by Laura Briggs
She lifted down the flour tin from its shelf and set it beside her mixing bowl. Before she began sifting the flour for today’s dessert, she opened the paper bag and took out the partial loaf that Luke had brought her. Breaking it in half, she studied the soft texture pocked by miniature bubbles of air, the pieces of sweet fruit dotting it like gemstones. She put a bite of it in her mouth and savored the mild sweetness and the buttery nut flavor of its grains.
At least Luke had kept his jacket on and her mother hadn’t seen the tattoo on his arm. With some quick thinking, she had made sure that if he came back here, it was only to sample some masala dosa for lunch… and hopefully he would have sense enough not to ask to see the restaurant’s dessert chef after she explained to him that she was too busy to take breaks while at the restaurant.
The kitchen door swung open and Jaidev entered, still wearing the Santa hat, and humming a Christmas carol as he took a roll of tape from the drawer. Before the door swung closed, the voices of her family drifted into the kitchen.
“—but they’re so dangerous, those bikes.”
“Papa, girls ride them all the time now.”
Ama smiled and twisted off a piece of the cinnamon pastry from the bakery sack.
Eighteen
“Are you sure it’s that serious?” Tessa asked. “Any chance it’s just a cold?” She rubbed her forehead with two fingers as she asked this question.
“He can’t even talk,” answered the voice on the phone. “The doctor said two weeks until he recovers, at least. There’s no way he could sing more than a couple of songs by that date.”
“I see,” said Tessa dejectedly. “I guess that’s that. Tell him I hope he gets well soon.”
She hung up. That was the end of her hopes that the wedding reception band was exaggerating their lead singer’s symptoms. A nasty case of laryngitis, ‘the worst the doctor had ever diagnosed,’ meant weeks of salt gargles and rest and virtually no chance of an early recovery.
Backup options. Did they have any? Cynthia had been pushing for a string quartet, while Paula had voted repeatedly for a DJ spinning modern hip hop and dance mixes to ‘liven up the party.’ If it hadn’t been for Lyle’s old school friend being part of a local light jazz group that specialized in crooner’s tunes, they would probably still be arguing about it.
The two warring mothers had learned nothing at all about minding their own business during the past few weeks. Tonight was no different, despite being separated by multiple places at the rehearsal dinner—an event that was being held earlier than preferable, due to unforeseen scheduling conflicts for the family. More bad luck? Tessa tried not to think about it, despite her worries that some member of the wedding party might forget their cue by the time the ceremony finally took place.
The groom’s mother was dressed in red sequins tonight, a thousand bangle bracelets on one arm, and sporting a pink ball cap for photo ops, emblazoned with the words ‘I’m the groom’s mama, and this ain’t no shotgun wedding!’ which Natalie had attempted to discreetly steal and hide in the cloakroom. Cynthia wore neutral blues and sensible pearls, missing only a summer fan and a rocking chair to belong in a scene with the declining gentry of a Tennessee Williams play.
“I’m telling you, modern weddings do it right,” Paula was saying to the person sitting beside her—Lyle’s best man. “I saw this bride in a big pink gown on one of those TV shows about dream weddings, saying it was her favorite color, why shouldn’t she wear it for the ceremony? And I thought, good for her. It looks better when things are all glitzed up and mixed together…”
“…and I’ve always believed that simplicity itself is elegance,” Cynthia was saying to a bridesmaid beside her. “You agree, don’t you? If someone suggested a wedding dress based on a cartoon character, surely you’d say something, too.” The bridesmaid was trying to look sympathetic and not merely trapped.
Paula craned her neck in the direction of her rival. “You’re not talking about that Frozen dress, are you?” she said loudly, in a hurt tone of voice.
Cynthia did a poor job of disguising her dislike of being interrupted. “I was only saying that cartoons have a place, and real wedding dresses have their place,” she answered, after a polite pause to showcase her martyr-like patience.
“Are you saying a dress isn’t a wedding dress unless it’s white?” said Paula. “Do you have to earn it to wear it, too? ’Cause half the population would be in black now for their weddings.” She threw back her head for a sarcastic laugh. A look of outrage and indignation filled Cynthia’s eyes.
Nadia laid a hand on her mother’s arm, yet again. “Let’s not discuss this here,” she pleaded.
“You heard what she said to me,” said Cynthia in a half whisper.
“I know, but let it go. For my sake,” said the bride. “We’re having a lovely time tonight. All of our friends are here, the dinner is excellent. Italian is your favorite. You should be enjoying this.”
“I was,” said Cynthia. “Before your future mother-in-law insulted both public decency and the sacred vows of marriage.”
La Bella Italiana was the site of the rehearsal dinner. They were down to the wire on this wedding, and Tessa was still debating when and how to announce that the band for the reception had fallen through, as she pretended to enjoy her linguine in light pesto.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie whispered to her while pretending to reach for the bread basket.
“I’ll tell you when we’re away from the table,” Tessa whispered back. She watched as Paula dug heartily into a plate heaped with spaghetti and meatballs, all while criticizing the spices.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t have dinner at your restaurant,” she said to Lyle.
“We’re having the reception there,” said Lyle. “We thought it’d be nice to eat somewhere else instead.”
“This highfalutin Italian place must be costing you a fortune, and the food’s not that good. You call this stuff spaghetti sauce? There’s no chunks in it and no little bits of cheese, either.”
“I’m afraid real Italian pasta sauces simply don’t have bits of dried cheese floating in them.” Cynthia’s remark could be heard from three seats away.
“Well, they should. ’Cause this is no better than canned ravioli sauce,” said Paula, shaking her head. “We got the best chef in the city sitting right here, and we’re missing out on his lamb kleftiko because of it.”
“Ma, I’m not the best,” protested Lyle with a blush. “Besides, Nick had another event to cater, so the restaurant was busy. I’m lucky that I don’t have to be at the office until later, catching up on those inventory lists.”
“Is that where you’ll be later?” asked Nadia, glancing at him. “I thought you said the restaurant was closing early and that you and I were going to spend some time together.”
“It is closing early, babe. I’m just going to take care of a couple of things, then we’ll all go somewhere more relaxing.”
“All?” Nadia’s voice dropped to a whisper. Lyle glanced guiltily toward Paula, who was chatting to one of the groomsmen about Vegas weddings.
“Ma wanted to know if we were busy later tonight. She wants to give us her wedding present early. And I figured if your mom found out about it and wasn’t there… well, you know what happens.” He squeezed Nadia’s hand. “Relax. It’ll be fun. Couple of hours at most, I promise. Then I’ll drive you home and you can get some rest while I finish taking care of some stuff for the kitchen.”
It would not be fun, Tessa knew, and so did the bride. Nadia bit her lip and stared at her plate, as if trying to decide what exactly to say about this plan. Cynthia was growing unhappier as Paula’s voice rose at the table, carrying with it a story about her own crazy wedding in Vegas years ago, exactly the kind of story that would plant suggestions about rock bands at receptions and disco balls as decorations.
“I think now’s a really good time for the DJ to start playing some music,” said Ama, whispering to Tessa. “What do you th
ink?”
“Go for it,” said Tessa. Ama laid aside her napkin, and rose from the table to speak to the local DJ hired to help the couple make use of the restaurant’s dance floor. Tessa laid aside her own napkin and telegraphed with a subtle glance and head nod for Natalie to follow her example.
Across the room, Ama was speaking to the DJ, who nodded at her request. Cynthia was watching.
“I don’t know why you were so fired up to have people dancing at this event,” she said to the wedding couple. “I’ve always thought it dressed down an occasion to entertain people with music that isn’t live. Doesn’t it seem a bit… well… pointless? Like watching a play on television or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, mother,” said Nadia, who sounded extremely exasperated. “It’s been decades since people thought it was weird to dance to recorded music. You did when you and Dad used to host dinner parties.”
“And I realized then how silly it was,” said Cynthia. “How do you think I know? And I would appreciate you not rolling your eyes at me, thank you,” she added to Nadia.
“I hope they’re playing something to rev up this party,” said Paula to Natalie.
“They’re playing our song,” said Lyle, putting his arm around Nadia’s shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Nadia picked the song we heard when we first got together.”
“How romantic,” said Natalie.
Tessa pushed back her chair from the table and lifted her glass, tapping her butter knife against its side. “If I could have everyone’s attention,” she said. “In a moment, the future bride and groom’s song will begin playing, and they would like to invite all of you to join them on the dance floor tonight in honor of their love.” A smattering of applause from the guests; Nadia blushed and smiled, while Lyle’s face turned a sheepish red.
The end of her speech cued the waiting DJ. His sound system boomed to life—not with the strains of Sinatra, but a hip hop song that Tessa knew from the radio, a breakup song about jealousy with a five-letter word in its title. Which was exactly what the guests heard before the music cut off as Ama hurried back to the DJ’s station.
A second later, the appropriate love song began playing. Too little too late, in Tessa’s opinion. Instead of sitting down, she exited the dining room, knowing Natalie would follow a few seconds later into the hallway of arched glass windows facing the restaurant’s terraced garden.
“That was perfect,” muttered Natalie, when she joined Tessa at the hall’s end, in an alcove near the restrooms. “The DJ had the song ready to play, but punched the button of his personal gym workout playlist by accident.”
“Why am I not surprised at this point?” asked Tessa with a sigh.
“Paula seemed disappointed that he turned it off,” said Natalie wryly. “A few more glasses of wine, and she may be table dancing for the amusement of the wedding guests.”
“We’ll simply add it to our list of problems,” said Tessa. “Good news from the band tonight—they’ve cancelled their engagement with us.”
“What?”
“Laryngitis. Who else would get laryngitis right now except the lead singer of a band we needed?” said Tessa. “The drummer called Lyle today, and he forwarded me a message. Nadia doesn’t know yet, apparently.”
“What are we going to do? There’s no backup band. These were friends of Lyle’s that wanted the gig.”
“Looks like we’ll be hiring a DJ after all,” said Tessa. “I know that will disappoint the bride’s mother, but what else can we do? Maybe not this guy though. We can’t risk another wrong song situation… But I suppose better him than no one.”
She was trying not to sound frustrated, but she was out of ideas at this point. If they started over with a new list of bands, they would have to go through yet another endless debate on the subject of music tastes and modern dance vs. ballroom. Could Nadia take any more bickering? Tessa wasn’t sure she herself could, and she was being paid to listen to it.
“Let me call a friend and see if they have somebody who would fit the bill,” said Natalie.
“Another friend?” said Tessa.
“My family knows practically everybody in town,” said Natalie, with a shrug of ‘who else?’ at this fact. “Somebody in my circle can find a band on short notice. Half the starving population of Little Italy consists of musicians anyway.” She sighed. “So what else is new?”
“We have to tell Nadia,” said Tessa.
“You are seriously joking.”
“I’m not,” said Tessa, with a very unamused expression. “Can you imagine Lyle wanting to do it?”
“He pays us for it,” said Natalie grimly. “But I’m not sure it’s worth it anymore.” She grimaced.
My thoughts exactly, Tessa agreed mentally.
Natalie took her cell phone from her bag. “I’ll call my uncle and ask him to sniff around for someone who has a good band playing their restaurant,” she said. “And if you want, I’ll ask the DJ if he’s booked for that day, too.”
“Sure,” said Tessa. “We’re not making another move without a backup.” But if every backup needed its own backup, this plan could stretch into infinity, she reminded herself. Surely something was going to save them the trouble of its cancellation?
She couldn’t help thinking of the snowflake frame favors right now—the first in a long line of disasters that were becoming hard to laugh off as coincidence. That was all it was… but it felt more like a jinx or a curse.
What if it ended with her behind the wheel of the hotdog mobile again—on a permanent basis?
Footsteps in the hall. Tessa stepped out of the alcove, half expecting to see Natalie returning with bad news. Instead, it was Nadia marching from the dining room, stopping halfway to plant herself at the central window, arms crossed. She might have been admiring the view, but Tessa didn’t think so, from the impatient, restless movements of the bride’s fingers, and the tap of her high-heeled shoe on the tiles.
Lyle appeared from the dining room, too. “Honey, don’t be this way,” he said coaxingly. “Look, it will all blow over by the time we have ice cream. The two of them never stick to any of these arguments for long.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Nadia looked at him. “It’ll always blow over, won’t it? Just ignore it and it’ll go away. That’s really easy when you always look to someone else to fix it, Lyle. Like me.”
“I don’t expect you to make the two of them get along,” he said. “When did I ever tell you to do it?”
“You just keep shoving the problem off on me,” she said. “You put me in the middle every time to play tiebreaker between them. You don’t want to hurt your mom, you don’t want to insult mine… I’ve heard those excuses a million times until I want to scream, Lyle.” Nadia’s last remark came through her teeth, Tessa thought. She withdrew a little into the shadows again, cut off between here and the dining room.
“I just think you’re better at choosing stuff,” said Lyle. “I figured you’d tell the planners what you want and they’ll fix it up for you. Then it doesn’t matter what anybody’s mom thinks.”
“How is that going to help us in the future, when there’s no planner anymore?” demanded Nadia. “When it’s nursery colors, or… or where to spend Fourth of July weekend? Who decides then, when your mom has a plan and so does mine?”
Lyle shrugged helplessly. “I dunno. We’ll figure it out then,” he said.
Nadia shook her head. “No,” she said. “I can’t, Lyle. You leave me hanging all the time… I always have to be the bad guy in our relationship when it comes to disappointing someone. I can’t do it anymore.”
Her eyes were full of tears as she glanced at him. Tessa sucked in her breath. Was Nadia… breaking up at her rehearsal dinner?
“Honey, what are you so upset about?” he asked, mystified.
“We’re never going to be a united force in our marriage, and that scares me,” said Nadia, who was shaking a little now. “As much as I love you, I can’t live like
that. I can’t go on like we’ve been acting ever since we started planning this wedding. I’m done, Lyle. Done. If that’s how things are going to be.”
“That’s crazy, Nadia,” he protested. “What are you saying? Are you saying that you don’t want to get married?”
She shook her head. “I want to marry you,” she said. “Just not like this.” She pulled her ring off her finger. “So I’m going to walk away before I make it worse by staying.”
“Nadia!”
She brushed past Lyle and evaded his hand as he tried to grab her arm, shaking off his grip when he tried to stop her. She was upset enough that he stopped after two attempts. He tried to follow her, then faltered, his expression that of a crushed man as he gazed after her instead.
Nadia didn’t look back as she left, passing Tessa in the hall without even noticing her there. The exterior door that connected the restaurant with the neighboring art gallery opened, then closed behind the bride-to-be. Nadia avoided the main exit in the dining room, one crowded with guests who were supposed to attend her wedding in a week.
Tessa looked in Lyle’s direction again. The groom was leaning against the windows, looking devastated and confused. He wasn’t going after her, Tessa realized. He was going to stay right here while his wedding fell apart around him. Nadia was right—Lyle had no clue what to do about conflict.
An eternity passed, in which Tessa told herself to calm down. Nadia would be back after she cooled off, and they would fix this. Maybe she could intervene more on the bride’s behalf. Maybe they could arrange a spa day for the bridal party and finish the wedding’s last-minute details—and disasters—away from the two mothers. A dozen solutions could be offered that would save this car crash of a wedding. Just think this through and smile when you go back to the dining room, she said to herself. And tell Lyle—