“And back. I hope you don’t mind that I have to come back in the wee hours of the night. I’ve got vendors arriving at the shop at five in the morning. It won’t affect you, I promise. One of the boys will drive you back tomorrow sometime. Probably Dewey.”
“You poor girl.” She clucked her tongue in motherly fashion. “When this is over you’re going to have to sleep for a week.”
That sounded mighty good. I stretched my legs and groaned. “I’ll be there in a minute. Or two.”
Or ten. It certainly took longer than anticipated to slip on my clothes, brush my teeth, and hobble out to the kitchen, where I found Alva and Brady engrossed in an animated conversation about toast.
Toast? Really?
Brady liked his with margarine. Alva couldn’t abide anything but butter on hers. I interrupted their conversation with a cheerful, “Happy Thanksgiving!” but couldn’t get my hand up to give them a wave. The pain in my shoulders was unbearable.
Brady smiled at me. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but you look . . .”
“Terrible?” I tried.
“I was going to say sleepy.”
“No, I look terrible, but I think I feel even worse.” I hobbled over to him and gave him a kiss. “Are you sure you don’t feel up to coming with us to Fairfield? I don’t want to leave you here alone on Thanksgiving.”
“I won’t be alone. Madge and Stan are coming by around one to bring turkey and dressing. We’ll make a feast of it.”
“If you’re sure.” I gave a little pout. “But I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. But I don’t want to mess up your plans. Go home and spend time with your family. Try to make it a normal day, okay?”
“Normal?” I yawned. “When I have a huge event in the morning and I’m fretting over you being here without me?”
“Don’t fret over me. Go. Have fun.”
And so we did. Alva and I hit the road at eight fifteen, heading toward Fairfield.
Going home for Thanksgiving made me feel like a kid again. In spite of my disappointment about leaving Brady back in Dallas with his mother and Madge, I slipped back into “Katie Fisher, Fairfield resident,” with ease. Alva and I arrived at my parents’ place just before ten. I carried in the bowl of cranberry salad Alva had made, though my aching joints made the trip up the front walk a difficult one and I nearly lost the bowl more than once. Alva finally took it from me with another cluck of the tongue.
Mama greeted us at the door but was up to her eyeballs with the side dishes, so we offered to help. Not that I was much help in my current condition, but I tried to make myself useful. Mostly I stayed out of the way while Mama and Alva bickered over the ingredients.
Soon after, Queenie and Reverend Bradford arrived carrying in three pies: chocolate, pumpkin, and pecan. Yum. Just one more reason to celebrate coming home for the holidays.
Just a few minutes later Jasper and Crystal arrived. Ever the happy couple, they entered the room hand in hand. I had to give it to those two—they were the stuff love stories were made of. Seeing them together made me think of Brady and miss him all the more.
“Jasper, would you mind going out to the freezer in the garage and checking our ice supply?” Mama asked. “I don’t want to run low.”
“Sure, Mama.” He let go of Crystal’s hand, gave her a wistful look, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
Good gravy.
Mama and Aunt Alva went to work chopping up the celery for the stuffing but ended up in a heated debate. Crystal and I looked at each other, neither of us brave enough to intervene. Finally I could take it no longer. I had to know what all the fuss was about. “Mama? Aunt Alva? What in the world?”
“I always put chestnuts in my stuffing.” Mama put her hands on her hips. “But she won’t let me.”
“Can’t abide chestnuts.” Alva wrinkled her nose. “Can we leave ’em out? I get hives.”
“Chestnuts give you hives? Are you allergic?” I asked.
“In theory.” She winked. “Just can’t stand ’em. I’m allergic to them in my mind.”
Mama sighed and tossed the bag of chestnuts aside. “Well, Herb will pitch a fit, but I guess he’ll have to deal with it.”
“Deal with what?” Pop sauntered into the kitchen, dressed in his undershirt and boxers. “What am I going to have to deal with, Marie?”
“Herbert Fisher, go put on some clothes.” Mama pinched her eyes shut and shook her head. “We have guests.”
“Just family.” My father shrugged. “They don’t mind seeing me in my natural habitat.”
Actually, I did mind, but it was his house, so who was I to argue?
“That’s an unnatural habitat if I ever saw one.” Queenie slapped him on the arm. “Now, mind your mama and go change into some decent clothes. I raised you better than that.”
Alrighty then. My father grunted and headed down the hallway toward his bedroom.
Jasper came back into the kitchen to update us on the ice situation. Then he and Mama began to argue about whether or not we’d be watching the big game later this afternoon. Jasper was all for it, naturally. Mama said that it was sacrilege to watch television on Thanksgiving Day. This led to a debate between Reverend Bradford and Mama about the value—or lack thereof—of football on family holidays.
A short time later the turkey was ready to be carved. Pop, now appropriately dressed, did the honors, as he did every year. He commanded hushed reverence as he sliced, sliced, sliced the bird into manageable pieces. “It’s an art form,” he explained to all who were listening. “Not just anyone can cut a turkey.”
“But anyone can eat it,” Jasper said.
“Not if he keeps carving it so slowly.” Alva groaned. “At this rate we’re not going to have our Thanksgiving dinner until Christmas day.”
That got a laugh out of everyone.
Well, almost everyone. Dewey had arrived in a sour mood. I’d have to talk to him later to see why he and Dahlia hadn’t worked things out. Not that it was any of my business. Then again, maybe it irked him to see Jasper and Crystal so happy. And Beau and Twiggy looked pretty blissful these days too.
Beau and Twiggy. For the first time all day it occurred to me that they hadn’t arrived yet. Mama would throw a fit if Beau didn’t show up for Thanksgiving dinner. That had never happened.
Thank goodness they arrived a few minutes later, arms filled with packaged rolls. “I stopped at Brookshire Brothers, just like you said, Mama.” Beau put the bags on the counter. “I still can’t get over the fact that they’re open on Thanksgiving Day.”
“There was a time when that would’ve been a criminal offense.” Queenie shook her head. “What is this world coming to?”
“I guess it’s a good thing they were open or we wouldn’t have had any bread to eat.”
Queenie carried on a passionate dissertation. Her emotions only intensified when she realized that Alva planned to leave the skin on the potatoes when she mashed them.
“But I don’t like to keep the skin on the potatoes when I mash them,” Queenie said. “It’s hard on my false teeth.”
“But the nutrients are in the skin,” Alva argued. “And why did you pay good money for teeth that don’t chew? I say go back and get yourself some more teeth and then eat potatoes with the skin on.”
Mama quietly peeled the potatoes in the background while the two sisters carried on. Alva would just have to live with it.
In the end, we were all willing to live with it. The potatoes, like everything else, turned out great. By the time the table was loaded with food, I could hardly wait any longer. Pop said the blessing and we dove right in, the conversation so erratic and fun that I almost forgot about the bridal extravaganza. Almost.
We ate until our bellies were full. Just about the time we settled down in front of the TV to watch the big game, slices of pumpkin pie in hand, the doorbell rang. I knew who it wo
uld be. For as long as I could remember, the Lawsons had joined us for dessert and football on Thanksgiving Day. Yet the idea of spending the afternoon with Casey left me feeling a little conflicted. Okay, not conflicted, really, just . . . odd. And it made me miss Brady more than ever. I would have to remember to call him when things slowed down. If things slowed down.
Mrs. Lawson entered with the most gorgeous lemon pie I’d ever laid eyes on.
“My goodness, Charlotte, it’s beautiful.” Queenie clasped her hands together. “And I’m so glad you brought lemon. I brought several others, but not that. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a pretty meringue.”
“She’s been watching the Food Network,” Mr. Lawson said. “That Italian Kitchen show has her hooked.”
“Oh my, yes. I just love The Italian Kitchen.” Mrs. Lawson stepped into the kitchen. “Rosa and Laz are so down-to-earth. Natural. Rustic.”
“They sound like my kind of cooks,” Alva said. “Bet they leave the skin on their potatoes.”
“I followed Rosa’s recipe to a tee.” Mrs. Lawson set the lemon pie on the counter. “And I have a coconut pie in the car. I’ll go fetch it now.”
Turned out she didn’t have to. Casey went for her. I had to give it to him—he’d always been a good son. Actually, he’d been a great boyfriend too. Except that part where he’d broken my heart.
A short time later Joni arrived. Her appearance surprised me a bit. I could tell Mama was caught off guard too, though she greeted our guest with a broad smile.
“There’s my favorite wedding planner!” Queenie threw her arms around Joni’s neck. “I’m so glad you made it.” She looked around. “Levi’s not with you?”
“Oh, no ma’am. He’s back in Dallas sharing Thanksgiving with a couple of the kids at the college who weren’t able to go home to be with their families. You know how dedicated he is to those kids.”
I knew, all right. Good old Levi, making all the rest of us look like spiritual slouches.
In spite of the heavy meal we’d eaten, we dove right into those pies. Before long we were all moaning and groaning from the rapid influx of food. Mama and Mrs. Lawson sat on the bar stools talking. Most of the others were in the living room watching the game. I took a seat at the kitchen table next to Casey and Joni, who were already prepping the Yahtzee game.
“I love that feeling you have after eating Thanksgiving dinner,” Casey said.
“Miserable?” Joni asked.
“No. Contented.”
“And miserable.” I rubbed my stomach. “I always feel like I’m in a catatonic state.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to feel like on Thanksgiving,” Casey said. “That’s half the fun.”
“Ugh.” Didn’t feel like much fun right now. Felt more like I needed to find an antacid.
Aunt Alva took a seat next to me. “It’s that spice your mama puts in the dressing, Katie.”
“I heard that, Alva.” Mama looked over from her conversation with Mrs. Lawson.
“It’s true, Marie. I’ve never used that particular spice before.”
“I think it’s the lack of chestnuts that made it taste a bit odd,” Mama said. “But that’s just my opinion.” She leaned back in her chair. “I hope no one minds, but I’m just going to sit here for a bit while the rest of you play games and such.”
No one seemed to mind. Mrs. Lawson and Queenie struck up a conversation with Joni about the upcoming wedding, and soon we were knee-deep in chatter about the big day. As the volume of the football game intensified, so did the voices of the ladies, who talked over the game. Joni must’ve forgotten she was playing, but Casey and I continued on, hollering “Yahtzee!” at the appropriate times.
“Sorry it’s so noisy in here, Reverend Bradford,” Mama called out above the din. “I do hope you’ll adjust to our large family.”
“I’ve missed this. When my daughter and son-in-law come to town we have a wonderful time, but it’s not like this.”
“We’re blessed,” Queenie said. “Truly. Noise and all. I wouldn’t trade it for a thing.”
When our game ended, Joni finished her conversation with the older ladies and turned my way. “Did I miss the game?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I tried to stifle a yawn.
Casey excused himself to the living room, which left me alone with Joni. Not that I minded. I’d been dying to ask her a question for days now. When I was sure no one else was close enough to hear, I turned our conversation into a private girl-talk session.
“Okay, inquiring minds want to know . . .”
“If I’m dating Levi?” She smiled. “Pretty sure that’s what you were going to ask, right?”
“Right.”
She shrugged. “He’s a great guy and I would be honored to have someone like him in my life, but . . .”
“But?”
“I’m not sure that’s where my heart is taking me, and I want to be careful. I don’t want to jump headfirst into something just because the WOP-pers think I should. At some point I have to pray and get God’s perspective on my own. That’s what spiritual maturity is all about.”
“Right.” She seemed pretty spiritually mature for bringing that up.
“I’ll be forever grateful to Levi,” Joni said. “He’s been such a godsend in my life.”
“How so?”
“You know what my life was like. My parents were always so busy with their jobs and then with ministry stuff. I never really had great social skills, so I stuck with sports to find my value. But Levi helped me see past all of that. I broke my arm during that first college game, and it pretty much destroyed my psyche. Levi helped me realize that I’d put too much stock in my performance and not in just being a daughter of the King. I was trying to get my validation in the wrong place.”
“Oh, Joni . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize you’d broken your arm.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It was a bad break. Really bad. I was sliding into first and landed wrong. The bones had to be pinned. It destroyed my chances of playing pro.”
“I didn’t realize you were hoping to go that far with ball. Wow.” In that moment, I realized how little I really knew about Joni.
“Anyway, my point is, I had to stop trying to find validation in what I did and start realizing that I was valued simply because of God’s love. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” As Casey passed by, I leaned in to whisper, “Would you mind sharing all of that with Brady someday? When he’s ready to hear it, I mean?”
“Of course. And in the meantime, I’ll be praying for him. God’s placed a real burden on my heart to pray for people who feel a little . . . lost.” She rested her elbows on the table, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Everyone needs someone like Levi to talk them down from the ledge. I know you’re that person for Brady.”
“I’m trying. He’s just not responding quite the way I’d hoped.”
“Don’t give up. Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Okay, now tell me how things are going at the shop. I’ll bet the wedding biz is a blast.”
Strange how quickly panic could hit a person. The minute I thought about the shop, I was reminded of the bridal extravaganza. Oy. I’d have to leave here in the wee hours of the morning and drive all the way back, then work, work, work.
“It’s busy,” I said after a moment. “Ever since that issue of Texas Bride released, the store has been hard-hit with customers.”
“Oh yes,” Twiggy said as she joined us. “You wouldn’t believe how crazy things are. If it wasn’t for Eduardo, I don’t think Dahlia would’ve made it.”
“Eduardo? Don’t think I know that name.” Pop walked into the kitchen to get another piece of pie.
“Ask Alva about him.” Twiggy winked at my aunt. “I think she could fill you in.”
“Hmm? Who? Me?” Alva looked up from her cup of coffee. “What are we talking about?”
“Someone named Eduardo,” Pop sai
d. “You know him?”
“Oh. I . . . well . . .” Her cheeks flushed and I had to wonder what was going on in that mind of hers. “I think maybe I’ll have another piece of pie.”
Interesting.
I didn’t really have much time to think about it, though. Mama pulled out some old videos, and before long we were all seated in the living room, watching our memories roll by on the television set. Videos of Casey and me as kids—him on the football field and me in my cheerleading outfit. My three brothers in their teens, playing baseball. Queenie and Grandpa Fisher, the year before he passed away. Mama and Pop at their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. Last Thanksgiving with the Lawsons. We watched it all.
The laughter and joy that rang out across the room was blissful. Truly. How long had it been since I’d had a day like this—carefree and fun? Just to celebrate, I had another piece of Mrs. Lawson’s coconut pie.
Oh. Yum.
I’d missed her pie. For that matter, I’d missed her. And even though I hated to admit it, I’d also missed her son. Oh, not in a “wow, I’d like to see if we could be an item again” sort of way, but more in a wistful “life was sweet and simple when we were growing up” sort of way.
It was sweet and simple. But a girl had to grow up sometime, right?
I’d think about that tomorrow morning at five o’clock when I arrived at Cosmopolitan Bridal. But right now I had games to play and pie to eat.
18
A Bushel and a Peck
Well, I’ve been through everything. I always said I was like those round-bottomed circus dolls—you know, those dolls you could push down and they’d come back up? I’ve always been like that. I’ve always said, “No matter what happens, if I get pushed down, I’m going to come right back up.”
Doris Day
What was I thinking? Those same four words replayed in my mind as I made the drive back to Dallas in the dead of night. With only four hours of sleep to propel me, I did my best to focus on the road.
“You can do this, Katie. You can do this.”
I’d better do this! I’d promised Brady, after all.
“Brady.” My heart twisted as I whispered his name. How I’d missed him over the past several hours. I should’ve picked up the phone before the sun went down to wish him a happy Thanksgiving, but caught up in the games and videos, I’d forgotten. Then again, he hadn’t called me either, had he?
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