“Well said,” Pastor Jed comments with a smile.
Even my mom marvels as the tiny insects spread their vivid wings and dance into the autumn air. I overhear her telling Dovie to bring herself, Beanie, and Pearl over to the boutique tomorrow to find some clothes. “We have a new line of scarves with butterflies on them you might like.”
Dovie says she’ll be happy to come to the boutique and that she’s sure Pearl and Beanie would like to shop there, as well.
Once the last butterfly has slithered to freedom, a splash of color against a blue autumn sky, Carson and I rush over to Sanjay’s before the line of vehicles makes its way from the church to the bakery. From the parking lot, I get a picture of the cars. Inside the bakery, I take photos of the flower arrangements, the cake, Carson at his D.J. post, and Huy in a waiter’s outfit. When the guests enter the reception, I capture their smiles.
The first song Carson plays is for Jonathan and Lien to slow-dance to. It is Bread’s “Lost Without Your Love.”
As the song fills the bakery and I note the sugary lyrics, I lean against the wall and get three close-ups of Lien and Jonathan. Both seem relaxed; Jonathan’s leg has stopped twitching. Lien closes her eyes as she rests her cheek against her husband’s shoulder. I capture Thuy looking on, her face soft and gentle.
The next dance is open to everyone, and without too much prompting, both Beanie and Pearl move to the beat of “Celebration.” Carson catches my glance and smiles from his D.J. corner, most likely recalling the day we requested this song at my aunt’s.
The sandwiches and chagio are on one table, the punch and cake on another. Lien instructs me to be the one to tell people when it is their turn to eat. After the young couple entertains us with one more dance, I encourage people to move toward the food. I help Lien’s mother get a plate with chagio and a turkey sandwich and then guide her over to a table where there is room for her wheelchair.
Carson plays some Beatles songs, and Lien coaxes her bridesmaids to dance. Soon a dozen people are swaying to “All You Need Is Love.” Jonathan swings Lien in a circle until she grows dizzy and topples into his arms.
“Sam?” Carson is at my elbow.
“Hey,” I say. “They do look nice together.”
“Lien says that after this dance, you and I need a break from our work. She wants her bridesmaids to just play some Vietnamese songs on their flutes.”
“And she doesn’t want pictures?”
“She says that you are entitled to a break.”
Jonathan twirls Lien around slowly this time and then catches her as the audience claps. I quickly get a few shots of that on film.
Carson places a hand over my camera lens. “Sam, let’s go outside for a bit.”
“Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to put fingers on a camera lens?” I scold. I pretend to be upset, but as usual, Carson’s smile is enticing, even more so than Sanjay’s cake.
“At least they’re clean. Come on.”
The bridesmaids are taking their instruments out of their cases and assembling them. I am glad that Lien wants some of her culture to be part of this special day.
Carson whispers, “I have something to ask you.”
With that, I leave my camera on the counter, giving a quick smile to Lien’s mom as she smiles back, her corsage still teetering on her lapel. I follow Carson out the front door of the bakery, away from the sound of flutes warming up to play.
The sun is a soft glow against a paling sky. We had cringed when we first heard the meteorologist’s forecast of rain, then cheered when two days ago the prediction changed to clear skies with unseasonably high temperatures.
Carson takes me to the back of the shops by the dumpster. He walks to the railing by the parking lot where the trucks make their deliveries.
Standing under a canopy of branches toppling with yellow leaves, I say, “Don’t tell me that Sanjay thinks there’s been another dumpster fire?”
“No.” His voice is low, almost worried.
“So what is the question?” I squint into his eyes. They are the color of emeralds today.
He takes my hands in his and rubs one of my fingers with his thumb. I note the movement of the thumb, let my heart enjoy how being close to him makes me feel. Sometimes you just want to bottle certain moments in life so you can keep them forever. I’ll remember this feeling, I tell myself. One day when I’m old and still single, I’ll still have this day of celebration to cherish and be grateful for.
Looking intently into my eyes, Carson asks, “Do you want to get married?”
I steady myself, quite aware that I just might fall over the railing.
forty-six
The first happy words that come to mind do not jump out of my mouth. Instead, caution fences me in and I hear myself saying, “I suppose one day I could get married. If the right guy ever came along.”
“Who is the right guy for you, Sam?” His eyes hold questions as his hands continue to hold mine.
“There was this guy . . . once.”
His jaw stiffens.
“Carson and Samantha!” The loud voice calling to us belongs to Sanjay. When he draws closer to us, he says, “Lien is going to sail up her bouquet. Come inside.”
Reluctant to be pulled away from our seclusion, Carson and I leave the back of the shops and enter the bakery.
The women are leaving their seats to stand against one of the walls. Lien walks over and stands with her back to them. “Miss Bravencourt,” she coos at me. “You single. You stand in line, too.”
Natasha makes room for me next to her and Pearl. She gives Taylor, seated at a table with Dovie, Thuy, and Mom, a bright smile.
Taylor smiles back, his eyes flashing contentment. I think back to how I met him and find it fun that he agreed to come to this wedding. I told him he needed to come since he had assisted in helping Lien be reunited with her mother, but he knew that I really wanted him here to meet my cute friend Natasha.
“Dovie, Mom,” I call over to them. “They are single,” I tell the group. “Now come on over here.”
Both women give a little shrug and then amble toward the rest of us.
“Beanie!”
Beanie shakes her hat-covered head from where she is adding more punch to her cup. “I beg to sit this one out.” I know that if she were in the comforts of Dovie’s kitchen, she would add, “Too many marriages already for me, thank you.”
The women stop talking as Lien raises the bouquet over her head and shouts, “Ready!”
Turning, she catches my attention and then with an energetic movement, throws her bouquet for a lucky someone to catch. With a look of anticipation, Natasha leans forward, reaches up, her body blocking the others. With a snap of her wrist, the flowers are hers. I should have warned everyone that they didn’t stand a chance, as Natasha is quite the athlete.
The group cheers at a smiling Natasha as I scan the bakery for Carson. Not spotting him, I decide to look outside.
Taylor gets my attention as he refills his punch glass. Motioning toward Lien and Jonathan, who are now sitting with Thuy, he says. “Looks like you did a good job.”
“Well, I suppose I do have some investigative skills of my own.” I don’t go into any more detail about the situation; I am more interested in something else at this moment. “I’m glad you could be here.” I give him a warm smile.
“Dear, come here a moment.” Dovie stops me before I can reach the front door.
I stand between her and Thuy at their table where they are eating from a bowl of mixed nuts. “Yes?”
Patting my arm, Dovie says, “Tell Thuy what a wonderful house I have.”
Uncertain as to why I need to do this now, I say, “Dovie’s house is really nice. I love being there.”
Dovie nods. “Thank you,” she says. Turning to Lien’s mother, she beams, and with a heap of affection in her voice, adds, “And there is room for you at my home.”
Thuy raises a limp arm for more nuts. Her hand misses the bowl and
knocks over a glass of punch. “Oh. Sorry,” she mutters, clearly annoyed at herself.
“No worries,” says Dovie, taking a few stray napkins to mop the spill from the tablecloth. “These kinds of things happen to me all the time.”
I help by finding more napkins on the next table and then, pulling Lien away from Jonathan, say, “Lien, Dovie wants your mother to move in. Would you like that?”
Shock covers Lien’s face as she looks at my aunt. “With you? Live with you?”
Dovie says, “Yes. Thuy can live with me. My house is wheelchair accessible.”
Beanie says, “If Thuy moves in, it will be like Summer of Bloomsville.”
Once again, she has named a movie I haven’t seen, but Dovie has.
“That’s right,” my aunt says. “Only the woman’s wheelchair was wooden in that one, wasn’t it? And she had a nice man to push her. Perhaps you will find a nice man in Winston.” Dovie gently pats Thuy’s arm.
When Lien and her mother start a dialogue in Vietnamese, I make my move outside. I am not sure whether Lien and Thuy should live in the same town, and yet Dovie would be a great caregiver for Thuy. From my observations today, I can see that the frail woman needs a full-time care provider. Right now, Angie, the frosted-hair woman, comes to do her laundry, drives her on errands, and shops for her groceries.
The sun is setting, making its last imprints on the cars parked in the lot. The earlier heat from the day is gone, and a breeze rustles clusters of leaves on the ground. I consider going back inside to get my shawl, a lacy one that Mom let me choose from the rack for the wedding. Not seeing Carson by the storefronts, I stride to the back, my arms crossed against my chest for warmth.
There he sits on a stoop by the service entrance of Have a Fit. His eyes are focused on his folded hands.
“Carson.” He glances at me as I sit beside him. When he doesn’t say anything, I pick up where we left off before the bouquet toss. “What I meant was that I wanted to be asked by this man I met years ago.”
“Old boyfriend?”
“No, he was never my boyfriend.”
“Who was he, then?”
I’m amazed at my next words. “I loved him.” Unable to meet his gaze, I look down. “But I never knew how he felt about me.”
“Oh?”
“He had a girlfriend back home.”
“He did?”
“Yes, but I cared so much for him. I even asked God to make him like me, to make him love me.”
“And?” He lifts my chin and looks me in the eye. “Did this man marry the girlfriend?”
“No.” I look down.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know his heart. He claimed he didn’t love her.”
Carson lifts my face to his. “Do you believe him?”
“I want to.”
“And will you believe that God answered your prayer? That this man does love you, Sam?” His hands find their way around my shoulders, pulling me close.
This is what I’ve wanted, what I’ve dreamed of. I place my head lightly near his heart. Like Lien, like Beanie, I want to belong.
“Trust me, Sam,” he says. “Please.”
When my tears dampen his suit, he pulls away and from inside his jacket pocket produces a handkerchief. He hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, and as the words leave my mouth, my heart feels an odd soothing sensation, like it’s been coated with Beanie’s lotion. With the handkerchief in my hands, I go back in time. Laughter, a party, dancing, a walk, rain, and tears. I’d forgotten how intricate the embroidered yellow flowers were. I wasn’t sure which kind they were, but today it’s clear; these flowers are tulips.
With a smile he says, “This woman gave it to me. We shared a special common bond.”
“Do you remember what it was?” I search his eyes.
“I do. Her father died when she was young. And mine had recently died.”
I turn my focus back to the handkerchief. I loosely recall opening the box that held this gift. There had been so many more presents from students since that party. However, the memory of the night I used this cloth against Carson’s face is one I’ve relived many times.
“ ‘You just keep pushing my love over the borderline,’ ” Carson says with a smile.
Playfully, I smack his arm. “You wrote that I wasn’t intelligent.”
“I wasn’t intelligent enough to notice just how smart you were. I was fighting my feelings for you, Sam. You and I were—and are—so much alike. More than Mindy and I would ever be.”
As a breeze cools the evening air, I shiver. Carson holds me closer. “I had promised Mindy that I’d be faithful to just her. In college, we’d made a pact.”
“A pact? Really?”
“I guess it sounds sort of silly to admit it now.”
“No,” I say, clearly understanding now why the past played out the way it did. I recall the days of wanting so much to be with him, to have him all to myself without the tug he felt to go back to his dorm room and write letters to Mindy. But he had made a promise, and he’d kept it to Mindy until he realized their future was not to be. I run fingers along the edge of the handkerchief as I feel tears surface. I never thought Carson was the silly sentimental type. In a whisper I say, “You’ve kept it ever since.”
“I only keep the things that matter to me, Sam.”
I lean against him, burying my face in his shoulder, letting the weight from the past leave me. “All these years.” The fabric feels light and even softer than it did when I first received it as a gift in my rustic classroom.
His lips feel soft, too.
“So are we going to make a pact?” I ask teasingly.
“Yes,” he says as he kisses my eyelids. “For always.”
forty-seven
Carson wants to get married tomorrow. I tell him that a girl has to have some time to plan. He says not if we elope. I stare at him, then run that option over in my head. If we ran off and got married at some county clerk’s office, we wouldn’t have to fool with a guest list, invitations, a reception, or flowers.
He grabs my hand and shakes me out of my deep thoughts. “I was only kidding. Seriously, we need to have a wedding.”
“So can we ask Lien and Jonathan to do everything for us like we did for them?”
“Now you’re thinking.”
As Carson and I sit at Mom’s dining room table on a Sunday afternoon in December, we look at a 1994 calendar and set a date: Saturday, May 28, a spring wedding.
“That’s not far away,” I say.
Mom says she’ll start looking for the perfect dress for me.
“How about a veil?” I ask.
“Veils are overrated.”
I’m about to ask her how she knows these things when there’s a knock at her front door.
Mom stands up to answer it. As she swings the door open, all we hear is, “Oh! Oh!” A long gasp and then, “Oh, my.”
I have never heard sounds like that come from her, so I jump up, rushing to the door. Carson follows.
There on the steps stands a robust woman wearing a tan jacket. I think I might know her. Cradled against her chest is a yellow cat, the color of butter. As the woman lifts the cat toward Mom, my mother takes the animal from her. “Baby!” my mother exclaims. “Oh, my sweetness.” Looking up from the cat, she asks, “Where was he?”
The woman says, “There was a cry at my back door, and there he was.”
This I cannot believe; Butterchurn is back.
“Where do you live?” I ask the woman. And how did she know that this tabby cat with green eyes and one white paw belongs to my mother?
“This is Mrs. Low, my neighbor,” Mom says, and now I realize where I have met this woman before.
I watch my mother crooning and kissing her long-lost pet’s head. “I’m Cecelia’s daughter, Samantha,” I remind Mrs. Low. Placing my arm around Carson, I say, “And this is my fiancé.”
She notes the ring on my finger. �
�Lovely. Sparkly.”
I smile, recalling the night Carson presented the ring to me in a tiny gold box with a black velvet bow.
“Where was he all this time?” I wonder aloud after we have all thanked Mrs. Low, closed the door, and Mom has poked and prodded to make sure her cat is without any medical needs.
“He looks good,” says Mom, a smile filling her face. She lowers Butterchurn onto the hardwood floor. “Someone’s been feeding him. His collar is gone, though.”
Butterchurn rubs against Mom’s legs. Then, with a light purr, he gazes at the lit Christmas tree in Mom’s living room and settles beside it in a cozy ball.
“It’s been since February. That’s ten months,” says Mom, her mental calculator adding up the time that has passed. “What was he doing all that time in between?”
Gently, Carson places his arm around her shoulders and says, “Missing you. Trying to find a way back to you.” Although his words serve as an explanation for my mother, I know there is more to his meaning. What he is trying to say is that the months in between were not lost. They were only a detour in his attempt to come back—to return for a second chance.
Mom assumes I will leave Falls Church and move down to Winston-Salem. Carson tells her he’ll come up here and look for a job. “Why?” she asks him.
“Because Sam works here.”
“Sam likes it in your Moravian town.”
Carson looks at me as I think about where I’d rather live. I’d hate to be far from Mom and her shop.
As though reading my mind, Mom insists that she is fine and can manage the store without me. “You can get a job in North Carolina, be a teacher like you studied for in college.”
“I like working at the boutique.”
“I can get someone else to help me at the store, Sam. Pursue your teaching career.”
“But what about you?”
She places a finger along the side of her nose and looks me up and down. “You will need a size five, I think.”
I sigh. Already she thinks she’s won the discussion and is now moving on to think about my wedding gown.
A Wedding Invitation Page 24