The Week Before the Wedding

by Beth Kendrick

  And then Emily saw it: the malicious glint in Rose’s big brown eyes. The shared smirk between two sisters teaming up against the newcomer who didn’t know her place.

  Bev stared up at the ceiling, probably praying for divine intervention. Melanie stuck out her index and middle fingers in cigarette-smoking position and sucked on a nonexistent Marlboro Light.

  And Georgia…Georgia was about to blow.

  She tweezed the offending stockings between her thumb and forefinger and held them at arm’s length. Then she took a huge breath and prepared to open fire with the verbal equivalent of an assault rifle.

  Summer sprang into action. “Let’s go.”

  Emily took Georgia’s right arm, Summer took the left arm, and Bev trailed behind them while they hustled Georgia out into the hallway.

  As they went, they could hear Rose and Darlene exclaiming:

  “Well, goodness, I never! I put a lot of thought and effort into picking those out. A simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “Hmph! She’s just jealous that she’s not part of the three musketeers. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have any girlfriends.”

  “Calm down, Mom,” Emily instructed. “Deep breaths.”

  “Compression socks?” Georgia’s complexion looked splotchy and mottled under layers of powder, blush, and foundation. “Compression socks?”

  “They’re pink,” Summer pointed out. “That’s kind of fabulous, right?”

  “Compression socks are for old people,” Georgia spat. “Old people with varicose veins. Why didn’t they just stab me in the heart with a butcher knife?”

  “Heavens,” Bev said. “I’m sure they didn’t mean—”

  Georgia whirled to confront Bev. “How did you feel when they deliberately gave you a sweater that was too small?”

  Bev stared at the ground. “I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate.”

  “How did you feel?”

  Bev’s voice was barely audible. “Like they stabbed me in the heart with a butcher knife.”

  “There you go!”

  “Bev?” Rose’s voice drifted out from the dining area. “Bev, dear, we need you!”

  “Coming.” Bev shuffled back to her sisters.

  Georgia turned back to Summer and Emily. Her eyebrows drew together in an angry, auburn V. “Allow me to set the record straight: I am not old.”

  “We know, Mom.”

  “I am ageless. Men flock from miles away to pay court and take me to dinner.”

  “We know,” Summer said.

  “I am pure glamour and elegance. My skin is clear and pristine. Look!” Georgia yanked up her skirt hem. “These are the legs of a twenty-year-old.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Emily assured her.

  “A knockout,” Summer said.

  “And let me tell you something else.” Here she raised a lacquered pink nail. “I have been nothing but agreeable and accommodating this week, while the ‘three musketeers’ run roughshod over me. Now, I grant you, I may not be the matriarch of some huge extended family. I may not send out foil-lined Christmas cards every year with boastful family updates. I may have been married four times and have only one child, so my opinions don’t count. But I am still the mother of the bride, and I deserve a little respect.”

  Emily frowned at her mother. “Of course your opinions count.”

  “Ha! As much as Bev’s?”

  “Yes! You two just have very different—”

  “Whose wedding gown are you wearing?” Georgia demanded. “Whose engagement ring? Whose favorite hotel are we staying at?”

  “Bev’s!” Summer answered for Emily.

  “That’s right. The Cardins are trying to poach you and suck you into their family. But you were my daughter first. You and me, Emmy. We are a family, too.”

  “Uh, hello.” Summer wiggled her fingers. “Don’t forget me.”

  “And you, too.” Georgia pulled both girls in for a jasmine-scented group hug.

  “You guys.” Emily huddled closer. “I’m not jumping ship. I just…I always wanted the fantasy, you know? Security and stability and good, clean fun where everyone gets along.”

  Georgia’s entire face puckered. “Ick. Sounds dreadful.”

  “Right?” Summer laughed. “I’m bored already.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find some brawny, handsome man to build a fire so that I can burn these.” Georgia gathered up her gift.

  “Try not to take it personally,” Emily said. “Melanie says that’s their way. They mean-girl the other women in the family with gifts that point out everybody’s shortcomings.”

  “Hang on.” Summer feigned disbelief. “They’re not all healthy and functional every minute of every day?”

  “Turns out you were right,” Emily admitted. “There is no such thing as a perfect family.”

  “Well, that’s just vindictive.” Georgia sniffed. “Not to mention childish.” The auburn eyebrow V deepened. “Bev might tolerate that nonsense, but not me!”

  “Oh boy.” Emily rubbed her temples. “Here we go.”

  “Hide the firearms,” Summer said.

  “I didn’t start this, but I will finish it!” Georgia waved the magenta compression stockings like a battle flag. “They will rue the day they tangled with me, because mark my words: I’m the meanest mean girl who ever lived.”

  “I’ve never been in a limousine before.” Beverly’s voice was a mixture of excitement and worry.

  Ryan waved off the chauffeur and opened the car door himself. “Ladies.”

  “Tell me where we’re off to.” Georgia minced down the uneven stone walkway toward the car. Her heels were so high, her ankles wobbled with every step. “The suspense is absolutely killing me.”

  Ryan took her arm and helped her navigate the path. “Not to worry; the champagne should take the edge off.”

  Emily froze, one foot on the pavement and the other inside the limo. “Champagne?”

  “I stocked the wet bar with a whole case.” He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, “The good stuff. Your favorite.”

  As one woman after another ducked inside the stretch limo, Emily heard high-pitched squealing and laughing, popping corks and the clear, ringing chime of crystal flutes being toasted.

  She looked at Ryan. “You know I don’t drink champagne anymore.”

  “I figured you’d make an exception for Dom Pérignon.”

  When she turned around, his shoulder and bare arm brushed against hers. She hadn’t realized how close he was. “You bought an entire case of Dom?”

  “Why not? Keep up, Em,” he chided. “I’m not an unpaid production assistant anymore.”

  “But you’re still insane, obviously.”

  “I prefer ‘spontaneous.’” He held out his hand to help her into the car.

  She brushed him aside and clambered in by herself. “Well, thank you. I appreciate the effort, and I’m sure the girls will savor every sip. But I’m not drinking tonight.”

  “Oh, yes you are.” Summer materialized behind her and assured Ryan, “Yes, she is. I’m on it.”

  “I have every confidence.”

  “Stop conspiring against me.” Emily bristled. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Ryan leaned over and called into the limo, “Have a good time. Call me if you need bail money.”

  “Don’t worry,” Beverly piped up from the depths of the black leather interior. “We’ll all behave ourselves.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Summer muttered.

  “If she makes us play the license plate game, I’m throwing myself out the window,” Georgia said.

  “Be nice, you two,” Emily said. She glanced back at Ryan. “Aren’t you going to come with us?”

  “My role is strictly behind the scenes.” Ryan grinned as he closed the door on them. “Besides, I’d say there’ll be more than enough testosterone already.”

  “You’ve got to hand it to Ryan.” Summer’s eyes glazed over with a mix of
lust and amazement. “The guy knows how to pick a male strip club.”

  “I will kill him,” Emily hissed. She had to admit, though, her friend had a point. When she thought “strip club,” she envisioned a dark, dingy hole-in-the-wall with deafening music and cigarette smoke. But the all-male nude revue Ryan had selected was more refined country club than seedy strip joint. The atmosphere was almost spa-like, cool and clean and teeming with beautiful, genteel men in various states of undress.

  “Who knew places like this even existed? And right by the Canadian border?” Summer wondered. “How does he do it?”

  “He has minions.” Emily sighed. “Many minions. And no shame whatsoever.”

  “I had no idea men could look like this,” Caroline marveled. “Every guy here looks like he’s trying out for the Olympic swim team.”

  The muscular, well-mannered males mingling with the female patrons boasted sculpted jawlines and cheekbones, dazzling white teeth, and smooth skin tanned to perfection.

  “What kind of hair removal methods are these guys using?” Summer asked. “I need to get in on that.”

  “It’s like they’re not even human,” Caroline agreed. “How can no one have a pimple? Or even a freckle?”

  “Okay, okay, gather round. You can all go back to drooling in a second.” Summer motioned everyone in. “I just need to make a quick announcement. Ryan called ahead and arranged for all of us to have an open bar.”

  “God, I love that boy,” Georgia said.

  “And we have the limo as long as we want, so no hurry.” Summer dismissed everyone, grabbed Emily, and made a beeline for the bar. “I’m having about five more glasses of bubbly. You?”

  “Just some water with lemon, thank you.”

  Summer shook her head. “Unacceptable. You’re in a strip club.”

  “I’m at a strip club with my mother and my future mother-in-law.”

  “All the more reason why a real drink is in order,” Summer said. “We can do this one of two ways, Em: Either you get yourself a proper drink and start enjoying the beefcake buffet here, or I will order you the Four Horsemen and pour them down your throat.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. The “Four Horsemen” was a series of shots comprised of Johnny Walker, Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and Jameson. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, I would. I already have. Remember your twenty-first birthday?”

  “No.”

  Summer nodded. “Because of the Four Horsemen.”

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll have one glass of champagne.”

  Summer gave their order to the bartender (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jon Hamm) and sat down on a velvet-upholstered circular banquette in the center of the room. “Stop sulking and enjoy the view.”

  Summer practically purred as one of the men took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and maintained steady, intense eye contact as he murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

  When another guy approached Emily, she motioned for him to keep moving. “I’m good, thanks. And I’m engaged.”

  “This was completely worth canceling my date for!” Georgia sidled up to them with a crystal champagne flute in one hand and a stack of dollar bills in the other. “Come on, girls, let’s go have some fun.”

  “Can’t.” Summer batted her eyelashes at the shirtless Olympian. “Your only child has signed up as the chief of the Fun Police.”

  Georgia tsk-tsked. “Darling, this is your bachelorette party. You might not get another one for a very long time.”

  “Or ever,” Emily said.

  “Of course, sweetie. So come along and set the tone. It’s what Emily Post would want.” Georgia handed her a stack of money and started toward the back of the club.

  Emily dug her heels in. “Mother, I am not going to stuff dollar bills into G-strings with you. Do you hear me? There is not enough therapy in the world.”

  “Fine.” Georgia tossed back her hair. “If you’re going to be a prude, I’ll have to go back to the VIP room by myself.”

  Emily surveyed the scene, assuming her role as hostess. “I’m going to go talk to Bev. She doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself at all.”

  “That woman needs a lap dance more than anyone I’ve ever met,” Summer said. “With the possible exception of you.”

  Both of them approached Bev. “Hi, Bev. How’re you doing?”

  “Just fine, dear.” Bev clutched the top button of her blouse with both hands, and her gaze bounced around the room as if she didn’t know where to look. “You know, this is all very…lovely, but I think I’ll wait in the car.”

  “Don’t do that.” Summer steered her back toward the bar. “Stay. Sit down. You’ll get used to everything in a few…Damn, look at that guy’s abs.”

  “No, I’m going to excuse myself.” Bev’s face had gone pale. “You girls are from a different generation; I know that. But women my age aren’t used to all this.”

  Right on cue, Georgia yelled, “Take it off!” at one of the strippers.

  “It’s okay.” Emily put her arm around Bev. “You’re a lady through and through, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But I don’t want you to sit out in the car by yourself. Tell you what: You and I can—”

  “Come with me.” Georgia materialized next to Bev with a fizzy pink cocktail in hand.

  “Where are we going?” Bev sounded terrified.

  “You’ll find out in a minute.” Georgia wrapped Bev’s fingers around the glass. “Have a sip. Tastes just like pink lemonade, doesn’t it?”

  Emily rounded on Summer. “You and my mother are like peer-pressuring middle schoolers on an after-school special.”

  “Just wait. Next we’re going to spray-paint the girls’ bathroom and terrorize the sub in homeroom.”

  “Right this way.” Georgia hustled Bev toward the back room. “I’ve got a delightful surprise for you.”

  Emily trailed after her mother, protesting, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  Georgia swatted her away with a sleek silver evening bag. “I’m the mother here. I’ll decide what’s a good idea and what’s not.”

  “This isn’t going to end well,” Emily predicted.

  “That’s the point, sweetie.”

  A few hours later, everybody was tipsy and out of dollar bills.

  “Now this is a proper bachelorette party,” Summer said with great satisfaction. “Although it’s pretty much ruined me for all other men for the rest of my life.”

  “You guys ready to go?” Emily asked.

  “Yes.” Caroline’s complexion looked a bit fevered. “Let’s hit the road before things get any more out of hand.”

  They had all left the club and crowded into the waiting limo before Emily realized they were missing a few members of their party. “Wait a minute. Where’s my mom? And where’s Bev?”

  Melanie’s mouth formed a perfect O. “They must be back in the VIP room.”

  “What?”

  Rose and Darlene practically tripped over each other in their haste to be the first to deliver the scandalous news. “Yes, Emily dear, we didn’t want to put on a damper on your special evening but your mother—”

  “Bless her heart.”

  “—hired some hulking Nordic man to sexually harass poor Bev. I believe his name was Sven?”

  “He had no shirt,” Rose added. “And very tight pants.”

  Darlene nodded. “She’s probably catatonic by now.”

  Summer checked the time on her cell phone. “Yeah, they’ve been back there for a while now. They must be spending a small fortune.”

  “Oh my God. We have to go rescue her.” Emily grabbed her maid of honor and headed back into the club. “We could be at an ice-cream social right now.”

  “I know! Isn’t this so much better?”

  It cost them another fifty bucks just to get into the club’s VIP area (or, as Summer insisted on calling it, “the champagne room”), and Emily braced herself for the worst:

  Full frontal male nudity.


  Georgia getting arrested for solicitation.

  Bev calling Grant and whimpering while Georgia held her captive in the vicinity of some man’s crotch.

  But while they saw a parade of well-built men and many woo-hooing women, they didn’t see Georgia and Bev.

  Then Summer nudged Emily and pointed out a little table in a dark corner. “There they are.”

  Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “No strippers, no trauma…” She squinted into the shadows. “But why are they crying?”

  When they approached the table, Bev blew her nose and took a sip of her cocktail. “I had no idea your mother was a widow, Emily.”

  “Twice,” Georgia said. “The second time—that was Walt—I knew it was coming. Walt was older and he had some health problems. But Cal was young, in the prime of his life. Head-on collision on his way home from work one night.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Bev opened her embroidered handbag and pulled out a photo of her late husband. “I can’t imagine how awful it must be, losing your husband in your twenties like that, with no warning. My Stephen died just last year. Pancreatic cancer.”

  “Oh, honey, that is awful.” Georgia rubbed at her eyes, heedless of her makeup.

  “He died three months after they diagnosed him.” Bev traced the edges of the photo with her fingertip. “We’d been planning a trip for our fortieth anniversary. An Alaskan cruise.”

  “The first year is so hard,” Georgia said. “But it gets easier.”

  Bev drew in a shaky breath. “It does?”

  “I promise. But you have to go through all the stages. First the shock, then the annoyance of all the chores you never had to worry about when you had a man around the house.”

  “The gutters!” Bev cried. “And raking the leaves.”

  Georgia nodded and gulped her drink. “I thought I’d have a nervous breakdown when the pipes under the kitchen sink started leaking.”

  “And the holidays.” Bev sighed.

  “First Valentine’s Day after Cal died, I spent the whole morning lying on the bathroom floor.”

  “I cried buckets when I was peeling sweet potatoes last Thanksgiving,” Bev confided. “They were Stephen’s favorite.”