by Amanda Tru
She’d been curious for a long time just why he was so formal when talking to or about his mother—the very woman who didn’t want formality, no less—but he spoke casually of, “Dad.” At that moment, it occurred to her that perhaps it was something you might expect to know about your fiancé. “Why do you call her ‘Mother,’ but him just, ‘Dad’?”
That smile—it twinkled first in Preston’s eyes and eventually worked its way to his lips. “When I was a kid, I called him ‘Daddy.’ That’s what she called her parents. Mother and Daddy. But around the time I turned ten, I figured out that it wasn’t common for kids my age and gender to call their fathers ‘Daddy.’ So I shortened it.” He winked before adding, “She’s never forgiven me.”
“Do our kids have to call me ‘Mother?’ I don’t want to be so stuffy. Mom or Mommy feels more natural.”
The video swam in bizarre circles for a moment before Preston appeared again, hands behind his head, obviously reclining on his couch. “As long as we have children to call us something, I don’t care what it is. Mother is already testing out grandma names, you know.”
She didn’t know, and the idea twisted her still-messed-up-gut in tighter knots. “Really?” It came out in a squeak. “Just how many grandma names are there?”
“She’s from the south, Lara. There’s about fifty. She’s vetoed most traditional ones like Grandmother, Grandma, or Granny. Too old-sounding.”
“Oh.” Another squeak. “Um, my mom will probably be Grandma or Grammy. I hope that’s okay.”
Preston laughed. “At least one of us has a sensible mother. Currently on the short list, we have Gigi and Mimi, although she found Faux-ma, and she’s liking that one right now, too.”
Faux-ma? You’ve got to be kidding me. It took a bit of doing, but Lara managed to show approval for Mimi. “Do we get any input?”
“Probably not, and by the time we do have children, she’ll probably have changed her mind a dozen times. Be prepared for frequent hints about biological clocks and healthy eggs. Just ignore them, though. I fully intend to have a few years with you all to myself before thinking about babies.”
That’s a relief… and kind of scary, too. I mean, Miss Stella isn’t wrong. I’m not twenty anymore.
For the next fifteen minutes, she listened to some proposal he planned to make to the board, murmured her approval, and disconnected the call just as Brenna arrived to get ready for bed. Brenna took one look at her and said, “What’s wrong?”
Lara winced. “You don’t really think my kids will have to call their grandma, ‘Faux-ma,’ do you?”
She’d passed the church four times in the past hour. The fifth time, Ty went to stand in the doorway and wave. That’s all it took. Lauren Kinsey bounded up to his office and scooted inside. “Mitchell’s watching the store.”
“That’s… good?”
The girl flipped back mouse brown hair barely long enough to hang over her shoulder and leveled a look on him that nearly made Ty squirm. “He doesn’t know milk glass from Stickley.”
“To be fair, I don’t either.”
Lauren surveyed the room with a critical eye. “We’ve got a desk that would look good in here. It suits you better than that clunky, old thing.” With one wiggle of her index finger, Lauren dismissed his office furniture. “You’d have more space, too. You should come look at it.”
“I like this desk, but thanks.”
In that moment, Lauren’s expression informed him of his complete lack of taste and alerted him to the fact that he’d be stepping into the Curio & Garret later. Even worse, he’d likely be leaving with a new desk, and all because the darling of New Cheltenham said he needed it.
Lauren gave herself a little shake and came to the point. “I need to talk to you.”
“Talk away.”
A grin appeared, one that transformed an otherwise unremarkable face into an interesting one. I bet you’ll be a beauty someday, though. Then you’ll shock your childhood friend-who-happened-to-be-a-boy into making a fool of himself. It’s Rom-Com 101.
“Um, Brother Jamison?” Her voice ripped him from a trailer playing in his mind—one that featured Lara as Lauren instead of Brenna. That didn’t make sense. Again, she spoke. “Hey. You okay in there?”
“Yes. Sorry. You were saying?”
“It’s Brenna and Mitchell.”
Great. You don’t like your sister’s boyfriend. And he’s freaking out over being a brother with responsibilities.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong with them?”
Ty chose to skip the cat-and-mouse game. “How about I tell you? He’s a nice guy, and you like him, but you don’t think he has any business telling you what to do. You and Brenna were just fine before he came along, and now he’s going to mess everything up.” He beamed at her, proud of his understanding and insight into the situation. “How’d I do?”
“Great…”
The journal would get a good entry tonight. “Well—”
“—if I was talking about a cheesy Hallmark movie. Considering I did everything I could to get them together, I’d be a stupid idiot to resent my own success.”
Whoops. The only reasonable response was a direct question at that point. “So, what’s the problem?”
“They’ve known each other since September. Five months. They’ve hardly gone out on any dates, don’t talk about serious stuff, but they do, too. It’s weird. Nothing like in any book I’ve ever read or movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Movies and books aren’t always real life, Lauren.”
A scathing look nearly seared him as she jumped up. “Not sure why I thought you’d help. You don’t have a girlfriend, either. Aunt (gimme) Mercy says, ‘You snooze, you lose.’ Looks like you lost, doesn’t it? I’ll figure it out myself.”
Though Ty followed her to the door, he didn’t call out when she stalked off across the lawn and down Greenaway Road. What was that about?
Fifteen minutes passed—minutes in which he second-guessed everything in his office and in his vocation. The honey-oak desk… well, it was large for the small room. Of course, the room was long and narrow, so it worked to shove it to one end and squeeze behind it. But what if it makes me seem unapproachable. It could be intimidating, I suppose…
Once his mind took that first step in the direction of Lauren’s opinions, it went from zero to sixty in three seconds flat. I like darker furniture. Perhaps if I just painted it black. Black is supposed to make things look smaller, too.
The chairs that he’d been grateful for when he’d received them now looked shabby and a bit uncomfortable. Folks should be comfortable when they come in. It helps them open up.
Lara and Preston would arrive for their first counseling session on Friday. A St. James. In his office. Shabby devolved into city dump reject.
It wouldn’t hurt to go see what Lauren was talking about. She could show me the desk. I could look at a couple of chairs. His rolling desk chair lurched to the left as it was wont to do when Ty didn’t pay attention. Or three. Asking her opinion and taking her seriously would open her up, too. I don’t have to buy anything, but it might give me ideas. Then maybe a run to the Rockland scratch and dent place.
Of course, as he stood, the giant stain on his office carpet where his predecessor had collapsed holding the communion “wine” demanded his attention as well. From Walmart or Target or something. Can’t afford Brenna’s antique prices.
The look Lauren gave him as he opened the door made his chagrin worth it. Securing the not-quite-teen’s good opinion wasn’t easy, but when she hopped off a stool and abandoned a pink book in the process, he knew he’d done it. Can’t be a romance. Not that girl…
“Hi!”
“Thought I’d come see that desk you were telling me about.”
He’d expected more of a response than, “Yeah. It’s over here,” but that’s all Lauren said.
It was also all he needed. One look at it and Ty knew he’d never be satisfied with his old rai
lroad desk again. “I shouldn’t even ask, but how much is it?”
Lauren jerked the tag off it and shoved it in her pocket. As if trying to read his bank account balance in her mind, she gazed at him until he nearly squirmed. “Two-fifty. But you have to give Mitchell your old one.”
“Why would Mitchell want that old thing?”
She grinned. “Because. We’ll put a tabletop on it, and it’ll work to store stuff and give more workspace in the reading room.”
“If there’s a tabletop on it, won’t it be hard to get into those drawers?”
With the infinite patience a mother uses to explain simple things to a small child, Lauren informed him that a piano hinge on the underside of one edge would be enough to make it work. “I’ve got it all figured out. He’ll lose the writing boards so we can make supports, but that’s okay. They won’t be necessary anymore, anyway.”
She moved to ring up his purchase, but once there, Ty couldn’t resist asking about chairs. “Do you have anything small to replace the ones that are in there? I couldn’t expect that desk to cohabitate with those chairs. Cruelty.”
“I agree. Not to mention, your desk chair is going to kill you someday. I’ve got just the thing for that. And an idea for those chairs.”
In less than half an hour, he’d spent three-fifty on furniture in the Curio & Garrett—likely two hundred less than the original prices at that—and another two-fifty online for matching accent chairs. While Lauren went to get Mitchell to help him carry the desk back to the church, Ty transferred the money from savings and ordered a small area rug as well.
Seven hundred fifty dollars. The kid should be in insurance.
He’d just opened the online app to cancel the order when Lauren breezed back in. “Mitchell will be here in a few minutes. The book club is almost done with their meeting, and then he’ll close up.”
While Lauren removed the stacked books and birdcage from one corner of the desk, Ty debated over whether to keep the area rug. It’s a lot less expensive, and it would make a big difference…
“Lara’s going to be so jealous when she sees that desk in your office. She wanted it, but then she got engaged and decided it probably wouldn’t be Preston St. James’s style.” The way Lauren said, “Preston St. James” conjured memories of his mother’s tone when she spoke of crooked politicians, and in her opinion, that covered nearly all of them. “Those chairs are going to be so impressive. I love it all.”
So do I. And I’ve just spent the entire year’s household discretionary budget before the first quarter is over. Great.
Before he could try again to force himself to cancel the chair order, Lauren added, “At least she’ll be comfortable enough to stay longer when she does her counseling. Maybe you’ll get time to talk her out of marrying the wrong guy.”
Uh, oh…
After spending more than he could afford on a “new office,” the last thing Ty needed was an expensive meal “out.” He’d remembered his Christmas gift certificate just as he’d reached for a can of soup, and took off through town at a quick clip. Lauren and Mitchell were nowhere to be found, but the distinct odor of charred… something at the Kinseys’ back door hinted that they might have gone out as well. He stood there at the corner of Piccadilly Square—one way, The Birches. The other way, The Boar and Hops.
I just don’t want The Jumping Pig. I want one of Carlo’s steaks. I want a gourmet meal in a hunk of beef. That thought was enough to propel him across the street to “Lara’s restaurant.”
Juli greeted him as he entered The Birches. “Brother Jamison!” The girl nearly winked but apparently thought better of the idea, giving her eye an odd twitch. “See! I remembered. No pastor. No reverend. No ‘title.’ Just like you said.”
As they crossed the room, the rambling continued in a nonsensical stream of half-starts and fumbled redirects until the reason hit him. She’s trying not to flirt. But she wants to.
“If you came to see Lara, she’s not here.”
He pulled the folded gift certificate from his pocket. “Canned soup and a sandwich didn’t sound like much of a supper, so I decided to use this on one of Carlo’s steaks.”
“Great! I’ll send over your ser—” Juli stopped mid-sentence as if she’d forgotten she’d been speaking. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who?”
Her lip curled in a most unattractive manner. “Mr. St. James. He knows Lara’s not here.”
“Maybe he’s just hungry.”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll send Rick over in a minute.” She shot a look at Preston St. James before whispering under her breath. “You pray, right?” She then snorted. “You’re a preacher. Of course, you pray. Well, pray, okay? I can’t even guess what about, but Lara would like knowing you prayed.”
“Of course. Be happy to.”
Instead of praying, Ty spent the next ten minutes watching Lara’s fiancé. Tall, bronzed from either much time in the sun, tropical genes, or an affinity for tanning beds, the man gave every appearance of a surfer out of water—or at the least, a Hollywood actor off screen.
Preston St. James just sat at his table, a glass of mint water beside him. Watching. Always watching.
But for what? What are you watching? Or, rather, who are you watching?
Rick appeared, all smiles and suggestions. As much as he didn’t want to, Ty made himself listen to the special of the day. “Thanks, but I’ve been counting on one of Carlo’s awesome steaks. Just bring me whatever sides you recommend, and I’ll be good.”
The watch began again—Ty watching Preston, Preston watching every door. If a guest arrived, the man’s full concentration trained on the hostess desk until that person had been seated. When someone appeared from the back, his head swung to that side, watching… always watching.
Jenni paused as she left a couple at a nearby table and said, “See what I mean? Isn’t it weird?”
“Perhaps you should remind him that she won’t be in. Maybe he’s been so busy all day, he’s forgotten.”
The girl brightened. “Oh, yeah. Duh. I feel stupid. No one likes him, so we all think he’s just being weird.”
Ty filed that away for further consideration at home.
Something in St. James’s posture hinted that he’d not respond well to Juli’s reminder, but after an almost imperceptible pause, the man smiled—one of those beaming ones his mother always called, “A Colgate smile.” Ty could almost hear the self-deprecating joke about how he’d come out of habit. Juli grinned back and walked away, presumably content.
If only Ty was. Just as he would have relaxed, St. James stiffened again, his eyes trained back on the hostess desk. Ty’s radar pinged on auto-repeat. Why are you looking at the door if you know she won’t come in?
By the time a spinach and strawberry salad appeared, Ty had decided Preston St. James had a business meeting. His steak arrived, and St. James sat alone. Still watching. Ty finished eating, lingered for dessert, and yet the man still watched.
He rose, almost paused by St. James’s table to introduce himself, thought better of it, and rushed for the door. As he passed Juli, he assured her he’d keep praying. The look on the girl’s face… Ty couldn’t help but feel like he’d left her to drown while he sailed away on a yacht.
For a winter’s Monday night, the streets still held a number of tourists. It took several nods and smiles before he caught a playbill in one man’s hand and recalled that the Globe Theater would feature Julius Caesar for one final week, and Monday nights were half-price nights.
A glance up at the apartment above the Curio & Garret showed dark windows, so Ty turned homeward. I promised to pray about Preston St. James, anyway. So, Lord…
“Look at this!”
Lara sat bolt upright in bed and whacked her head on something hard and cold. She peeled an eye open to find Brenna standing over her, phone in hand, looking much too cute and retro-adorable in a pink, floral, men’s-style pajama set. “What was that for?”
“Look!”
The text message blurred in Lara’s sleep-filmed eyes, but a good rub cleared it up. Turning off the phone so you’ll pay attention to having fun. Promise to call if Lauren even gets a paper cut or if some old lady stiffs us for a dime. Have fun. Miss you.
“Scroll,” Brenna demanded.
Lara scrolled. The next text had come in before Brenna could respond. Lauren says not to let Lara buy a “mermaid” dress. Whatever that is. Actually, Lauren would prefer that Lara call off the whole deal, but don’t tell Lara that.
“Lauren doesn’t want me to get married?”
“As far as I know, she hasn’t even met him, but she’s taken a decided dislike to Preston.”
“I’d better have a ‘meet the friends’ night at my place and soon.”
She would have rolled over to try to sleep again, but Brenna’s “Ahem” nixed that. “I thought you wanted to do your hair in an updo before we leave.”
“Yeah… so what?”
“Your appointment is in forty minutes.”
Forty-two minutes later, wearing yoga pants, camisole, and an oversized cardigan under her pea coat, Lara burst through the door of Snow White Bridal and gushed her apologies as she greeted London. “Can you believe my mom made me eat breakfast? She seriously stood in front of the door.”
“What I don’t understand,” London said, “is why you would think she wouldn’t. This is your mom we’re talking about.”
“I concede.” From her over-sized purse, Lara pulled out four magazine photos—two printed, two ripped straight from the magazine. “Don’t ask. I’ve had the one since high school. I still love those fabrics, even if they aren’t super ‘in.’”
With all her preparations for pins and pokes and awkward measuring tapes in places she didn’t want to think about, none of it happened. Instead, London listened, sketched, listened some more, sketched even more, and then frowned at the result. Lara’s voice cracked as she asked, “What?”
“Well… Is this what you really want?”