“No, I’m talking in my sleep,” she answered.
He lifted his head and propped himself up on one elbow, the other arm going out to grab Liz’s shoulder and turn her around so he could see her face.
“That’s it! Enough! This is ridiculous. Either tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist and let’s have it out, or stop acting like a poor, put-upon baby!”
She looked at him with wide eyes, then sat up and pulled the blanket over her chest.
“All right, fine. I think you’re a snob.”
“That’s it?” he asked incredulously.
“That’s the beginning.”
“And the ending? The middle?”
She sighed and pursed her lips, looked away, and finally looked back at him after a few heavy moments.
“You use people. You used Sandra and you’re using me. Granted, you’re paying me and I agreed to it, but still. I don’t like the feeling of indentured servitude.”
She looked away again and he studied the side of her face, reeling slightly from her words.
“You think I use people?” he asked, his voice slightly higher pitch than normal.
“Don’t you?”
“No one’s ever complained before.”
She just looked away again and sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“Liz, is this about you, or about Sandra?”
“Both, I suppose. How could you do that to her? Didn’t she matter at all to you? Or were you just having fun? Did her feelings come into play at all in your thought process?”
“Actually, yes, they did, which is why we mutually agreed on a break-up and still keep in touch, albeit sparingly. She’s very happy in her life. Her husband is a great bloke. It all worked out for the best, surely you see that?”
She looked at him skeptically. “Did you break up with her because you grew apart, or because she wasn’t socially acceptable?”
“Honestly?”
She nodded.
“A little of both. I suppose that if we hadn’t grown apart we would have continued on a little longer.”
“What if you’d stayed together? What if you did exchange promises and loved each other? What then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, would you still have broken up with her if you’d loved her? Would it have been enough to overcome your differences and your doubts?”
“I like to think I’m capable of the kind of passion it would require to go against my family and everyone’s expectations and marry a woman I loved for no other reason than because I loved her. But I have never felt that before, so I can’t rightly say. Maybe I never will. Who knows?”
She looked at him a little sadly, and for a horrible moment he thought she was going to cry. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough,” she said softly.
He reached up and brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “I suppose that’s true. But maybe it is. I’ll let you know if I ever find out.”
She smiled weakly and took a sip of the water on her nightstand. “Will?”
“Yes, Lizzy?”
“Would you be against a little cuddling?”
“Not at all. Come here.” He pulled her over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, her head coming to rest on his chest comfortably. God, I’ve missed this.
“Night, Will.”
“Night, Lizzy.” He kissed the top of her head and in a matter of minutes, they were both sleeping peacefully.
*
The next morning, Will woke up alone. All sorts of warm pleasant smells had found their way upstairs. He sniffed appreciatively and quickly threw on jeans and a J. Crew T-shirt. Liz had told him to dress casually. He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and ran a comb through his hair before heading downstairs to the kitchen.
Heather was mixing something white and fluffy in a large bowl while Tiffany stood next to her chopping celery. Their mother was cooking a pan of onions at the stove.
“Morning, William,” said Heather softly. “Are you looking for Liz?”
“Yes. Do you know where she is?”
“She’s in the dining room. She’ll be back in a sec.”
“Thanks,” he said stiffly. He was looking around for coffee. He could smell it but he couldn’t see it yet. Just as he was about to ask, Liz came in from the opposite doorway.
“Morning, honey.” She quickly crossed the room towards him and reached up to kiss his cheek. He instinctively put his arm around her back and kissed the top of her head. “Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Have a seat. I’ll get you some.” She led him to a large farm table in a nook of the kitchen and quickly brought him a steaming cup of coffee. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.” She smiled and he wondered if everything was all right between them, but then he realized that it would look odd if they didn’t speak to each other in front of her family. They were supposed to be newlyweds, after all.
He smiled back over his cup but said nothing. Liz went to the island and began chopping potatoes while Harper watched the women at work.
So this was Thanksgiving. He’d seen it like this in movies, but his only personal experience was with Andrew’s family, and the staff seemed to do everything—the family just ate the meal. He was reserving final judgment until later, but this looked more fun.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked suddenly.
Conversations stopped, mixers were turned off, knives stilled in midair.
“You want to help?” Mrs. Barrett asked. He nodded. “In the kitchen?” He nodded again. “With the cooking?” Will nodded once more, slowly, and he saw a smile work its way across Liz’s face.
“William’s all right in the kitchen, Mom. He can follow directions. Just give him something to do. This is his first proper Thanksgiving, after all. He wants to be involved.”
The two of them shared a look across the room and he shot Liz a grateful smile for explaining for him.
Mrs. Barrett shrugged her shoulders and drew out a cutting board. She placed it on the counter next to Elizabeth. “You can cut fruit. We need four bananas for the pudding and this kiwi for the fruit salad.”
He began quietly peeling bananas next to Liz, and when Heather and Tiffany resumed their conversation and Mrs. Barrett was blending something in a Cuisinart, he leaned over and said in her ear, “How big should I cut these?”
“You want the bananas in slices about a quarter inch thick. The kiwi goes into cubes.”
“Is fruit salad a normal Thanksgiving tradition? With kiwi?”
She chuckled and whispered in his ear, “Not really. My grandmother always used to make it and said it wasn’t Thanksgiving without it. Mom keeps up the tradition. She’s the only one who eats it and the leftovers always end up going in the fridge and getting all moldy.”
“Ah, I see. So I am assisting in the least important part of the meal.”
She smiled. “Just the kiwi part. Mom will make the rest herself. She doesn’t trust anyone else with it. But the banana pudding is very important. It’s Dad’s favorite so you can’t mess it up.”
His eyes got round and she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” He smiled uncertainly and she chuckled to herself as she chopped pot
atoes.
Ten minutes later, Liz’s potatoes were in a pot covered by water and Will was stirring something called a whisk through a creamy yellow substance Liz assured him would turn into pudding once refrigerated. He wasn’t so sure.
“Done! Now just put it in this bowl to cool,” she flicked off the burner and gestured to the glass bowl on his right, “and put the whole bowl into the fridge.” She rinsed the beaters while he found a space for his pudding, then grabbed his arm. “Come with me.”
“What are we doing?”
“The fun part! Choose a bowl.” She pointed to a china cabinet in the dining room she’d led him into. He looked confused. “For your pudding! You want a glass one, not ceramic, and preferably a footed one. As you can see, Mom likes footed bowls, so you have your pick.”
He looked into the case at more than a dozen glass pedestal bowls, all cut or hand-blown glass ranging from clear to deep red in color.
“How about that one?” He pointed to a medium size bowl that was mostly clear, but had a slight blue cast to it. The sides were cut in a diamond pattern that was intricate but seemed masculine somehow.
“Good choice. Come on, I’ll show you how to prep the bowl.”
She handed him a box of vanilla wafers and showed him how to line the bottom rim of the bowl with them without letting them fall. Then he made another row of sliced bananas. He very carefully added a layer of the pudding mixture from the fridge, then covered that with some of the homemade whipped cream Heather had made. He repeated the entire process again until the bowl was full and Liz told him to hold it up and look at it from the side.
It was beautiful. He couldn’t believe he had just made a layered pudding. He was beaming with pride as he placed it on the top shelf of the refrigerator.
“Now what?” he asked Liz.
“Now we make bread. It should be done with its first rise by now.”
She removed a red checkered towel from a large bowl and showed him the puffy pale dough inside.
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