“Yep. They tied the knot a week and a half ago. She’s sitting at my kitchen table right now, wedding ring on her finger, sharing details about their honeymoon in Grand Cayman.”
I leaned against the wall and tried to make sense of what she’d said. “But, I just talked to Joni a couple of weeks ago. She didn’t mention a thing about being married. I mean, I know they’ve been a couple for a little while now, but Joni Milford would definitely tell me if—”
“She’s Joni Lawson now. They’re most assuredly married. They up and got hitched without so much as inviting one person, even Casey’s mama, which has her in a snit, as you can imagine. Every parent wants to see their child’s wedding day.”
“You’re serious? They’re actually married?”
“Yes. But with Joni being a wedding planner and all, you’d think she’d want a wedding of her own. Just doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?”
“No. No, it doesn’t.” In fact, many things about this story made no sense. Just a few months ago Joni appeared to be interested in Levi Nash. And Casey . . . Hmm. I didn’t want to speculate about what Casey might’ve been thinking. And what was up with Crystal not telling me? She and Joni were roomies, after all.
“We have a bigger problem than the two of them running off and getting married, honey. Would you believe there are still folks in this town who think Casey broke your heart by marrying Joni? They don’t seem to remember that you moved away months ago and are dating Brady James. These poor ladies are stuck in the past.”
“Probably because they’re so used to seeing Casey and me out and about around town—at the Dairy Queen and at ball games and such. We were a duo for over seven years, and in a small-town environment. But maybe someone should remind these busybodies that I’m not just dating Brady James, I’m going to marry him. This coming summer. In Fairfield.”
“Yes, that’s true. Anyway, several know-it-alls—a few of whom are sitting at my breakfast table right now—have labeled Joni as ‘the other woman.’ So you might want to set the record straight when you go inside. In a nice, vague sort of way.”
“But today is all about Crystal,” I reminded her. “I doubt I’ll have time to squelch any gossip while we’re busy putting plans in motion for her big day. And how in the world could I possibly be vague about something so . . . so . . . dumb?”
My grandmother pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe folks’ll see you and Joni together and notice that you’re speaking to one another. Then they won’t see her as the other woman.”
I sighed. “Queenie, anyone who’s been paying attention already knows that Joni and I are friends. We co-planned your shower, remember? We get along great. Nothing will change that, not even her marriage to Casey Lawson.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey. So, you’re not the tiniest bit jealous that they flew off to the Cayman Islands to get married? That’s what has poor Casey’s mother in such a state. She’s always wanted to go to the Caymans, ever since she got a brochure in the mail from one of those cruise lines. She considers it a silent jab from her son to get married in a place she’s always wanted to go. Without inviting her, I mean.”
“Who knows why people do the things they do, Queenie. I guess Casey and Joni have a perfect right to get married wherever they like and invite whomever they like. Or not invite them.”
“Promise me you and Brady won’t follow their lead, Katie Sue.” My grandmother sniffled. “I’d just die—and I do mean that literally—if you and Brady up and eloped. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
Wow. Did she really think I would do that? No way. I’d dreamed of my wedding day all my life. I’d talked about it incessantly, poring over bridal magazines until it drove my family nuts. How could she think I’d skip out on the big day?
“You know me better than that, Queenie. I’m so excited about getting married in front of the people I love, I could never do that—to them or myself. So rest easy.”
“All right, all right.”
I followed behind my grandmother into her kitchen, where I found Bessie May, Ophelia, Prissy, Joni, and Crystal seated at the breakfast table, nibbling on breakfast sweets.
“I told you not to touch those till I got back.” My grandmother clucked her tongue. “Honestly, you ladies are like children sometimes.”
“I just couldn’t help myself, Queenie.” Crystal giggled and held up a yummy-looking breakfast treat. “These muffins are so good. You’ll have to give me your recipe.”
The flattering words seemed to melt Queenie. They certainly stopped her from scolding.
I set my purse down on the living room sofa, and before I could say “Good morning,” Ophelia appeared at my side. She patted my arm and leaned in to whisper, “My thoughts and prayers are with you, honey. Stiff upper lip now, you hear? You just look that hussy in the eye and show her you’re the better woman. Don’t let what she and Casey have done devastate you. Life will go on.”
“But Ophelia, I’m not devastated.”
“Just keep saying that, sweetie, and before long you’ll start believing it.”
“But I’m really not. I—oh, never mind.” Why dig this hole even deeper?
“Attagirl.” She winked. “Just keep telling yourself that.”
“And I’ll tell my fiancé while I’m at it,” I muttered.
Ophelia didn’t hear me, which was probably for the best. She returned to the breakfast table, where she grabbed an empty plate and started filling it.
“What was all that about?” Alva asked as she passed through the living room after leaving the bathroom.
“Don’t. Even. Ask.”
“Alrighty then.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and trotted off toward the kitchen.
I joined the ladies, pausing first to give Joni a big hug and a cheerful “Congratulations.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ophelia watched me. She gave me a nod and a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Attagirl!”
I forced a smile and reached for a plate. How I’d landed in this room filled with women my grandmother’s age, I could not say. The WOP-pers had their fingers in every pie in Fairfield, that much was sure and certain.
I loaded my plate with quiche, muffins, and bacon. Lots and lots of bacon. When we’d eaten our fill, Joni—who’d spent the better part of the meal answering inappropriate questions about her tropical honeymoon—turned the attention to the bride-to-be.
“Enough about me, all right, ladies?” Joni’s cheeks flushed pinker than the silk flowers in the vase on the center of the table. “We’ve all come together today to honor Crystal and to set a plan in motion for her shower and her big day. Now, I’ve already talked to her in advance, and we have everything planned, from the Gone with the Wind wedding and shower theme to the Southern foods at the reception. We just need folks to help us bring her plan to fruition.”
“I just don’t understand this whole Gone with the Wind theme,” Ophelia grumbled as she reached for another muffin. “Never heard of such a thing.” The lines on her upper lip became more evident as she pursed her lips together.
“Just play along, Ophelia,” Alva said. “You were young once. You got to plan your big day.”
“No I didn’t.” Ophelia’s brow wrinkled and she broke off a piece of her muffin. “And if you’d ever met my mother-in-law, you’d know that. She took the reins away from me and planned the whole thing. All I did was show up and marry her son.”
Ouch.
“All the more reason to let Crystal have her big day,” I said. “Gone with the Wind it is, folks.”
“I suppose I can use that whole Southern thing to craft a lovely wedding cake.” Ophelia popped the muffin piece into her mouth. “There is that.”
Joni cleared her throat and shot a glance at Crystal, who stared out the window. Uh-oh. I felt a conflict coming.
“To be honest, Ophelia . . .” Joni gave her a pensive look. “Crystal was thinking of going a different direction with the cake.”
Ophe
lia paled. She swallowed her food, then turned to face Crystal, who suddenly looked as if she wanted to bolt. “Now, honey, don’t tell me you’re going to fall for the schemes of that Betty Kay Collier down at that highfalutin cupcakery place in Teague. Just because she can bake a cupcake doesn’t mean she can put together a full four-tiered wedding cake like I can. Promise me you’ll let me make your cake, even if the new bakery’s not open yet. You know I’ve got the goods.”
“Ooh, but cupcakes can be arranged in such a darlin’ display! And Betty Kay does the most de-lec-table flavors.” Crystal’s face lit up. “Lemon chiffon with raspberry, mocha turtle, Italian cream cake . . . yummy!”
“Lemon chiffon sounds great.” Alva nodded. “I can see why you’d be tempted.”
“Jasper and I drove over to Teague a few days ago and spent a good hour or two just samplin’ the wares.” Crystal’s eyes sparkled with obvious delight. “So tasty. Jasper agreed. They were to die for.”
“Die. Hmm.” Ophelia’s penciled-on eyebrows elevated slightly. “I did hear a rumor that Mildred Watson had a stomach issue after eating Betty Kay’s cupcakes. Had to be hospitalized.”
“Mildred Watson has had stomach issues for as long as I can remember.” Queenie shook her head. “Could we get back to talking about the wedding, please and thank you?”
Ophelia still had a determined look on her face. “I watch those cupcake shows on TV. I know they’re popular right now, but it’s just a phase. Who wants a cupcake when they can have a whole wedding cake? I challenge you to rethink this decision, Crystal.”
“I for one love a good cupcake,” Alva said. “They’re small and handy, kind of like these muffins. Only, without all the bran inside.” She rubbed her stomach. “Don’t think the wedding guests need the added oomph.”
This somehow morphed into an argument about the cupcake controversy—who knew cupcakes were controversial?—and before long Crystal was teary-eyed and Ophelia was red-faced.
As I had anticipated, this lovely brunch at Queenie’s wasn’t just a “How can we help Crystal with her wedding?” gathering. The ladies were declaring full-out war if they didn’t get their way. I sat in stunned silence, shoveling pastries in my mouth, as I listened to idea after idea, most of them completely unsuited for a Gone with the Wind wedding.
Poor Crystal. Poor, poor Crystal.
And poor me! If she had this tough of a time pulling off a wedding in Fairfield, I could only imagine what my big day would look like.
I pondered this dilemma while eating another muffin.
Joni, perhaps in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation, cleared her throat. “Enough about the cake. Let’s talk about the food.”
“What’s to talk about? That’s what Sam’s is for.” Bessie May nibbled on a piece of bacon. “Sam’s caters all the big weddings round here. Everyone knows that.”
“But what if I don’t want Sam’s to cater?” Crystal’s words came out as a hoarse whisper.
All of the ladies turned—almost in slow motion—to look at her. I could tell from the dropped jaws that her question had stopped them in their tracks.
“But honey, you have to let Sam’s cater.” The piece of bacon slipped through Bessie May’s fingers and landed on the table. “That’s just how it’s done in Fairfield.”
The women bored a hole through Crystal with their stares. I sent up a silent prayer that she would remain courageous in the heat of the battle.
“I know that’s how it’s been done in the past, but what if I want somethin’ dif-ferent?” Crystal’s words sounded strained at best.
“Oh, I see where you’re going with this!” Queenie clapped her hands together and grinned. “You’re suggesting the WOP-pers band together and cook for the big day? Because I think that might be doable, as long as the recipes are workable.”
The conversation shifted to recipes, but I could tell from the expression on Crystal’s face that the ladies had once again missed the point.
“No, I’m not saying that either.” Crystal looked exasperated. “Jasper and I went to the yummiest little café in Corsicana. They have the best Southern foods ever. I talked to the owner and she’s very excited about the possibility of catering our big day. And she’s so reasonable too.”
“I don’t believe it.” Bessie May paled. “I really don’t believe it. You’re planning to just do this whole thing your way, even if it flies in the face of how things should be done? Is that it?”
At this point, Joni rose and picked up her plate. She gripped it so tight I thought she just might break it. “Now look, ladies. Just because things have always been done a certain way doesn’t mean it’s the only way.” She set the plate on the kitchen counter. “I mean, Casey and I eloped. We didn’t get married the usual way. But it was right for us.”
“You put a knife in your poor mother-in-law’s heart.” Ophelia wagged a finger in Joni’s face. “She may never recover. If this is your version of doing what’s right, then you have a lot to learn, girlie.”
Poor Joni. Her face shifted from its usual color to pink to bright, bright red. Rooster red, actually. No, barn red. Yikes. I’d never seen her this angry before.
Yep. Looked like our good-natured wedding planner was about to blow, and I’d be a firsthand witness.
“Oh dear.” Alva’s eyes widened. She grabbed another muffin and took a big bite, then leaned back in her chair. “Oh, oh dear.”
Just as quickly, Joni’s eyes fluttered shut, and I could see her mouth the words, “One, two, three, four, five,” and so on, all the way to twenty. When she reached twenty, her eyes popped open, and she gave Ophelia a strained smile and said, “Well now, where were we again? Oh yes. We were talking about how Crystal is getting married and is going to have a Southern ceremony that will be the most brilliant event anyone’s ever attended. Cake’s taken care of.” She sat back down at the kitchen table and put a check mark on her paper. “Food’s covered.” Another check mark. “Now, let’s talk décor. Bessie May, I understand you have quite a few items at the historical society that date back to the Civil War era. Would you perhaps be willing to loan some of your lovely things to Crystal for her big day?”
This seemed to get Bessie May calmed down. Interested, even.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Crystal breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Prissy interrupted. “Now, Crystal, I hear what you’re saying about the food and cake and such, but you really must let me make your punch. I make the punch for all of the weddings in Fairfield.”
She made the punch, all right. At my grandmother’s wedding, she’d tossed in a few extra ingredients—like prune juice.
Never. Again.
Crystal turned to face her with a confident smile, unforgettable warmth in her eyes. “Well, to be honest, Prissy, we’re talking about having peach tea instead of a traditional punch. And the caterer is providin’ it. Isn’t that just luv-lee?”
“Humph.” Prissy took a swig from her coffee cup and leaned back in her chair.
“Mmm. I love peach tea.” Alva wiped the crumbs off her fingers with a napkin. “Perfect choice, and very Southern. Fits the theme!”
“Exactly!” Crystal gave a little shrug. “And that’s the idea.”
We somehow made it through the rest of the meeting, though I had a feeling it might be a while before Ophelia recovered. Queenie seemed to take it all in stride, even stepping in a time or two to calm the waters, but the real pro—the real champ—was Crystal. She somehow managed to keep on course. She got her way without coming across as bossy or rude. Truly, a stellar performance by a bona fide Southern belle.
Looked like I had a lot to learn from her.
5
She’s a Butterfly
Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering—because you can’t take it in all at once.
Audrey Hepburn
When we wr
apped up the meeting, the ladies all headed off their separate ways. Joni lingered, but she still looked a bit shell-shocked from the whole thing. I joined her at the table to offer both my condolences and my congratulations. I started the conversation with a quiet, “You okay over there?”
She glanced my way, eyes wide. “Wow. Just . . . wow.”
“Tell me about it.” Crystal joined us, taking a seat to my right. “That was gruelin’, if I do say so myself.”
“The whole thing kind of reminded me of a church board meeting.” Queenie plopped down in a chair. “And I’ve never been a fan of board meetings. Too many folks trying to get their way. Pure selfishness.”
I reached over and patted Crystal’s hand. “Well, I for one am very proud of you, Crystal. Not just proud—astounded. In your own sweet way you managed to get what you wanted while still including the women. I need to learn from you, oh wise one.”
She laughed. “Oh, Katie, it wasn’t easy, but this day means everything to me. It’s mine. And yours is yours. I’m not strong or demanding, but this is my weddin’. My wed-din’!”
“And you deserve to have whatever you want, for your big day and beyond. Which reminds me, have you two decided where you’re going on your honeymoon?”
“Home to Atlanta, of course.” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, I can’t wait to show off my hometown to Jasper. He’s gonna love it there. I’m gonna take him to see Tara. The real one, I mean.”
“You know that’s a fictional location, right?” Joni asked. “It doesn’t really exist.”
“Neither does Scarlett O’Hara,” I echoed.
Crystal giggled. “So they tell me. But she’s as real as real can be to me. Anyway, there’s a museum that pays homage to Tara and I just luv it there. Jasper will too. And a’course I want to show him the house where I grew up.”
“Just promise you won’t talk him into moving away,” Queenie said. “I don’t think my heart could take it if another one of my grandkids moved across the country.” She fixed her gaze squarely on me.
Every Bride Has Her Day Page 5