I’ve been pampered within an inch of my life and am currently enjoying a chocolate croissant when I spy Philippa coming up the front path. I immediately feel horrible. I didn’t think to include her in on our wonderful spa treatments because she wasn’t in the wedding party. What a dunce!
All I’m wearing is a plush terry cloth robe and cotton between my toes. I hurriedly make my way to the front door and answer just as she rings. She jumps when the door swings open so quickly and looks like a scared rabbit. “Philippa, I’m so glad you’re here! I’m so sorry I didn’t think to ask you to join us. Come in, come in.”
She follows me rather meekly and mumbles, “I don’t want to intrude on your preparations. I’m just here to deliver a message.”
“A message from whom?”
Poor Philippa looks like she’s about to be sick, “Can we go and sit down somewhere quiet?”
Uh, oh, this can’t be good. I wonder if Elliot has opted not to go through with the wedding. I decide that’s ridiculous. After the sendoff I gave him last night, there’s no chance of him bailing. Then I wonder if maybe Victoria has had second thoughts about showing up. Now that’s more likely. Philippa and I sit down in Renée’s library and I gird my loins for the bad news.
Philippa tentatively takes my hand in hers and takes a deep breath for fortitude, “Mimi,” she starts. Dear God, this is it. Well screw Victoria, if she’s such an ill bred cow that she’d boycott her only son’s wedding, she can kiss my Aunt Fanny! Elliot’s sister continues, “Your grandma Sissy would like you to know she’s thrilled for you. And she’s asked me to give you this.” Philippa hands me a rubber frog.
First off, you should know that my grandma Sissy has been dead for ten years. Dead, as in not breathing, as in six feet under, for ten years. So I’m pretty sure that she did not, in fact, wake up this morning, claw her way out of her grave and go shopping for a rubber frog. I’m beginning to see what Elliot meant when he said medically Philippa was alright. Apparently, mentally, she’s a real piece of work.
“Um, thank you?” Really, what else can I say? I briefly consider picking up a rather large vase sitting on the end table next to me and cracking it over her head. What if she’s unglued and is about to do me bodily harm? It would be considered self-defense then, right? Oh my God, what would Elliot say? And Victoria! She’d never speak to me again if I bonked her daughter unconscious. Not that that would be an entirely bad thing.
Philippa watches as every one of these thoughts crosses my mind before she stands up and shouts (shouts!), “Fecking, bloody ballocks of thing, isn’t it?”
Now I’m the one cowering. Sweet Jesus, is she going to pull out a gun and shoot me? I think of my baby and whimper, “Please don’t hurt me.”
Philippa dives full on into the deep end and screams, “Hurt you? Why in the world would I hurt you?”
I have absolutely no idea why she would hurt me, but I also have no idea why she would hand me a rubber frog and say it’s from my dead grandmother, either. I choose not to answer lest my response anger her and force her into more dire actions.
“Mimi, for heaven’s sake, do I look like a person who would do you bodily harm?” she demands.
“No?” I can’t make my answer sound surer than that because I think she might do just that.
“Mimi, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to share a sentiment from your grandmother.” And a rubber frog, she doesn’t mention the frog.
“Um, Philippa, thank you for that, but my grandma Sissy has been dead for several years.” I’m not sure how explaining this to her is going to make her sane but it’s worth a shot. It’s that or concuss her with crystal.
“Of course she’s dead. How else would I have spoken to her?” she asks.
I’m just going out on a limb here because I don’t know what’s happening and because I really, really want to get married today and not murdered. So I ask, “Philippa, are you dead?”
She looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost her marbles and fires back, “Of course I’m not dead! Are you an idiot?”
Here we go again. I either assure her I’m an idiot in hopes that she won’t kill me or I tell her I’m not and sign my own death warrant. When all of sudden it hits me, “Philippa, do you see dead people?”
“Finally!” she huffs. “Yes, that’s it. I see dead people and I pass on their messages to whomever they tell me to. I’ve had this hellish responsibility since I was a child. If I refuse to pass on their messages, you know to save face and not appear completely unhinged, I break out in spots, great big, godawful red spots that make me look like I’m allergic to the air.”
All of a sudden I burst out into hysterical giggles. “But that’s wonderful! I understand now!”
“Wonderful? You’ve been acting like I’m Jack the Ripper. Do you think you’re the only one to react like this? I get this response ninety-nine percent of the time I go up to a complete stranger and give them a communication from their dead loved one. This is not wonderful, let me assure you.”
I’m still giddy with relief I’m going to live and console, “But what an amazing gift to have. Being able to pass on messages of love is just incredible.”
“They’re not all words of love,” she assures me. “Once I was compelled to approach a man in the tube and tell him his uncle knows he’s the one who killed his dog and he was going to seek retribution from the great beyond.” She rolls her eyes and continues, “I had to run for my life after delivering that message, let me tell you.”
“But Philippa…” I start.
She interrupts, “For heaven’s sake, just call me Pippa or Pip. We’re going to be family after all.”
“Okay, Pip.” I stand up and give her a big hug. “Thank you for Grandma Sissy’s message. I find it very comforting to know she’s here and knows about Elliot and the baby.” Then I inquire, “So what’s up with the frog?”
Pippa explains, “She says when you were a little girl you bought yourself a rubber frog to kiss in hopes that one day it would turn into your handsome prince. It’s just a little joke.”
And then I really do laugh. I’ve never told anyone about Rufus. This is going to be the best wedding ever. I sidetrack Pip and speak directly to my grandmother, “Gran, will you walk me down the aisle?” Pip doesn’t have to answer for her. My whole body becomes flooded with the most wondrous sensation of light and love. I know the answer is yes.
Chapter 8
I’m in a glow all afternoon after Pip leaves. I don’t profess to know how this whole life after death thing works, but I’ve always believed in it. After all, what would be the point of all the joy and suffering if it weren’t for a greater purpose?
My sisters and Marge leave for the church ten minutes before I do. I’m going to put on my dress and do all the final touches there. But for now I’m at Renée’s all by myself while I wait for my dad to pick me up.
I’m the last Finnegan girl to get married and I’ve dreamed of this day since I was a little girl. Do I need a man to survive? No. Do I want one? Yes. And Elliot is all I could ever hope for in a mate. I’m not thrilled that he appears to be an entirely different species from me, darn those aristocrats, but defying all the odds, he loves me and that’s enough.
My dad honks the horn twice before jumping out of the car to escort me. Even though I’m wearing jeans and flip flops, he grabs his heart when he sees me, like I’ve taken his breath away. A lot of men wouldn’t have done well with four daughters but my dad thrives on it. Even the continuous teenage drama didn’t seem to bother him. Although when we got a dog, he insisted it be a boy to dilute some of the estrogen in the atmosphere.
When he gets close enough to offer me his arm, I can see there are tears in his eyes. “Meems, you’re a site for sore eyes! I can’t believe I get to walk you down the aisle.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I reply, “Bet you never thought this day would come, huh?”
He pauses a beat before answering, “Truth be told I thought you’d be
the first of my girls to marry, not the last.”
I’m speechless for a moment before asking, “Why in the world would you have thought that?” Then I announce, “I am by far your least impressive daughter.”
“Just between you and me,” he confides, “you have the biggest heart. You’re the most giving of my daughters and you’re by far the most humble. In many ways, you are my most impressive child.”
I can’t speak because tears are clogging my throat. I merely squeeze his hand and focus on not crying so my mascara doesn’t run.
When we arrive at the church, I’m ushered through the back door into the basement where the rest of the bridesmaids are waiting. Somehow my dress is thrown over my head and the final fussing takes places without my even being conscious of it. The first real moment of awareness I have is standing in the vestibule with my wedding party. The beginning strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D start and that’s when I realize Elliot hired a live orchestra to perform it.
Tingles of joy flood through me as Camille starts the procession. She’s like a little fairy princess tossing her petals. However, once she’s half way down the aisle, she turns around and comes back toward us, picking up the petals as she goes. This is some unexpected choreography.
Laurent gets out of his pew and tries to scoot her forward when she announces rather loudly, “Mommy says I have to pick up my messes!”
Renée gestures for her to keep going but her daughter doesn’t seem to trust this is okay and keeps turning back looking for assurances.
Renée is the first up the aisle after her daughter, followed by Ginger, Muffy and Marge. It’s surreal as I watch them process. The candlelight in the sanctuary reflects off of the beads on their dresses causing them to sparkle like a million pixies are lighting the way. I’m having an out of body experience. How can all this grandeur really be for me? If you would have told me I’d be marrying the man of my dreams six months ago, I would have never believed you.
Once everyone is up the aisle, the whole church stands and faces me. The orchestra switches to Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary and I ever so dramatically begin my journey to Elliot. I know I look better than ever. I’m certainly happier than I’ve ever been. I also know this is a magical moment that only happens once in a lifetime. I want to sear it into my brain so I can relive it again and again.
My dad holds my arm on one side and I can actually feel my grandmother on the other, just as she promised.
Elliot and I wrote our own vows instead of going with a more standard fare. So after welcoming everyone and going through all the proper steps, Father Brennan motions to Elliot to begin.
My wonderful Englishman clears his throat and takes both of my hands in his. “Dearest Mimi, It’s my greatest honor that you have chosen me for your life’s mate.” He gives a little glance to Richard which I’m sure is as much of a dig as it is relief I didn’t choose him instead. Then he continues, “I’ve walked through much of my life wondering if there was such a thing as a true love and then I saw you. I loved you on site, even though you accused me of pushing you into your sister’s pool.”
The congregation snickers in delight at this peek into our first meeting. I laugh, too. It’s hard to believe I ever thought Elliot was anything less than perfect.
He continues, “And now here we are.” He lifts one of my hands to his mouth and gives it the most tender of kisses before continuing, “I pledge my life to you. I vow to love you, cherish you and sometimes even obey you, as long as your demands aren’t too unreasonable.” The crowd giggles again. “I give you my heart, my hand and all of my worldly possessions. I will carry your burdens as my own and I will love you until the end of time.”
I open my mouth to say my vows in return but all that comes out is a sob of raw emotion. I finally go completely off script, because I’ve totally forgotten the promises I wrote and manage, “Elliot Fielding, you are it for me. All those years of wondering if I’d ever find my mate, all those god-awful blind dates and first dates left me thinking, if I ever wanted to get married, I’d have to settle.” You can tell who the writer is and it’s clearly not me; having said that, all of my words are heartfelt if perhaps a bit less than poetic.
“Then you came into my life and literally knocked me off my feet.” The congregation laughs. So I add for their entertainment, “Right into Renée’s pool.” Elliot squeezes my hands and I realize he must really love me because my awkward speech has elicited tears.
I finish, “Elliot, I give you my heart, my ear and my hand. I will support you, partner you and love you until I draw my last breath.”
Father Brennan clears his throat as if to clear away some emotion of his own and blesses the rings before we place them on each other’s fingers. The rest of the service is a blur. I half expect to wake up and find it’s been no more than a beautiful dream. But before I know it, my priest announces us to the congregation as husband and wife and we are running down the aisle to the applause of our loved ones.
Chapter 9
Renée and Laurent’s backyard is fit for a royal ball. Normal humans, lucky enough to have a pool, often lay boards on it to make a room for a dance floor. Renée and Laurent have such vast property they’ve built the dance floor next to the pool. On the other side, a tent large enough to house the entire Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus has been erected. That’s where we will be dining. Even with all the wedding paraphernalia, there’s still enough land left over to house an entire city block.
The heaters blow enough hot air to launch a fleet of balloons, which is how I’m so comfortable wearing a strapless gown outdoors in mid-October. The trees are filled with sparkling white lights and Japanese lanterns are dangling from their branches. The stars twinkle overhead, promising an enchanted life. I know there’s no such thing, but it’s my party, I can dream if I want to. A bridge has been erected over the pool which has been turned into a magical pond straight out of a fairytale. Candles float by on lily pads and are those koi? Holy heck, they’ve drained and refilled their pool to turn it into a koi pond! I’m shocked until the swans float by. I expect a unicorn or two to trot through at any moment.
Had I been feeling well enough to plan my own wedding, none of this would have happened, because in all honesty I couldn’t have dreamt something this magnificent. As I’m standing on the bridge gazing out into the location of Elliot’s and my first encounter, the same pool he claims he didn’t push me into, my new husband comes to join me. “Penny for your thoughts,” he croons.
Smiling, I answer, “For your information, sir, my thoughts are worth more than a penny. I mean really, they’ve got to be worth at least a dollar.”
“In that case, my love,” he reaches into his pocket and hands me a five spot, “what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?”
“What’s going on is that I can’t believe this is all real. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect my wedding to be anything like this. It’s a bit overwhelming, you know?”
Elliot kisses my forehead. “You’re worth all of this and more. Tonight is for us to mark the beginning of a beautiful life together.” Had he just stopped there it would have been the perfect sentiment. But no, he keeps going and I’m filled with dread as he adds, “Nothing can ever go wrong for us, Mimi.”
I want to scream, “Oh my God, you’ve just jinxed us! Take it back, take it back!” Yet I realize that would ruin the moment so I don’t say a word. But just so you know, it is my truest belief that the instant you think your life is so perfect nothing can ever go wrong, is the same one an army of fairies or leprechauns or trolls carry the news to the underworld to unleash a terrible catastrophe upon you. I believe in gratitude and I believe in humility. I do not believe that any person or couple gets through life unscathed. Even though I don’t consider myself superstitious, I’m still going to think long and hard about what I can do to undo Elliot’s proclamation that we’re golden. Because we’re not. No one ever is.
I let Elliot lead the way into the d
ining tent and I’m stunned by what I see. There are honest to God crystal chandeliers dangling from the support structure, at least fifteen of them. There must be ten thousand yards of filmy fabric draped down the walls in an elegant sweep, leaving you with the sensation that the room is floating in the clouds. My mother has done a bang up job with the flower arrangements. They’re all shades of red, yellow, orange and rust with just enough greenery to add the necessary backdrop. And there are enough candles illuminating the tent to make you believe you’re in the middle of the most amazing dream and not in reality at all.
The wedding coordinator sees us and cues the band director who grabs his microphone and belts out, “May I present Mr. and Mrs. Elliot Fielding!” The crowd roars their approval as we glide in. I’m glad no one thought to tell her Elliot has been knighted. That would seem a bit pretentious even given the current opulence.
Elliot takes the microphone, “Mimi and I are so honored to have you all here with us to celebrate our marriage. Please, eat, drink and be merry!” He doesn’t add, “For tomorrow we may die.” but I hear it none-the-less.
While the warm goat cheese salad with beets and toasted walnuts is served (kudos to Elliot on that one), I look over the room to survey our guests. Renée’s children, Camille and Finn, look like sprites running around in their finery, my parents are beaming with joy and even Elliot’s parents appear to be having a wonderful time. Richard is ensconced at a table with five single women and two other single men. He appears to be quite engaged by whatever my friend, Ellie, is saying to him. Muffy and Kevin are whispering secrets to one another and Ginger, for the first time in her pregnancy, looks totally wrung out. She has her head on Jonathan’s shoulder and he’s tenderly rubbing her back. I make a mental note to spend some time with her soon to see how’s she’s feeling.
Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2) Page 4