by J. C. Eaton
“Quaint! Don’t you know what that means? It means no air-conditioning, no cable TV, forget about a mini-fridge and a microwave, and we’ll be lucky if they stick a fan in the room. There’s only one thing worse than quaint, and that’s rustic. Thank God she didn’t pick rustic. That means no electricity and an outhouse!”
I quickly changed the subject. “I’m sorry your granddaughter can’t make it. Too close to the end of the school year.”
“Well, Kirk and Judy’s daughter, your cousin Ramona, can’t make it either. The navy isn’t about to grant her leave and fly her back from Qatar because her grandmother has discovered eternal bliss.”
I tried not to laugh, but the whole thing was pretty darn funny. “I’ll take lots of photos and post them on Facebook. That way Kalese and Ramona can see the wedding ceremony. Did Aunt Ina mention who was catering the affair? I mean, it isn’t just the ceremony, is it? You talk to her all the time. What’s going on?”
“Your aunt may not be the wealthiest woman in the world, but apparently Louis Melinsky has money to throw around. They’re having the wedding catered by Saveur de Evangeline, that fancy French restaurant on Bell Road, and if that isn’t enough, they’ve hired La Petite Pâtisserie from Scottsdale to provide the desserts.”
“Where? The invitation didn’t say.”
“Of course not. Why would Ina bother to let anyone know what’s going on? Apparently they’ve rented out the entire section of that mountain for their reception. Some tent company will be setting up the shindig a few yards past that Petrowhatever Plaza.”
“And you were worried for nothing, Mom. It sounds like Aunt Ina really organized this.”
“Loosely.”
“What do you mean ‘loosely’?”
“I mean that whenever your aunt arranges something, it’s in the broad sense. Mark my words, Phee, something is bound to go wrong.”
I didn’t feel like spending the next half hour listening to my mother moan and groan about how “spatial” Aunt Ina was and how my mother was always the one who had to step in and fix everything. I was hot. I was tired. And most of all, I was hungry. Promising to give my mother a call the next day, I hung up and walked into the kitchen.
All of the fixings for a huge chicken salad were in the fridge, and I began to move them onto the counter when the phone rang again.
Please don’t let it be my mother. What else could she possibly complain about?
I had a good mind to ignore it and let it go to the answering machine, but if it was my mom, she’d know I was avoiding her. I walked over to the phone and checked the caller ID. Not my mother. Not a familiar number. I decided to let the machine get it when I recognized the voice at the other end.
“Phee, this is your aunt Ina. Give me a call when you get in. I have the tiniest, teeniest little favor to ask you.”
I quickly put the mayonnaise and white meat tenders back in the fridge and picked up the receiver. It was the first in a long series of mistakes I’d be making.
“Hi, Aunt Ina. I, was . . . um, in the other room when I heard the phone. How are you?”
“Ooh . . . I’m as fine as any bride-to-be could be. I don’t know how I ever managed the first time around. And as far as your cousin Kirk’s wedding went, well, Judy’s family took care of it. That’s the trouble with getting married late in life, you have to do everything yourself. It’s daunting. That’s the word for it—daunting. Did your mother mention that her friend Shirley was designing a special hat for me for the wedding? It’s too bad she closed down that cute little shop of hers near Sun City. At least she’s taking special orders. I decided on a hat. I do think wearing a veil would be too extreme, even for me.”
In the thirty seconds it took me to put the scallions and kale back in the fridge while cradling the phone, I realized my mother was an amateur blabbermouth compared to Aunt Ina. At this rate, I’d die of starvation. I had to move things along.
“Um, so . . . Aunt Ina, you mentioned a favor. A small favor. What can I help you out with?” And please let this be a reasonable and normal favor.
“I don’t know if your mother mentioned it, but the entire affair is going to be catered.”
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure what she was getting at and I held my breath.
“You cannot possibly imagine all the odds and ends that have to go into something like this. No wonder people hire a wedding planner.”
Oh, God no! She’s going to ask me to be her wedding planner!
“Aunt Ina,” I blurted out, “I don’t know the first thing about planning weddings.”
“Well, who does, dear? Now, to get to the reason I called you. Louis and I have hired a marvelous pastry company from Scottsdale to provide the desserts. Unfortunately, between the fittings for my gown, the endless bantering over the menu, and those dreadful people at the tent company, we’re at our wits’ end. Phee, can you please meet with Julien at La Petite Pâtisserie to figure out the dessert menu? I would ask your mother, but between you and me, Harriet would select an assortment of Fig Newton cookies and those tasteless sugar-free things she keeps in her freezer. So, will you do it?”
I didn’t want to sound whiny, but Scottsdale was a good hour from my house, not to mention I had no idea where the pastry company was located. Before I could reply, it was as if my aunt could read my mind.
“Julien and his assistants will be at the Renaissance Hotel in Glendale on Thursday for some sort of evening exhibition. That’s only a half hour from your house. You can meet him there. I’ll call him immediately to let him know. You will do it? Won’t you, Phee?”
I wavered for a second but finally caved.
“Yes, I’ll do it. What about the wedding cake? Is Julien making that, too?”
“Louis and I decided not to do a wedding cake. Too mundane. That’s why the desserts have to be spectacular. And one more thing, Phee.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell your mother, or the pièce de résistance for my wedding will resemble the potluck dessert table at one of her card games.”
She thanked me at least three times before hanging up. I had suddenly lost my appetite for chicken salad and opted instead for popcorn and an O’Doul’s. I spent the rest of the evening Googling wedding desserts and chastising myself for answering the stupid phone.
J.C. Eaton is the wife and husband team of Ann I. Goldfarb and James E. Clapp. Ann has published eight YA time travel mysteries. Visit their website at www.jceatonauthor.com