“You want me to meet your aunt?” Abby asked, beaming. It was so sweet!
“Yeah. So, are you free?” Noah asked.
Suddenly it hit her—the reason next Wednesday was stuck in her mind. She was going to the Revolution game with Christopher, which she hadn’t told Noah about. Abby swallowed back a lump of acidic guilt. After all, what Noah didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
“Actually, I don’t know if it’s the best idea,” she said. “It’s only a couple of days before the wedding and I should really be here for Carol, you know, if she needs anything.”
Noah’s smile faltered, but he nodded. “Wow. You’re really starting to take this thing seriously.”
“Well, I am the maid of honor,” Abby joked.
“I understand, but if you’re free you can always stop by.”
“Yeah,” Abby said, relieved. “If I’m free.”
“So, I still can’t believe you didn’t let me make the dessert for this thing,” Noah said, leaning against the counter.
“Hey, Carol wanted rice pudding,” Abby said, walking over to the fridge and yanking on the door. “And what the bride wants the bride—”
Abby stopped as the horrid stench of sour milk and curdled cream filled her nostrils. Noah took a step back as they both gazed into the refrigerator. The telltale whir of the motor was absent. The light hadn’t gone on when she opened the door. The catering fridge had died. And it had taken the rice pudding and all the other food with it.
“Omigod,” Abby said. She slammed the door and leaned back against it. “The guests are going to be here in an hour and we have no dessert.”
“Don’t panic,” Noah said. “You happen to have a baker for a boyfriend, remember?”
“But Carol wanted rice pudding. All she talked about the other night for two hours was rice pudding!” She was suddenly seized by panic. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Abby, focus,” Noah said, stepping forward and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Carol is just going to have to live without the pudding.”
“But she’s the bride!” Abby wailed.
“Ab, I think you’ve gone over to the dark place,” Noah said.
Just then Abby’s father stepped into the kitchen. Abby and Noah jumped to attention, standing side by side in front of the fridge. If her father found out the catering fridge was kaput he was going to have a major freak-out and that was not something she could handle right now.
“How’s everything going for the shower?” he asked. “Got all the ducks in a row?”
“You bet,” Abby said quickly. “Nothing at all to worry about.”
“Great. I knew you could handle it, Abby.” He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. Then he slipped by them, went out the side door and headed for his office. For once Abby was glad her parents were fighting. Normally her father would have sensed her tension and realized something was up, but at the moment he was too distracted to notice.
“Let’s go,” Noah said, heading out the door. “You can call Rocco on the way and tell him to get someone to come fix the fridge.” He whipped out his cell phone and handed it to her.
“This is never gonna work,” Abby said.
“You know what your problem is, Abby?” Noah said as he yanked open the door of his delivery van. “You have no faith.”
“Okay, this is never gonna work!” Noah shouted over the loud sloshing of the massive dishwashers at the bakery.
“I told you!” Abby shouted back.
They had walked into Spencer’s to find that his father had just sold every last cookie and cupcake to a woman from the Watertown Women’s Club who had suddenly at the last second remembered that she’d forgotten to get dessert for a function that afternoon. All that was left in the cases were day-old cakes and a few sorry-looking fruit pies. Noah and Dominic had promised they could whip up six dozen cupcakes in less than forty minutes. As soon as they were done baking, Dominic had retreated to close up the shop, and now Noah and Abby were left trying to decorate seventy-two cupcakes in almost no time.
“Okay, how about this?” Noah said. “You ice and I’ll make the flowers.”
“Every time I try to ice a cupcake I end up ripping it to shreds,” Abby said, looking down at the two already-demolished chocolate blobs in front of her.
“Okay, I’ll ice, you do the flowers,” Noah said.
Abby just looked at him and blinked. “Noah Spencer, do you know me at all?”
“Well, someone’s gotta do the flowers!”
“Noah, I know you’re an artiste and a perfectionist and all, but it’s about time to admit that all we can handle here are sprinkles,” Abby said. She glanced at the clock behind his head. “There’s just no time.”
“Sprinkles? Spencer’s Bakery does not do sprinkles for something like this.”
“Look, Carol is going to blow a gasket when she realizes I’m gone, if she hasn’t already,” Abby said firmly. “I have to get out of here.”
Noah was still unconvinced. He looked away and pressed his lips together, clearly battling an inner artistic demon. Abby grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger and made him look at her.
“What if I promise never to tell anyone the cupcakes came from Spencer’s?” she said. “We’ll tell them I got ’em at ShopRite.”
Noah took an excruciating moment to ponder this, then nodded. “Deal.”
“Good,” she said. “Now let’s sprinkle up these puppies.”
Noah grabbed a spatula and a vat of icing and quickly applied it onto the first cupcake, making a perfect swirl in about three seconds. Abby smiled, pulled the cupcake toward her and picked up the shaker of sprinkles. Noah grimaced as she let loose with a huge shower of the colorful pellets.
“See? Pretty!” she said, holding up the cupcake.
Noah shot her a pained look.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, looking at the clock again. “Oh, God. Ten minutes.”
After that they worked in silence, icing and sprinkling, icing and sprinkling. Dominic came back from the shop and wordlessly lifted the cupcakes into pink boxes. The three of them were on a mission and before no time the last cupcake was boxed. Abby checked the time.
“It’s started,” she said.
“You kids get moving,” Dominic said, handing over the boxes. “I’ll clean up here.”
Abby and Noah rushed out the door. Once the boxes were placed safely in the van, Noah slammed it into gear and practically flew across town. By the time they got to the Dove’s Roost, dozens of cars were already parked in the lot and the front door was wide open. Noah started to slow the van and Abby’s heart hit her throat.
“No! Go to the back! The back!” she hissed, ducking down.
Noah swung the van onto the service driveway and stopped by the catering kitchen door. They jumped out, unloaded the boxes and raced into the house. Noah walked in first and when Abby came up behind him, she froze in her tracks. Carol and her mother were both standing in the center of the kitchen, glaring at her. Rocco hovered next to the refrigerator, his eyes wide. He waved his hands at Abby, then shook his head. The fridge still hadn’t been fixed. If Abby had to tell her mother it was dead, and that the thousands of dollars’ worth of food that had been in it had gone to waste, Carol wasn’t the only person who was going to lose it. And a double Beaumont freak-out was not one of the ingredients in a perfect shower.
It would be over before it ever had a chance to begin.
“Abigail Lynn, what do you think you’re doing?” her mother asked. “Do you realize there are forty plus people out there wondering where their hostess is?”
Sheesh! It was like they were living in eighteenth-century England. Heaven forbid a party should start without the hostess!
“What are those?” Carol asked, eyeing the pink boxes. “I thought we said rice pudding for dessert.”
Abby stopped breathing. Rocco closed his eyes in despair. Noah didn’t move a muscle.
“I . . . went another way?” A
bby said.
Carol sighed dramatically, walked over to Noah and opened the top box. Abby waited for the meltdown to begin. This was it. All their hard work was for naught.
“Oh, Abby! You remembered!” Carol cried, beaming over at her.
Abby glanced at Noah, confused. “Uh . . .”
“These look exactly like the cupcakes we had at my twelfth birthday party,” Carol said, lifting one out. “Only the best birthday party of my life!” She walked over to Abby and hugged her around the neck. “You are so sweet.”
Noah put his boxes down on the counter and collapsed next to them. Abby grinned like she had never grinned before.
“Hey, that’s me,” she said, breathing for the first time in minutes. “What’s a maid of honor for?”
Abby and Delila stood in the corner of the Dove’s Roost’s parlor room, watching as Carol’s bridal shower went off without a hitch. Carol was in the process of opening yet another box of Waterford crystal. Everyone oohed and aahed. Tessa, who was sitting on the divan to Carol’s left, noted the gift and giver on her pink notepad. Missy, on Carol’s right, grabbed the ribbon to add to the ribbon bouquet. Carol had insisted that she didn’t want the traditional, cheesy ribbon hat, but Missy had just taken that as permission to make an only slightly less offensive clutch version.
“So where’s the hottie groom?” Delila asked. She was the only person in the room who had dared wear black to the occasion—a wide-neck T and battered blue jeans.
“Are you kidding? My mother would never let him be in the house for the shower. This is a female tradition,” Abby said.
“Too bad. I think I had a dream about him last night.”
“Delila! Ew!” Abby cried.
“I can’t control my subconscious!”
“Well, he’s out picking up his brother from the airport,” Abby told her. “He’s the best man and he’s flying in early. Probably to throw some monster bachelor party.”
“Oooh! A brother?” Delila said, eyes wide. “Is he staying here, too?”
“No, gutter brain. He’s getting a hotel. Let’s move on,” Abby said.
“All right. Fine. I gotta hand it to ya, kid,” Delila said, chomping into a cupcake from her china plate. “The food is killer, and the decorations don’t make me want to heave.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Abby said with a laugh. “I think everyone’s having fun.”
“Well, Carol is and that’s all that matters,” Abby’s mother said. She wrapped her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “I’m very proud of you, sweetie.”
She kissed the side of Abby’s head and Abby couldn’t help beaming. It was quite a nice little party if she did say so herself. Plus it was good to see her mother calm and smiling. It was the first time in days that the dark cloud had lifted.
You should ask her, a little voice in Abby’s mind piped up, sending a thrill of sudden nervousness down her spine. The shower was all but over and who knew when she would see either one of her parents in such a receptive mood again? This could be a now-or-never situation.
But Abby hesitated, her thoughts turning to Noah. Once the cat was out of the bag, there was no turning back. If her parents said yes, she’d be an idiot not to take them up on it and go. But that would mean leaving Noah—the very thought of which made her lose almost all interest in going.
Of course if her parents said no, it would give her the perfect out. It wouldn’t be her fault that she wasn’t going to Italy. They would be making the decision for her and she’d get to stay home with her new boyfriend . . . and miss out on a potentially life-altering experience.
The whole thing was making her brain hurt.
But it was obviously time to deal. She took a deep breath, steeled herself and turned toward her mother. She had to get this over with before she lost her nerve.
“Phoebe? Can I talk to you for a second?”
The entire room fell silent and every guest looked at the doorway. Abby’s father, who had promised to stay in his office for the duration of the shower, was standing there with a cold look on his face. Abby turned toward Carol and saw her own worry reflected in Carol’s eyes.
“We’re in the middle of Carol’s shower,” Abby’s mother said, visibly tensing.
“I realize that, and I’m sorry, honey,” he said, looking toward Carol. “It will only take a moment.”
Abby’s mother just stood there for a second, frozen. It was clear she was trying to decide between standing up to him and making a scene at her daughter’s shower, or kowtowing and doing as he asked. Eventually her protective motherly instincts won out and she started across the room.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said to the guests. As she slipped by Abby’s dad, she gave him a look that could have withered an evergreen.
Carol tried to return to her gift opening, but her hands were visibly shaking. Tense voices could be heard coming from the next room. Abby’s stomach twisted into a thousand knots and all the guests began to shift uncomfortably. Abby stood up and started for the hallway, somehow thinking that maybe she could defuse the situation. And that’s when a door slammed.
“That’s it, Phoebe! You have no respect for my opinions,” Abby’s father shouted loud enough for all to hear.
“David! It was a complete waste of money! If you had any foresight you would see that this pattern is too trendy!” her mother shouted back. “We can’t spend tens of thousands of dollars on something that will be collecting dust in our basement come December!”
Abby’s father stormed into view on the other side of the door. He whirled to look down the hall at her mom, his face a deep, angry purple. “How dare you cancel an order I placed without even consulting me!”
“How dare you place an order that large without even consulting me!”
“That’s it. Give me the plate, Phoebe,” he said. “I’m calling them back.”
“You want the plate? Fine! Here’s the plate!”
Suddenly, Abby’s father ducked and a piece of china zoomed by the doorway, narrowly missing his head. Abby jumped, her heart hitting her mouth, as the plate crashed against the wall. Everyone in the parlor froze. Carol turned green. Tears welled up in Abby’s eyes. Her mother had just thrown a plate at her father. Her mother had just thrown a plate at her father like all the nightmare families that came to the Roost. What was happening to them?
Abby’s dad stood. His eyes were still trained down the hall at his wife. “I’ll be leaving now,” he said shakily.
Abby felt as if someone had just taken a baseball bat to her stomach. She looked at Carol, who had tears in her eyes. No one said a word. All Abby could hear was the sound of her own pulse.
Her dad slammed his way into the residence and stomped upstairs. Everyone was silent and still. A few seconds later Tucker and his brother walked through the front door.
“Hey everyone!” he said happily. “Oh! Are we too early? How’s the shower going?”
“Tucker,” Abby said, approaching him. “Now really isn’t the best time. . . .”
Another door slammed and Carol was on her feet and running across the room in tears.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” Tucker asked. He touched her face gently and Abby was instantly grateful to him for being so sweet. Even if it was just for that one moment. And she had no idea what else he was up to.
Carol grabbed Tucker and pulled him out of the room. Abby and Tucker’s brother, Andrew, were left all alone at the front of the room facing her aunts, cousins and about a dozen of Carol’s friends.
“Um . . . hi,” Andrew said.
Delila stepped forward and took his arm. “Are you thirsty? Let me show you where the kitchen is.”
Abby shot her friend a grateful look, then turned to the rest of the guests.
And Abby said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, I guess everyone will have a strange story to tell around the dinner table tonight, huh?”
Her mother’s sister Lori shot her a sympathetic look, then got up and walked o
ff to find Abby’s mother. Becky quickly crossed the room and stood next to Abby.
“Everyone, I think the shower is officially over,” Becky said with a businesslike smile. “I’ll help you all find your jackets. Thanks for coming.”
Becky gave Abby a comforting nod, then moved off to help the guests. Delila returned from the catering kitchen alone. Abby grabbed her into a hug and tried not to cry.
“Don’t worry, Ab. They’re just stressed,” Delila said. “They’ll figure it out.”
Abby nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She heard the crunch of tires on the drive outside and then the roar of her dad’s car’s engine. Her parents had never been big fighters and now, they had somehow become plate throwers. How were they going to get through something like this? How could this all be happening?
• 12 •
Who Gives This Woman?
Abby walked into the kitchen to find her mother sitting at the table in her bathrobe, staring into space. She was surrounded by blank place cards and calligraphy pens. There was a guest list lying in front of her. The scene was more than a little disturbing. It was four in the afternoon on a Monday, and her mother was still in her pj’s? Her mother was always up and dressed by eight-thirty! This was all wrong.
It wasn’t until Abby was standing right in front of her that her mother noticed she was there. Abby’s mother sat up straight, tucked her hair behind her ears and picked up a pen.
“Hey, honey,” she said with a wan smile.
“Mom, how long have you been sitting here?” Abby asked, sliding into the chair across from her mother’s. There was only one complete place card and the name was written on a severe diagonal.
“Oh, I don’t know,” her mother replied. “Not long.”
Abby’s mother picked up a mug, raised it halfway to her lips and then put it down without taking a sip. Abby looked inside. It was full of coffee that had probably been there all day. There was a slight film over the top of the liquid.
“Do you need help?” Abby asked. “I haven’t used my calligraphy skills in a while, but it’s probably like riding a bike.”
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