by Howe, Violet
But then Mama called today to say she was having challenges with the pot luck dinner. Seven people signed up to bring banana pudding, four people want to bring buns, and at least three are making green bean casserole.
“Why don’t you make a list of what you need people to bring and have a line next to it for them to put their name? Then if an item is already taken, they gotta bring something else.” I gripped the stress ball on my desk and mentally counted down from twenty. I was determined not to get upset, not to battle with her, and not to put too much thought into the fact that my wedding guests will be eating banana pudding with green bean casserole and buns.
“I don’t want to limit people. I mean, you can’t ask somebody to sign up for red velvet cake and get somebody like Johnnie Lewis who ain’t never been able to make red velvet to save her life. She might as well make a vanilla cake and put red food coloring in it. Not a drop of cocoa to be found. We’ve got time. It’ll even out. When we get closer, we’ll get more of a variety.”
The whole thing churned my stomach. I didn’t want to have a potluck wedding, but it seemed like I’d shot down every idea she’d had and every way she’d tried to help. I know it’s important to her to be involved, but we’re talking about my wedding. Not a bridal shower or a family reunion. I had people coming from Cabe’s family. I had friends from the industry coming.
“I think it’s important that we put together a menu, Mama. I’m not comfortable having a smorgasbord of random items. What if I send you a menu, and you can make copies and give it to the people who are willing to bring food?”
“Tyler, these are volunteers. Lifelong friends of mine who are basically providing free catering for you. They are making food out of the kindness of their hearts and from their own pockets. I’m not going to be rude and tell them what they have to bring. We’ll take whatever it is. Maybe I’ll call Bubba Dogs and see what he would charge me to bring some meats.”
I dropped the stress ball. “Mama. I’m sorry. I love you, and I’ve tried to work with you. But I ain’t having Bubba Dogs BBQ for my wedding. I’m hiring the caterer.”
“You’ll do no such thing, and I’d love to know one time in this entire process that you’ve tried to work with me. You’ve done nothing but fight me every step of the way. It’s like you’ve got a bee in your bonnet aimed for me. Anything to hurt me.”
“That’s not true and not fair. I’ve tried harder to make you happy with this wedding than anyone else, including me or my groom. I’ve agreed to have it in the church, mainly because it was important to you. I’ve agreed to have my reception in the fellowship hall—a glorified gymnasium—because you didn’t want me to look in Atlanta. I’m having programs that I didn’t want, menu cards that I didn’t want, and Lord only knows what else you’ve got planned that I don’t even know about. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, disappoint you, or make you mad. But this is my wedding. I’m hiring the caterer.”
“That’s such a waste of money, sugar. We’ll have plenty of food. I’ll start calling people tomorrow. If you don’t want Bubba’s, I’ll figure something else out.”
“No. This is it. I’m done. I’m not going to spend the money to have a professional come in and add lighting and trees and centerpieces and then serve egg salad sandwiches and cheese logs.”
“Lighting? Why are on God’s green earth are you paying for lighting? There’s plenty of lights in the fellowship hall.”
“Yeah, bright fluorescents that are perfect for basketball, but this is a wedding. I want ambience. Purples and pinks. Maybe blues.”
“Ambience? Give me a break. Now you’re just putting on airs. It’s a place of worship, not a nightclub.”
Mel leaned through my open door and signaled that my clients had arrived.
“Look, I gotta go. I’m hiring the caterer. Cancel the potluck. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
I’m sure she kept arguing the point, but I ended the call and left my phone on my desk to go meet with my clients. I wanted to high-five everyone. I wanted to run through the office laughing and pumping my fist in the air while I yelled, “Yeah! I did it!”
But I didn’t. I maintained my composure throughout my meeting, and then I called Sandy and asked if it was too late to add their catering services.
Then I left work and picked up a bottle of wine and some steaks for my husband to throw on the grill for a celebration dinner.
I thought I’d be guilt-ridden. That I’d feel anxiety and remorse. That I’d debate calling her back and apologizing. Telling her to move forward with the banana pudding extravaganza.
But no. I’m actually pretty excited to see Sandy’s menus and sit down with Cabe tonight to choose what we want for our wedding guests.
I don’t know if this makes me a selfish daughter or some variation of a Bridezilla, but I’m okay with it. Cabe was right. Mama’s gonna complain either way. If I can’t make her happy no matter how hard I try, there’s no sense in both of us being unhappy.
November
Monday, November 3rd
This morning Carmen brought in bagels so we all gathered in the conference room to eat.
Yesterday was the first day the entire office was off since before Labor Day weekend. I didn’t even shower or change out of my pajamas the whole day. In fact, I pretty much stayed in bed all day. Cabe would bring me food or take Deacon for a walk, but for the most part, he and Deacon lay curled up in bed with me, watching sappy movies and bad reality TV. It was the best day I’ve had in weeks.
When Carmen finished passing out the bagels and spreads, she flopped a glossy magazine down on the table in front of me. Reynalda’s face stared back at me from the cover, her arms crossed over her sequined chest with Chris and Jayah’s reception in soft focus behind her.
I tore into it, flipping the pages to find the full article. Everyone crowded around my shoulders and leaned over me to read along.
There were a few more pictures inside. One of Reynalda adjusting flowers at the ceremony. (Staged.) One of Reynalda talking with the audio/visual director. (Also staged). And one of Chris and Jayah coming down the aisle all smiles as their friends and family clapped and cheered and bubbles filled the air. (Not staged.)
Not only was there no photo of me at all, but there was no mention of me even being there. Not a single “I’d like to thank…” or “Also on hand for the event was…”
It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of life. Magazine covers were not the reason I was a wedding planner. But I have to admit it was hard not to feel slighted when I’d busted my ass for that event and worked it much harder than Reynalda did, yet there she was taking all the credit.
My bagel felt thick in my throat, and my coffee soured in my stomach.
“Media whore,” Lillian uttered and went back to her chair.
“What would you say are three important lessons you learned from that experience, Tyler?” asked Laura.
My first response was to blurt out “nothing,” but I knew Laura would never accept that. She believed we could learn something from every situation if we looked for the opportunity.
I pondered for a moment, thinking back on the whole planning chaos, the demanding expectations Jayah and Chris had (which were set forth by Reynalda), the insanity of finding her babbling on the floor, and the sheer frustration of taking on such a mammoth project by myself the day of the event.
“I’d have to say, first and foremost, I learned how important it is to treat the people working beside you with respect.” I glanced to Charlotte as I spoke. Though I’d been nowhere near as abrasive and cruel as Reynalda could be, I certainly hadn’t been as nice as I could have been to the poor girl. I needed to work on that.
“Second, I learned to value the teamwork we share, and the willingness of everyone here to jump in and help out. Being all alone for that event was miserable. I got pulled in a million different directions all at once. People from pretty much every aspect of the wedding needed something from me. A decision or a sol
ution or an answer. When you’re one person, it can be hard to juggle the ceremony, the reception, the table set-up, the music, the lighting, the food. It’s a lot. It made me really appreciate the way we try to always have two people on each event, even if it’s just for a little while to help out and lend moral support.”
“Speaking of which,” Laura said, “I’d like to offer a toast with my cup of coffee since it’s all I have at the moment, but I’d like to toast our entire staff for getting us through another crazy wedding season. It’s not over, especially with eleven-eleven coming up next week, but we’re in the home stretch and the end is in sight. We will definitely have a celebration when the dust settles. And after Tyler’s own wedding, of course.” She smiled at me and lifted her coffee cup, waiting for us all to join her before she continued. “To teamwork, and the best and hardest-working team in the business.”
We clanked our mugs together and drank to the light at the end of the tunnel. It was always short-lived, of course. We’d have a lull for November and December, but then the holidays would be here, then the new engagements, and then Valentine’s and on to the spring season. It was never-ending, really, but we took our breaths where we could.
“What’s number three?” Charlotte asked. “Didn’t you say three? I only counted two.”
“Oh, three,” I said. “Let me see. I guess my third lesson would have to be that having the appearance of a lavish lifestyle and the fame that accompanies it does not guarantee happiness.”
“All very valuable lessons.” Laura smiled and winked at me.
I was sort of surprised to realize I’d taken anything away from it. I’d thought of it as a miserable, stressful experience that I was happy to be past. But I guess I did have a few revelations, after all. Who knew?
Wednesday, November 5th
Okay, I know I said I didn’t feel any remorse or guilt and I was all excited about standing up to Mama and canceling the potluck, but that was a week ago. I hadn’t heard one peep from her since then, even though I’d left multiple messages. To say I was a little freaked out about it was an understatement. We went weeks without talking all the time, even months here and there. But since the wedding planning started, we’d been talking every few days. Her radio silence so close to the wedding indicated how upset she must be with me.
My sisters assured me she was okay, and that I should give her time and space to get over it, but I couldn’t help feeling like I needed to apologize or make it better. Family programming dies hard.
I’d planned to call her again tonight once I got home from picking up the bridesmaid gifts from the engraver along with the watch I’d bought and had engraved for Cabe.
My phone buzzed with a text while I was in traffic, but I didn’t look at it until I pulled into the driveway.
It was from Mama’s number, which was weird because she’s always been fairly technologically incompetent and had never mastered the art of texting. It was a photo text, which was even stranger, because if there was anything she found more confusing about the phone than texting, it was taking a photo and sending it via text.
The picture was of a coffee mug. It was large and round, fat in the middle and slimmer at the bottom and top. Oversized a bit, like something you may see in a cartoon. It was white, but on the front it had a handpainted silver snowflake with a beautifully scripted monogram over it in dark purple, C-S-T. The mug was filled to overflowing with goodies, but it was hard to make out in the picture what they were. The phone buzzed again with a text this time.
“Favor”
I smiled from ear to ear and dialed Mama’s number with tears in my eyes. She answered on the first ring.
“Did ya get it? Did it come through? It said it sent it on my end.”
“Yes, ma’am, I got it. You sent it? I’m so proud of you.”
“I did. Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. Can you see the picture good? I couldn’t figure out how to zoom it, but I figured it might be best if you saw the whole thing anyways. Whadja think?”
“I love the design with the monogram. Who did it?” I put her on speaker so I could zoom into the picture on my phone and study the detail of the painting.
“Your cousin Tonya did the snowflake, and then Lisa did the monogramming. I thought they turned out real nice, but if you don’t like them, we won’t use them. I only had them do the one to show you, but I talked to the store manager and they can get us a hundred of the mugs if you want ‘em. You just gotta let me know so I can get ‘em and the girls have time to paint ‘em.”
Who was this calm, reasonable, nice lady, and what had she done with my mother?
“Um, yeah. I love them. I think that’s a great idea. How much are they?”
“You don’t worry about that. Can you see what’s in them?”
I turned the phone sideways to make the photo larger on my screen, but even when I zoomed in all the way it was hard to make it out. “It looks like some plastic bags tied with ribbons?”
“Yeah. Aunt Clementine made some of her peanut brittle with the fresh peanuts of the season. Then Pearl mixed up some of her cocoa mix that she always serves at Christmas. There’s wedding cookies in there, too. I made those. You said you wanted it to mean something with our family heritage, so I figured that might work. And cocoa and cookies and brittle all seemed to fit with your winter theme. Is that alright?”
It was more than alright. It was freakin’ perfect. Mama had listened to me. She had heard me. Then more importantly, she had done what I wanted instead of going off on some wild tangent that was the exact opposite.
“They’re perfect, Mama. I love ‘em. Thank you so much.” My voice broke a bit, but we both ignored it.
“I figure we’ll have everybody come over to the house when you get home and stuff all the cookies and brittle in bags and then put the bags in the cups. Carrie said we should buy some of those thick cellophane bags and put the whole cup in it so nothing falls out. Maybe we could tie it with a silver ribbon?”
I sank back against the car seat in shock, vaguely aware that Cabe was looking out the window at me and Deacon was barking his head off inside after hearing my car in the drive. This couldn’t be my mother. She’d never in her life been this agreeable.
“Um, that sounds good.”
“So you wanna hundred?”
“I think seventy five would be fine. We’ve gotten most of the RSVPs I expected to get, and I have a count of people who I know are coming even though they haven’t responded.”
“Okay. I’m gone order eighty five in case one breaks or they mess up paintin’. Is that okay?”
My mother was asking me if what she was doing was okay. I almost cracked up laughing at the surrealness of the situation.
“Yes. That sounds good. Thanks, Mama. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, baby girl. You know Mama loves you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I love you, too.”
Sunday, November 9th
We took Deacon to the dog beach today to spend some quality family time together before everything goes haywire. We’re both dreading leaving him behind for our honeymoon, even though Maggie has offered to keep him. We’ve been taking him to her house as often as possible so he’s accustomed to being there, and Cabe has shown Maggie how to wrap the rubber band around the latch on his crate to prevent another Deacon Destructo escape.
Mama nearly stroked when I told her we were bringing him home with us the week before the wedding.
“Lord, no! You can’t do that! You know how Boo is about other dogs.”
Boo is quite possibly the world’s most aggressive and possessive cocker spaniel.
“I don’t have a choice. He’ll totally freak out and think we’ve abandoned him if I take him to a boarding place, and Dean and Maggie will both be in Georgia with us. Please, Mama?”
“I can’t handle all these people up in my house if I got dogs a’ fightin’ underfoot.”
“We’ll watch him real close. We’ll bring his cr
ate so he can stay in my room when we’re not home.”
Heavy sigh on her end. “I suwannee, Tyler. There’s no end for what you ask me to do. Been working my tail off trying to get a wedding pulled together for you, which has not been appreciated not one bit, and now you want to bring a strange dog in my house.”
“He’s not a strange dog, Mama. He’s your granddog.”
“My what? Pssht. Granddog. No such thing. Does he shed? People gonna be coming in and out. I don’t want them getting dog hair on their clothes.”
“Not much,” I said, ignoring the fact that we have tufts of dog hair rolling across our hardwood floors like tumbleweeds no matter how often we vacuum.
She exhaled with a groan. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Wonder where I got that from?” I teased, but she wasn’t amused.
“That ain’t funny. Don’t get sassy with me. What you gonna do with this dog while y’all fly off down to Costa Rica?”
Progress. She was considering it.
“He’ll come back home with Maggie, and she’s going to keep him while we’re gone.”
I think that’s what finally did it. If Maggie could keep the granddog, so could she.
I turned to Deacon when I got off the phone and scrunched his face between my hands. “Deacon! Buddy! You’re going to Georgia. You’re going to meet Grandma Patsy and Demon Dog Boo!”
Deacon barked once in reply, and Cabe and I both laughed.
How weird that this time next week, the three of us will be at my mama’s house getting ready for the wedding. Eeek!
This time two weeks from now, Cabe and I will be swinging in a hammock made for two in Costa Rica. Wow!
Monday, November 17th
Cabe and I had hoped for a calm, quiet evening at Mama’s after driving seven hours with Deacon, but half the county was at her house when we arrived this afternoon. They kept coming in a never-ending stream of arrivals and departures until well after dinner, stopping by to wish us well and to meet Cabe if they’d missed his last visit.