The Week Before the Wedding

by Beth Kendrick

  On the way back to her room, Emily ran into Caroline, who, as usual, looked crisp, cool, and chic.

  And alone.

  Caroline was too well-mannered to stare, but she did raise an eyebrow at Emily’s state of dishevelment. “Is that syrup?”

  “Yes.”

  Without asking for further details, Caroline unlatched the flap of her quilted lambskin handbag. “Tissue?”

  “I think it might make things worse, actually. My only hope is gallons and gallons of scalding hot water.”

  “Go.” Caroline stepped aside and motioned Emily past. “Have you eaten yet? I was heading to the restaurant, and I’d love some company.”

  “I’ll try to hurry, but I can’t make any promises.” Emily patted the ends of her curls, which felt stiff and crunchy. “This might take awhile. It feels like it’s starting to crystallize.”

  “Don’t worry; maple syrup’s great for your hair. Some women actually use it as a deep conditioning treatment.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Emily stared at her friend in disbelief. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  Caroline gave her a serene Martha Stewart smile. “When are you going to realize that I know everything?”

  Both women laughed and continued on their way, but Emily couldn’t help acknowledging that Caroline was right about a lot of things.

  Just not about Grant’s priorities.

  Hopefully.

  After twenty minutes in the shower, the top of Emily’s hair was indeed shiny and lustrous. The ends, however, had twisted into a Gordian knot of curls.

  The snarls merged into one big, dense thicket, and her efforts at detangling only made matters worse. As she cursed and speared a comb through the matted mess, Summer knocked on the door.

  “Are you almost ready, Em? The shower starts in fifteen minutes, and Bev’s getting antsy.”

  Emily, wrapped in a towel, didn’t bother getting dressed before she yanked open the door.

  “Oh my God.” Summer stared at the comb sticking out of Emily’s hair at a forty-five degree angle. “What happened?”

  Emily grabbed Summer’s wrist and pulled her in. “I got caught in the crossfire between Ava and Alexis.”

  “The adorable little flower girls?”

  “Ha! Don’t be fooled by the ringlets and the lacy dresses. They’re demon spawn, do you hear me? They have harmonicas and jugs of syrup and fists of fury!”

  “No wonder Melanie looks so tired all the time,” Summer said.

  “Demon spawn,” Emily repeated. “Straight out of The Omen. And that DNA is lurking in Grant’s gene pool. What if our kids turn out just like them?”

  “That’ll never happen,” Summer assured her. “Even if his gene pool has the demon DNA, your side of the family is so, um…Yeah, you’re screwed.”

  “He’ll be at the hospital for days at a time and I’ll be trapped at home with this!” Emily shook a hank of hair at Summer. “There’ll be no escape.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic—of course there’s an escape. It’s called a full-time nanny. Now let’s focus on the problem at hand.” Summer gave the comb a tentative tug. “Yeah, we definitely need to focus right now.”

  “Good point.” Emily stopped panicking long enough to notice Summer’s understated pink sheath dress. “You look very nice, by the way.”

  “Thanks. I had to buy all new outfits for this week. Blew my whole paycheck at the House of Beige.”

  “Help me,” Emily pleaded. “You’re good with hair. Work your magic.”

  “Does this mean I’m off the hook?” Summer looked hopeful. “For the whole thing with Ryan?”

  “Hair first, interrogation later.”

  Summer sat Emily down at the vanity table and went to work with a hair pick, a blow-dryer, and a spray bottle of leave-in conditioner. After a few minutes, she gave up. “It won’t come out.” She held up a lock of hair and checked her watch. “Time of death, ten thirty-two.”

  “We’re late for the shower. What am I going to do?”

  Summer lifted the top layer of curls, considering. “We’re going to have to cut it.”

  “What?” Emily clamped both hands on top of her head. “No! I’ve been growing it out all year! Grant loves it long!”

  “Don’t worry—I’ll just trim the part underneath. I’ll layer it. It’ll be super subtle.”

  “I don’t think so.” Emily glanced at Summer’s short, sleek pixie cut. “Curly hair is tricky. You really have to know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing.” Summer dug through Emily’s baby blue toiletry bag until she found a pair of nail scissors. “I’m your sister, your best friend, and your maid of honor. Plus, I have a God-given talent for hair and makeup. You can trust me.”

  “You swear?” Emily closed her eyes as she heard the first metallic snip of the scissors.

  “I swear. No one will even be able to tell. Now stop making that face and prepare to be amazed.”

  “Goodness gracious, you cut your hair.” Bev’s face blanched as she inspected Summer’s handiwork.

  “It’s so…curly. My word, just look how much, er, volume you have!” Rose and Darlene joined Bev in clucking with disapproval. “Well, I guess there’s no point in gussying yourself up just for us gals. Although it is your bridal shower…”

  Emily opened her mouth to retort, but Summer cut her off with a swift elbow to the ribs.

  “Doesn’t she look cute?” Summer asked.

  “Very cute,” Melanie said. Then she gave Emily an agonized look and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  “Oh, well, of course.” Bev rallied with her usual tact and sweetness. “You’ll be a beautiful bride on Saturday.”

  “Yes, but try to get some extra beauty sleep before then,” Rose suggested. “You look a bit peaked.”

  “Exhausted,” Darlene agreed. “Here, dear, we brought you some cucumber undereye cream. It’ll help get rid of those dark circles.”

  “It’s organic,” Rose added. “Handmade right here in Vermont.”

  “How thoughtful!” Summer exclaimed. “Thank you so much!” She led Emily away to the huge picture window overlooking the lake.

  “Do I really look exhausted?” Emily whispered.

  “No, no, I’m sure she didn’t mean that. You look great. All you have to do is smile and nod and open presents.”

  “While everyone silently judges me for being so haggard and frizzy.”

  “You just need a nap. And I’ll make sure you get one, right after you ooh and aah over a bunch of stemware and china.”

  Emily put on a smile and did her best to shift into bride mode. “Oh, we didn’t register for china. We’re going to use Grant’s grandmother’s place settings. They’ve been in his family for generations.”

  Summer rolled her eyes. “I should have known.”

  Georgia glided up, resplendent in a silver ruched cocktail dress and an obscene amount of diamond jewelry.

  And just like that, Emily stopped worrying about her untamed frizz and dark undereye circles.

  “Mother. What’s up with the red carpet gown?”

  “I’m feeling extra festive today.” Georgia placed her hand on her chest, the better to show off her sparkling rings and bracelets. “Do you like it?”

  Summer and Emily exchanged a look. “You’re just dressing like that to piss Bev off. Admit it.”

  “I admit nothing.” Georgia frowned as she examined Emily’s curls. “What happened to your hair? It looks a little…”

  “Summer cut it.”

  Georgia clapped her hands. “Oh, it looks fabulous!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re very talented, Summer.” Georgia opened her arms to her ex-stepdaughter, then squinted out the window. “Are my eyes going or is that Ryan Lassiter out there?”

  Emily and Summer followed her gaze, and sure enough, Ryan was racing around in front of the sparkling waves, throwing a Frisbee for his dog. He looked so en
ergetic and exuberant that for a moment, Emily felt a pang for what she had lost—for what she herself had been like when she was younger.

  “That’s him.” Summer jumped up and down and waved at him. “He’s all rich and famous now. Some kind of Hollywood big shot.”

  Ryan waved back and started toward the Lodge.

  “What are you doing?” Emily cried. “Now he’s going to crash my shower.”

  “But what is he doing here, of all places?” Georgia asked.

  “Scouting film locations, I think. And stalking our little Emmy.”

  Emily pinned Summer with a stare that belonged in a police station interrogation room. “I know you’re responsible for this somehow. I know you two are in cahoots.”

  “You poor thing.” Summer patted her head. “The stress is really getting to you.”

  “I always did like Ryan,” Georgia said. “So charming and charismatic.”

  “Who are we waving to?”

  All three of them startled at Bev’s voice. No one had heard her approaching—she was quite stealthy for a woman wearing pink pumps with a sensible two-inch heel.

  “Emily’s ex-husband,” Summer answered. “He came out for the wedding.”

  “The two of you are still friends? I don’t believe Grant mentioned that, either.” Bev watched Ryan approaching. Between the wind-ruffled brown hair, the tan, and the retriever, the man looked like he’d arrived fresh from the Kennedy compound. “My, he certainly is handsome.”

  “He’s nothing compared to Grant,” Emily said a little too loudly.

  “Well, obviously, dear. That goes without saying.”

  Emily turned to Summer and pointed at the door to the reception room. “You go out there and intercept him. I do not need him in here, teaming up with my mother for the toilet-paper wedding gown game.”

  Summer went, then returned with a little thumbs-up. “All clear. He had to go back to his room and comb out Ripley.”

  “Now you’re on a first-name basis with his dog, too?”

  “We’ll talk about this later.” Summer grabbed Emily’s hand and towed her toward the mound of pastel gift bags piled by the window seat. “Right now, it’s time for toasters and coasters.”

  Emily sat on a white wooden folding chair while the guests gathered around in a ring of commingled perfume and high-pitched exclamations.

  “How beautiful,” she cooed, after sifting through layers of pink tissue to reveal a hideous candy dish in the shape of a squirrel. “It will look darling on the coffee table in the living room.”

  Then she opened Beverly’s gift, a large box wrapped in mint green paper and topped with a silver ribbon.

  “What is it?” Georgia asked as Emily peered into the box.

  “It’s…it’s, um…” Emily pulled out a round, black cooking implement that looked like a skillet with no sides.

  “Now we’re talking.” Summer grabbed the wooden paddle nestled next to the pan and slapped the flat surface against her palm. “Just in case the honeymoon gets boring.”

  “Wait till you see the negligee I got her,” Georgia stage-whispered. “No chance of that.”

  “It’s a crepe turner,” Bev informed them with crisp formality. “And a crepe pan. So you can make Grant his favorite spinach and bacon crepes on Sundays. I’ll give you the recipe, but not until after the wedding. It’s a family secret.”

  “And I’ll give you my secret recipe for sour cream pancakes,” Rose said.

  “Don’t forget my walnut coffee cake,” Darlene said. “Our mother used to make it every weekend.”

  “Okay.” Emily heard her own voice, hearty and cheerful, as if from the other side of a long tunnel.

  “Listen to us, going on about our cooking. What’s your specialty, dear?” Bev asked. “You must have a few secret recipes of your own.”

  “Oh, well, there’s…” Do not say Jell-O shots and pot brownies, do not say Jell-O shots and pot brownies.

  Summer must have been thinking the same thing, because she jumped in with, “Bacon crepes and coffee cake sound great. I’m totally coming over for brunch.” She thrust another gift into Emily’s hands. “Here, this one’s heavy.”

  Emily stared down at the ribbon but made no move to unwrap the box. Her limbs felt leaden, but her head got lighter and lighter.

  Summer nudged her, then took over and ripped into the tissue paper. “Ooh!” She held up a pair of brass candlesticks.

  “They’re antique,” said Grant’s great-aunt Sophie.

  “Thank you so much! They’ll go perfectly with the antique china!” Summer gushed.

  Emily sucked in a long, shallow breath.

  Summer put a hand on her shoulder and tried to shake her back to her senses. “You and Grant like to eat by candlelight, right?”

  “We…” Emily nodded. Her line of vision tilted as though she’d just stepped aboard a sailboat leaving the harbor. “Right.”

  “Steady there,” Summer muttered. Then she helped herself to a bulky, rectangular package. “Okay, moving right along.”

  “That’s from me.” Caroline, resplendent in a collared yellow shirtdress, leaned forward.

  Summer tore off the wrapping and examined the maroon box. “It’s…the complete series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

  Caroline adjusted her earring, looking self-conscious. “Yes. You can return it if you like. Exchange it for a blender or something.”

  Emily regained her focus long enough to thank her friend and assure her that no exchanges would be necessary. “I’m kind of surprised, though. You don’t seem like a Buffy kind of girl.”

  Caroline shrugged. “I didn’t think so, either. But I started watching the reruns on cable one night while I was waiting for Andrew to get home, and I was hooked.”

  “That happened to me,” Georgia said. “I almost died of sleep deprivation when Dynasty came out on DVD.”

  “I only watch PBS,” Bev interjected.

  “Anyway, give it a try and see if you like it,” Caroline said to Emily. “It’s very well-written. It helped me get through a lot of lonely nights.”

  That’s when Emily blacked out.

  The world fell away and darkness rushed in so quickly that she didn’t have time to say or do anything to help herself. One second, she was watching Summer rip through the rest of the loot (“Food processor! Score!”), and the next she was flat on her back, blinking up at the ceiling beams.

  Bev, Summer, Caroline, and Melanie surrounded her, all talking at once:

  “She needs some cold water.”

  “Elevate her feet.”

  “It’s just the excitement.”

  “Maybe it’s the heat.”

  “Maybe she’s pregnant.”

  “No!” Emily forced out the syllable like a cough. “I’m fine!” She struggled up into a sitting position. Rose and Darlene tried to push her back down.

  And then her mother was at her side, taking charge.

  “Out of my way,” Georgia commanded. She slapped everybody else’s hands away and embraced her daughter. “Breathe, baby. Put your head between your knees.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Emily pitched forward.

  “Cold feet.” Georgia offered up a glass of lemonade, which she had apparently plucked out of thin air. “Happened to me dozens of times. Perfectly normal. You’ll be fine.”

  A sympathetic murmur rippled through the women. The semicircle of concerned faces was replaced by an array of open palms, each offering up a quick fix for her distress.

  “Xanax?” said Georgia.

  “Valium?” said Melanie.

  “Altoid?” offered Bev.

  “Here.” Summer pulled a little orange prescription vial out of her straw clutch. “I brought my emergency stash. Want one?”

  Emily’s jaw dropped. “Since when do all of you take meds?”

  “I don’t,” Georgia said, sounding a bit offended. “It’s purely for dental cleanings and bad hair days.”

  The women’s voices blende
d together in Emily’s head until all she could hear was a thick, high-pitched buzzing. She needed air, but couldn’t breathe. She needed space, but couldn’t escape the crowd.

  She needed, desperately, to be alone.

  As she closed her eyes again, she felt her mother’s hand on her forehead and heard Summer calling, “Emily? Twitch if you’re okay.”

  “We need a man!” Georgia cried. “Ryan! Yoo-hoo! Ryan, over here!”

  “Someone fetch my purse,” Bev said. “I’m calling Grant. He’s a doctor, you know.”

  Emily jerked back to the here and now when she felt rough, wet pressure against her cheek. The smell of liver assaulted her nostrils, and she could hear a moist snuffling sound.

  “Argh.” When she rolled to the side, Ripley placed one dainty paw on her bicep.

  Then she heard Ryan’s voice, laced with both concern and amusement: “Give her some air, give her some air. Getting a waffle maker is exciting enough to make anyone pass out.”

  Ripley nudged Emily’s shoulder blade and barked, then went back to licking off her blush and foundation.

  Emily started to gag; then she started to laugh, and she knew she was going to be fine.

  “You’re fine,” Grant pronounced twenty minutes later, after he ran through a quick physical exam in their hotel room. “Your pulse is steady, your pupils look good, your airway is clear.”

  “I know.” She cupped her hand around the back of his neck and gave him a kiss. “Can I wash the dog slobber off my face now?”

  “I’ll get a washcloth; you stay in bed.” After he’d arrived at the bridal shower, Grant had scooped her up and carried her back to their room. “Your mom said you had a panic attack.”

  “My mom tends to exaggerate.” She sat up. “I really feel much better. Want to go for a walk? We can see the town. Pet a cow.”

  “Absolutely not.” He leaned over and confiscated her shoes. “You need to rest. Don’t argue; I’ve got an MD.”

  “So your mother kept telling us.” She settled back into the fluffy down comforter. “How long do I have to lie here?”

  “Until I say you can get up.”

  “God, you’re bossy.”

  “You’re just noticing this now?” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I’m going to go get you some food. You need to rest, hydrate, and eat.”