by Laura Briggs
“He did,” said Bianca, nodding. “With ornaments from a fancy lamp and two lace napkins of his grandmother’s. He was terrible with a needle and thread! Some of the beads came off in the church, even—I could hear the threads pop as I walked to the altar. But he did it because I had told him that I would wear one if I were at home. A headdress instead of a veil. In Norway, we don’t have to hide from evil spirits under a veil, the way they do in Italy,” she added jokingly.
“Of course, I wore both on that day,” she continued, after a pause. “Paolo’s mother loaned me the lace shawl and I wore it over my head, over the headdress. He said it looked pretty when he lifted my bride’s veil back, behind all those little tinkling crystals. ‘You look like a princess,’ he said. Such nonsense, because I was wearing only a plain dress that I had sewn a few days before.”
“I think it’s sweet,” said Tessa softly. “Especially that he tried to give you one of your traditions for the wedding.”
“I think he thought of it because I cried so,” said Bianca with a chuckle. “I was a very tearful bride some days before we were married. I knew when we were on the boat, we wouldn’t come back. We would leave it all—Italy, Norway, all our family and friends. But I couldn’t stay without him.”
In the tin, Tessa saw a handful of other souvenirs—old Italian and American coins, a postcard or two, even a candle stub. A photograph of Bianca and Pietro in the snow, then standing in a building courtyard where some half-hearted shrubs were planted, a blurry figure on a bicycle riding past. Our first home in the Brentwood, read the shaky line written on the photo’s back.
“So you see why I want Paolo and Molly to have more for their wedding,” said Bianca. “I don’t want it to be so hasty and have such makeshift things.”
“But you understand why they’re worried,” said Tessa. “They don’t want you to give up everything.”
Bianca patted the tin on the table. “I have plenty of money in the box,” she said. “He shouldn’t worry. I will have it all taken care of.”
Tessa shook her head. “You have to make some concessions for him, Bianca,” she said. She took her client’s hand. “Trust us. We can give all three of you a special celebration without spending a lot of money. It’s our job to find a way to do it, so open your mind beyond just big and grand options. If we can make the wedding a special celebration all about Molly and Paolo, that’s what matters.”
“But can you do it where it will not feel small?” asked Bianca worriedly. She clutched Tessa’s hand in return. “Where they will not look back and wish for better?”
“Trust me,” repeated Tessa. “We can.”
Twenty-Two
“Another change of plans,” announced Tessa. “We’re going to add something special to Molly and Paolo’s wedding. A little something for Bianca.”
As she spoke, she opened the tin of mementos, which she had borrowed from Bianca the day before. She lifted out the crown and showed it to them, along with the wedding photo, sharing Bianca’s story about the quick wedding in the Italian village decades before.
“I think some element of this has to be included in Molly and Paolo’s big day,” said Tessa. “It’s a part of Paolo’s heritage that deserves to be honored. If this wedding is going to be about celebrating traditions, we can’t miss the chance to add this one.”
Bianca could be at peace then, Tessa felt. In a way, it would be celebrating her own union sixty years ago, because her story would be part of it, too. A way of bringing to life the wedding she wished for, and the kind of weddings that people like Paolo and Molly would experience if they were surrounded by old traditions and a big family circle.
“What is this?” Natalie examined the crown, trying to disentangle the crystal prisms from each other.
“A Norwegian wedding crown,” said Tessa. “At least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. Bianca’s husband made it for her to wear on their wedding day.”
Collective gasps of “awww” came from both Tessa’s partners. “That’s so sweet,” said Ama. “He made this?”
“He did. And it was the one part of Bianca’s story that really mattered to her,” said Tessa. “I think it was the only bit of that day which was really hers. Her and Pietro’s celebration was missing all the usual hallmarks for both their cultures, but we won’t let that happen to Paolo and Molly’s day.”
“I’ve been working on a list of Irish and Italian themed treats for the reception,” said Ama. “Besides the ‘Irish tiramisu’ idea, I’ve added shortbread cookies because they’re popular in Ireland—and I thought we could add a Celtic knot design to the top using icing.”
“Green is important both in Irish culture and Italian weddings,” said Tessa. “Maybe we can do something with that.”
“Perhaps we should find out what would have been important for Bianca’s wedding in her homeland,” pointed out Natalie. “You know, like the church she would have chosen, or some ceremonial tradition that’s part of the event.”
“I think the biggest hurdle is finding a place for the reception—and maybe the ceremony,” said Tessa. “We can use the church for the ceremony, but you heard what Paolo said about the reception.”
“Maybe the ceremony is where they can honor Bianca with something instead,” suggested Ama. “Her story, her traditions—we can bring together all three cultural elements somehow. Irish, Italian, and Norwegian.”
“Let’s figure out how to do it,” said Tessa.
* * *
“We can get a great deal on this place for the reception, trust me,” said Natalie. “That’s the beauty of having connections in the city. It’s an ideal space with a beautiful little landscaped outdoor terrace that should be in bloom for the wedding.”
“How do you know them again?” Tessa asked.
“A friend of my mom’s. The owner used to work at a Neapolitan restaurant my cousins own.” She crossed the street as the walk signal appeared
She and Tessa entered the doors of a spacious Italian restaurant, its atmosphere low lit despite the sunshine coming through its front windows. The employee behind the seating host’s podium smiled.
“Hey, Natalie,” he said. “Long time no see. Come to check out the terrace room?”
“I have,” she said. “This is my business partner Tessa Miller, by the way. She’s the event planner for this wedding.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, leaning across to shake hands. “I’m Rick. I run this place these days.”
“Thanks for offering us such a great break on the deposit,” said Tessa. “Our client will be really grateful. It’s so generous of you.”
“Well, Nat practically qualifies for the family discount around here,” said Rick. “Brayden would probably kill me if I tried to charge her the usual price. Anything for Natalie, he would say.”
“Who’s Brayden?” asked Tessa.
A sudden flash of embarrassment reddened Natalie’s cheeks. “Nobody,” she muttered quickly.
“He talks about you so much that it feels like it’s only been days since I caught up with you, not weeks,” continued Rick to Natalie. “Tell him to keep his mind on his work sometimes, will you? Oh, his mom says ‘Hi,’ by the way—”
“Do you want to see the banquet room now?” said Natalie to Tessa.
“Sure,” she said. “But who’s—?”
“Come this way.” Natalie seized Tessa’s arm and pulled her in the direction of a set of French doors on the opposite side of the dining room. “It’s right through here.”
The private dining room featured a long banquet table and chairs—the latter could be removed, Natalie pointed out, and the table could be moved back and shortened to allow more room for guests to circulate. The room was big enough that a musician or a small trio could provide entertainment acoustically, especially if the terrace doors were open. There was even a small patio seating area with a wrought-iron table and two chairs, and an old stone bench near the hydrangeas.
“It’s really nice,” sai
d Tessa, admiring it from the open French doors leading to the garden’s paving stones.
“There’s an Italian trio who plays the restaurants on weekends, if Paolo and Molly are interested in hiring them for the reception,” said Natalie. “Their rates are pretty reasonable. But I’ve looked up a couple of acoustic Irish bands who play traditional airs and love songs, and they seem promising. They have websites with some digital live tracks we can screen for Paolo and Molly.”
Tessa snapped some photos with her smartphone. “We’ll have to bring them here to confirm if they like this spot,” she said. “But I think it’s definitely the top contender.”
“Now for the ceremony,” said Natalie, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Will it be the church or somewhere else?”
“I’ve looked at the church and it’s nice,” said Tessa. “But I think I have an even better location.”
The place Tessa had in mind was blocks away from the restaurant, in a part of town that was once considered Little Italy before some major renovations in the neighborhood a decade or two ago. Now the buildings were part of a chic downtown apartment complex with a historic feel to the brickwork and the intricate latticework on the old fire escapes leading down to the enclosed landscaped courtyard.
“An apartment yard?” said Natalie. “It’s nice, Tess… but don’t you think it’s a little weird?” She glanced at Tessa quizzically, then at their surroundings. The smooth, paved area was softened with simple green spruce shrubs, and mint green sedum plants crawled along the decorative stones in the flowerbeds. There were succulents in hues of violet and jade, and sprigs of light, feathery flowers like sea foam poured from the antique ornamental urns placed along the walls of the surrounding buildings. Near the far end of the yard, planted in a circular stone bed, was a sapling tree with beautiful cascading branches.
“I found the address on the back of Bianca’s photo,” said Tessa. The building on the right is the one where she and Pietro first lived when they came to the city… back before real estate prices skyrocketed and it became a trendy place to live.”
“Are you kidding?” Natalie asked, turning to her with astonishment.
“No, I’m serious. This garden was inspired by a traditional Italian villa’s landscaping, in honor of the immigrants who used to live here—families like Bianca’s. The tree is actually an imported sapling from Italy, a cold-hardy one,” she said. “I talked to the managers of the buildings and it is possible to get a permit to host an event in this garden.”
“What are you thinking?” said Natalie. “An open air ceremony?”
“Maybe. We could set up chairs, and have the ceremony near the tree,” said Tessa. “It would be reminiscent of Bianca’s past, the wedding she and Pietro had. I think this could be the tribute that Molly and Paolo would like to give her.”
“What about the church?” asked Natalie. “You did say it was nice.”
“Neither Molly nor Paolo was really committed to having the ceremony there, though,” said Tessa. “I think they’re open to exploring other options, especially if we can work out a really inexpensive deal for this site. It’s definitely big enough to accommodate their guests. It would be easy to rent chairs and seat people—we could put up some kind of arbor for Molly and Paolo to stand under, maybe. We can even roll a carpet to it from the courtyard’s entry gates—which would be perfect if a limo is dropping off the bride, by the way.”
“Okay, I can see it,” admitted Natalie. “There’s definite potential in this location. But do you think Bianca would go for it? She doesn’t tell the story about her wedding except as a cautionary tale.”
“I think the only reason she doesn’t want to celebrate Paolo’s heritage is because those traditions are associated with her own make-do wedding, and the fact that Paolo’s father didn’t bother to honor them either,” said Tessa. “If we can bring them to life beautifully, I think it will really mean something to all of them, in the same way as we’re doing with the foods for the buffet and the reception site.”
Natalie snapped a photo on her phone. “I guess the best way to find out the answer is to ask, right?”
* * *
Ama had been busy that morning working on the menu for the reception, and the table in the new kitchen back at Wedding Belles was covered in sketches and photos printed out from the internet. She cleared them all aside for the cake tasting with Molly and Bianca, however, so only a bakery box from Ama’s Sweetheart Treats business was on the table, with a single layer of her wedding cake design inside.
“What do you think?” she asked, as she placed a slice before each of them. “I think we’ll need three layers, since you’re obviously expecting more guests than before,” she added, “so I thought maybe the middle one would be similar to this, only with chocolate.”
She crossed her fingers under the table as Molly poked a fork through the soft, white cake, split in half and filled with a generous layer of cream streaked with berry juice for a marble effect. Dried cherries and blackberries, and chopped walnuts and almonds studded it beautifully—at least that’s what Ama hoped.
“Mmm,” said Molly. “This is really good. I like it.” She glanced at Bianca.
“I was kind of inspired by the traditional Italian wedding cake,” said Ama. “The pattern on the top is from a rococo-style design, worked in with sweetened gilded cocoa powder.” She waited as Bianca tasted it.
“Oooh, so sweet,” she said. “The berries and nuts—Pietro’s mother made one a little like this for Christmas, I remember. Only hers was heavy and spicy… this is so light. It’s like an angel’s cloud.” She smiled.
Inwardly, Ama breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, then,” she said. “Let’s talk about the Irish-inspired macaroons I have in mind.” She reached for her book of sketches, eager to begin this plan.
* * *
In her office, Natalie gathered her books for her business class. “I texted you my photos of the courtyard,” she called to Tessa. “I’ve gotta go.” Hurrying downstairs, she crossed her fingers that she wasn’t too late to catch the bus to her class.
“We do our best in the business world to face realities even as we face customers,” Professor Bender explained, as he wrote on the chalkboard Remember your test on Tuesday! “Don’t let yourself be fooled into thinking you can satisfy everyone all of the time.”
Would they be able to satisfy Bianca in the end? Natalie pondered the possibility that it could all backfire as she took the bus to her family’s house after turning in her latest assignment. No princess dress, no five-tier cake—would Bianca suddenly realize that Molly wasn’t arriving at the wedding in a glass Cinderella carriage, with fireworks after the ceremony?
Tessa had better be right about the traditions mattering more than the price tag. It wouldn’t look great for their business if Bianca’s unhappiness spilled over to taint Paolo and Molly’s feelings about the wedding. After all, reminders of her homeland and the wedding-celebration-that-wasn’t could still spin into disappointment. She could almost imagine Bianca pulling a last-minute change by opening charge accounts at expensive boutiques to buy Molly’s gown and order a six-tier Bavarian cream cake.
At her mother’s house, a different sort of cake was waiting for her on the kitchen counter: a leftover wedge of spiced coffee cake studded with almonds and brown sugar. It was too tempting to ignore. She broke a piece off one edge and poked it into her mouth.
“Shouldn’t you wait for dinner?” her mother chided her, as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. “If you’re not in a hurry, I’ll fix you something. Your uncle left some of his tortellini in the fridge.” She gestured toward it; the fridge’s surface was covered in Italian menus and family photos.
“I can’t stay, Ma. I have a hundred things to do for the wedding,” said Natalie. “Plus, I have a paper to write for my class. I just came by to pick up the stuff I left on the living room coffee table a few nights ago.”
“You staying for dinner?” Her brother e
ntered the back door, shrugging off his firefighter’s jacket.
“Are you ever at your own place?” Natalie asked him.
“I gave it up. I’m always at the fire station or here,” he said. “Didn’t Ma tell you that already?”
“Leave me out of this,” said their mother, holding up her hands. “You two should talk to each other. He’s your brother, Natalie. You should call him.”
“Why isn’t it his responsibility to call me?” retorted Natalie.
“Oh, hey—that reminds me,” said Roberto. “There’s a guy I work with who wants to meet you. Can I give him your number?”
“Roberto, you know how I feel about setups,” said Natalie warningly. “I hate having somebody build up some expectation about me, and then he gets sprung on me at the last moment.”
“Come on, it’s one date, sis,” said Roberto. “You’ll like him. He’s pretty good looking, he’s good at his job, he’s not a criminal. He’s your type.”
“You should go out with him,” Maria urged her. “He could be the one. He sounds better than these man-boys you’ve been dating the past few years.”
“There is no ‘the one,’ Ma,” said Natalie. “All I came here for were my sketches, not a date. I can find one of those myself.” She tucked a bakery box with the rest of the cake under her arm, then retrieved her paperwork from the untidy stack on the coffee table.
“When are you going to take a relationship seriously?” Maria asked her at the door. “I worry about you. You’re going to miss your chance for love if you’re not careful.”
She framed Natalie’s face with her hands, looking into her eyes with worry. Natalie knew how her mother felt about her views on life. She was serious about her studies, serious about her career, even about her family… but never about matters of the heart. That just wouldn’t do in Maria’s mind.
She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m fine, Ma,” she said. “I don’t need anybody.” With a smile, she opened the door and stepped outside before Maria could argue with her.