The Week Before the Wedding

by Beth Kendrick

  Melanie waded into the fray and warned the girls, “If you don’t behave for Grandma, you’re both going into time-out.”

  “Poor little lambs.” Darlene clicked her tongue. “They’re just hungry and tired.”

  “Here, who wants a candy bar?” Rose wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron and opened her handbag.

  “No!” Melanie cried. “Don’t get them all hopped up on sugar!”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine, won’t you, dears?” Rose handed a chocolate bar to each child. “Now run along and find your father.”

  The girls raced out of the kitchen, yelling at the top of their lungs. Melanie followed, shooting her aunt a look of reproach as she went.

  “Hurry up.” Summer had retreated with Caroline to the far side of the room. “Put the trays in the oven and let’s hit the cooking sherry.”

  Ava and Alexis’s attempts to “help” had hindered the adults to the point that the cookies, which were supposed to be baked, cooled, and ready to be frosted by now, were way behind schedule. Bev was still rolling out rectangles of dough and using a metal cookie stamp to cut out dozens of uniform wedding-cake shapes.

  She double-checked the oven temperature, then allowed Caroline to slide in the baking sheets. “We’ll rotate the trays after five minutes.”

  “You know, there’s a bakery right down the street,” Summer said. “We could just order a bunch of cookies and save some time.”

  “Shh,” Emily hissed.

  Bev was aghast. “Homemade cookies are much better than store-bought. And besides, this is my grandmother’s recipe. It’s a family tradition.”

  “Isn’t everything?” Summer slipped out the door with a suspiciously sherry-shaped lump under her sweatshirt.

  While Emily started washing the mixing bowls and the aunts wiped down the counter, the flower girls returned, leading Ripley by the collar.

  “What happened to your mother?” Caroline asked.

  “Dunno. Here.” Alexis grabbed a handful of dough and shoved it in the dog’s mouth. “Good doggie.”

  Ripley thumped her tail against the walk-in refrigerator door and gobbled the scraps.

  Bev clutched the tiny gold cross around her neck. “Why is there a dog in the kitchen?”

  Emily heard Ryan’s voice on the other side of the swinging service doors. “Ripley?”

  Ripley responded with a bark, then snarfed down another handful of dough.

  “There you are.” Ryan walked in and wrestled the dog’s collar out of Ava’s grip. As soon as he saw Emily, he stopped looking exasperated and turned on the charm. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Trying to make favors for the wedding,” Emily said.

  He jerked his thumb in the direction of the lake. “Hey, did you know your mom is out there water-skiing?”

  “You must be mistaken.” Emily shot a pointed look at Bev. “My mother had to miss all the baking fun because she’s in her room with a migraine.”

  “What a shame.” Ryan shook his head sadly. “Yeah, it must’ve been someone else.”

  Rose and Darlene started whispering by the sink.

  Ryan peered into the oven and rubbed his stomach. The hem of his T-shirt rode up and Emily caught a glimpse of bare flesh before she forced herself to look away.

  “These smell delicious, Mrs. Cardin.”

  “Why, thank you.” Bev got a bit fluttery. “We’re going to use royal icing to make them look like wedding cakes, and then we’ll put them in little cellophane bags with ribbons and give them as favors to all the guests.” She slid another tray into the oven. “But right now, the staff needs to start prepping for lunch, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to clear out. We’ll do the frosting tonight. We can stay up late and chitchat. Won’t that be fun, girls?”

  “Absolutely,” Darlene and Rose agreed.

  Caroline turned off the hot water and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I think I feel a migraine coming on myself.”

  While Ripley endured the children’s overenthusiastic hugs and ear scratches, Ryan showered Bev with flattery about her culinary prowess and questions about her brilliant son.

  By the time Emily had returned the bottles of vanilla extract to the pantry, Bev was beaming.

  “See you tonight at the fire pit!” Bev practically glowed as she waved good-bye to Ryan and Ripley. “Oh! And here, take a cookie with you. But don’t burn your tongue; it’s still hot.”

  “Bye, guys. See you tonight!” Ryan winked at Emily. Emily scowled back.

  “What a nice young man. So helpful and polite.” Bev linked her arm through Emily’s and led the way back to the lobby.

  “He’s, uh…” Emily stumbled a bit. “He’s one of a kind.”

  “Are you all right?” Bev patted her forearm.

  “Yes. I just wish I hadn’t been married before. I’m sorry I made such a big mistake. I’m sorry I rushed into everything when I was younger.” Somewhere back in the furthest reaches of her rational mind, Emily knew she shouldn’t be apologizing for who she was and what she’d done before she ever met Grant, but she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who had a “starter marriage” in her past. She wanted to be fresh and unspoiled, able to embark on a permanent partnership without having to qualify it as her second try.

  “That’s all right, dear. It’s in the past and it can’t be helped.” But Bev sounded resigned and determined now, rather than gushy and indulgent. “We all make mistakes.”

  “The good news is my taste in men has really improved,” Emily said. “Grant is so thoughtful and grounded and…” She wanted to add “reliable,” but her lips rebelled as she thought about how little she’d seen him this week, how many times he’d sworn he would “be back in a minute.”

  Bev didn’t notice her hesitation. “But I suppose he and Ryan aren’t really such opposites, under the surface.”

  “What are you talking about? Ryan’s a madman.”

  “They both have that spark. That passion for what they do.” Bev focused her gaze on Emily with sudden intensity. “And they both adore you.”

  Emily didn’t know what to say or where to look.

  Bev squeezed her forearm. “I think it’s touching that Ryan came for the wedding. He wants you to be happy even though you broke his heart.”

  Striving for a poker face, Emily asked, “How do you know I was the one who ended it?”

  Bev smiled. “The way he looked at you at the bridal shower yesterday. I can tell these things. I’m a woman of the world, you know.”

  As much as the notion of Bev being a “woman of the world” tickled Emily, she couldn’t get past the idea that Ryan’s efforts to regain her attention were so obvious to everyone else.

  Everyone except Grant.

  She cleared her throat and proceeded with caution. “I don’t think he looks at me all that much.”

  “Well, you were unconscious, dear. You couldn’t see anything.”

  “No, trust me. He dates actresses now. And models.”

  “A model might look good on his arm, but she can’t make a house a home the way you can.” Bev kept smiling. “And you know men never really get over their first love. But I think he’s truly happy for you and Grant. It’s sweet.”

  Emily threw up her palm. Ryan Lassiter could be accused of many, many things, but being sweet was not—and never would be—one of them. “Don’t let the dog and the sweet talk fool you. He’s cunning and Machiavellian and relentless.”

  Bev waved this away. “Who a man is in the boardroom isn’t always who he is at the breakfast table. Mark my words, you don’t really know a man until you marry him.”

  Emily forced a laugh. “But what happens if you don’t like him once you do?”

  Bev patted Emily’s cheek. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that this time around. You’re marrying Grant—what’s not to like?”

  As she made her way back to her room, Emily glimpsed Melanie standing on the far side of the Lodge’s back porch
. Melanie gazed out at the lawn, her arms crossed and her right hand moving toward and away from her mouth.

  Emily trod heavily on the wooden deck, trying not to surprise her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Hey.”

  Melanie didn’t turn around. “Hey. Sorry to cut and run like that. I just needed five seconds of peace and quiet.”

  “No problem.” Emily paused. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.”

  Emily glanced at Melanie’s hand, which was indeed empty. “Oh, sorry. The way you were holding your hand, it just looked a little like—”

  Melanie half smiled. “I’m fake smoking.”

  Emily nodded as if this made sense. “Fake smoking.”

  “Yeah. I used to smoke when I was younger. I gave it up when I got pregnant with Alexis. But I still miss it sometimes.” She paused, lifting her fingers to her mouth, sucking in a lungful of fresh air. “So now, when the girls get too wild, or my family’s driving me nuts, I just go through the motions. It’s surprisingly effective. Must be the deep breaths or something.”

  Emily joined her in staring out at the lush green foliage. “Whatever gets you through the day.”

  Melanie forced a thin little laugh. “At these family reunions, I need a fake cigarette break, like, every half hour.”

  “But why?” Emily blinked. “Your family is so…so…”

  “Crazy? Passive-aggressive?”

  “No, they’re wonderful! All the hugs and the secret recipes and the singing around the piano! You grew up with it, so I guess you’re used to it, but if you’d grown up in my family…”

  Now it was Melanie’s turn to look confused. “What are you talking about? Your mom seems awesome.”

  “My mom is the second coming of Elizabeth Taylor.”

  “Yeah, but at least she’s not afraid to be herself.”

  “Your mom is just so…” Emily searched for the right word. “Maternal. So nurturing. And she has such an amazing relationship with her sisters. That whole thing with the sweaters on Monday was great.”

  Melanie snorted. “That whole thing with the sweaters was designed to make my mom feel like crap. And it worked.”

  Emily’s jaw dropped. “No.”

  “Yes. Come on, look at my mom. She’s obviously not the same size as she was in high school. They just did that to point out how much thinner they are than her. And you’ll notice that they made sure she can’t return it. She has to keep it and be reminded of how much weight she’s gained.”

  Emily could practically hear the sound of her youthful illusions shattering. “Are you sure?”

  “My aunts are masters at giving gifts that make you feel bad about yourself. They’ve been at it for decades. It’s pure bitchery with a cute little bow on top.”

  Emily thought about the undereye cream. “Wow. That’s diabolical.”

  Melanie took a long drag off her fake cigarette. “Yep. They mean-girl everybody, but they really have it in for Mom. They’re always making digs about her weight or her clothes or her hair or her cooking. And they’ve given her dozens of pairs of earrings, even though they know she never got her ears pierced.”

  “But why? I can’t imagine your mom offending anybody.”

  “Well, my mom was never assertive to begin with. But ever since my dad died, she’s kind of turned into a doormat. She’s not into stuff like clothes and makeup, and she’s an easy target. They know she’ll never call them out on it, so they just keep going.”

  Emily shook her head. “They both seem so sweet on the surface.”

  “That’s why they’re the masters. They’ll give you candles with scents you can’t stand—”

  “They gave me a rose candle for Christmas.”

  “Yeah, and my mom’s allergic to roses. Coincidence? I think not. My sweet little aunties will give you ponchos in horizontal stripes, framed photos of family trips they took without you, drum sets for your five-year-old. When they’re not pumping my kids full of high fructose corn syrup and artificial colors, they’re giving me parenting books on how to ‘reform your little rebels.’”

  “That’s terrible. Your girls are”—Emily coughed—“delightful.”

  “They’ll be coming for you, too, once you’re officially part of the family. Don’t think they didn’t see the tattoo on your finger.”

  Emily instinctively covered her left hand with her right. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”

  Melanie turned around and lifted up the hem of her shirt, revealing a little purple flower inked on her left hip. “I have one, too. My mom doesn’t know.”

  “Does Grant know?” Emily asked. Her fiancé had never mentioned anything about tattoos when describing his chummy, old-fashioned family.

  “Yeah. But I’m not surprised he never mentioned it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Grant views things in a certain way. He has an image of people, and he’s really good at not noticing things that don’t fit with that image.”

  “Hmm,” Emily said.

  “To him, I’ll always be his sweet little sister, and my aunts will always mean well.” Melanie sighed. “It’s not his fault—he always had to be the good kid because I was such a handful growing up.”

  “You? I can’t see it.”

  “Trust me, I was a hellion and a half. So Grant had to get straight As and be class president and letter in track and field. He had to make my parents proud. And he did. I used to think that maybe he had a wild side hidden in there somewhere. But he doesn’t. He’s just good, all the way through.”

  “He is.” Emily ducked her head and let her hair shield her face. “I knew that the first time we went out. He’s not just a nice guy; he’s a good man.”

  “Yep. He’s a good man, and I was a bad girl, and the whole family pretends it never happened.” Melanie’s smile twisted. “God forbid that anyone think we’re less than perfect. Family tradition is very important, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. We have to keep coming up here every summer, even though my poor husband spends the whole trip in bed with allergies. He has to use up his vacation days miserable and trapped in a hotel room because, you know, it’s tradition.” She looked over at Emily’s expression and laughed. “But don’t worry. You’re the perfect woman for my perfect brother. You two will fit right in with the traditionalists.”

  “Except for the tattoo.” Emily’s stomach clenched. “And my fractured family, my serial-marrying mother, my starter marriage, and my misspent youth.”

  “Right. Except for that.”

  Emily mulled all this over for a moment. “Mind if I have a fake cigarette with you?”

  Melanie pretended to spark an imaginary lighter. “Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em.”

  The campfire started off innocently enough, with the grownups telling ghost stories and leading sing-alongs, and the children roasting marshmallows in the flames. The starry night was clear and still, and the air was scented with the sharp, citrusy tang of mosquito repellant.

  Even Ava and Alexis were on their best behavior, lulled into tranquility by a steady stream of sugar and two-part harmony.

  Emily enjoyed the company and abstained from everything else. Every time someone urged her to have a s’more, she took another swig of water from her canteen and said, “I’m on the wedding dress diet till Saturday.” Every time someone asked, “Where’s Grant?” she answered, “Grant had to run back to the city for the day.”

  “Don’t worry.” Caroline gave her a pat on the back. “He’ll be back soon.”

  “I know. Really—I’m fine with it. I try to think of him as Clark Kent.” Emily grinned. “He’s a great guy just walking around Metropolis, but he’s happiest when he’s putting on his cape and saving the day.”

  “Aw,” Melanie said. “That’s so sweet.”

  “Didn’t Clark Kent have a lot of relationship problems?” Summer wondered aloud.

  “Shouldn’t your mouth be full of graham crackers right now?” Emily countered. She sandwiched
herself between her bridesmaids and spent the night ignoring Ryan, who was schmoozing his way through every man, woman, and child at the resort. He told blood-chilling stories about imaginary zombie invasions and real celebrity meltdowns at some restaurant in West Hollywood. He helped the children toast marshmallows and made sure all the great-aunts and -uncles had an extra wool blanket to ward off the chill.

  “Ryan’s great,” Caroline said. “He seems so fun and spontaneous. I can’t believe you two used to be a couple.” She paused. “Wait. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  But it was too late—the rest of the women piled on.

  “I still can’t believe you let him get away,” Georgia scolded. “But even if you have no use for him, I do. He promised me VIP passes for his next premiere.”

  “He had a whole carton of signed DVDs FedExed overnight for Grant’s patient,” Bev added. “And he promised to take Rose’s husband for a ride in that fancy old car of his.”

  “He’s so good with Ava and Alexis,” Melanie added.

  Summer didn’t say anything. She just leaned against Emily, offering silent support.

  Emily straightened her shoulders and launched into a loud, off-key version of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Ryan immediately joined in, his voice blending perfectly with hers.

  Ignore, ignore, ignore.

  When Bev suggested “Kumbaya” for the next song, Summer reached into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt and retrieved a flask, which she offered to Georgia.

  As the night wore on and the flames died down, guests started drifting back to the Lodge.

  “This smoke is making my eyes water.” Bev stifled a yawn as she rubbed at her face. “I know I said we had to decorate the cookies tonight, but maybe we can do it in the morning instead.”

  “Well,” Rose said. “If you’re sure.”