by Talley, Liz
So the bastard knew about her and Melanie. Of course he did. He would have a line into the Shreveport gossip circuit, of course.
Tennyson glanced over at Melanie, and damned if it didn’t look like she had swallowed a bullfrog. Seemed their time of keeping their past from their children was over. Wasn’t like it could go on much longer, anyway. Emma and Andrew were bound to discover the truth.
“Well, uh,” Emma said, looking from Tennyson back to her mother with suspicion. The child hadn’t graduated magna cum laude for nothing. It was as if the moment was wound tight, a clock with tension ticking at every second hand. “What’s he talking about? Like, you were best friends?”
Tennyson pressed her lips together and shrugged.
“Mama?” Emma’s voice sounded like a reprimand.
“She’s Teeny,” Melanie managed through lips drawn tight as a bowstring.
“Wait, Andrew’s mom is Teeny? That Teeny?”
Melanie looked away.
“The Teeny who put the hole in Gee Ma’s china hutch and talked you into painting the castle on your wall? The one who broke the Madame Alexander bride doll and sold your grandmother’s funeral urn in a garage sale? That Teeny?” Emma darted a wide-eyed look over to her with the question since Melanie wasn’t answering.
Tennyson stayed quiet.
Finally, Melanie made an annoyed face. “Yes. She would be that Teeny.”
“You said Teeny was dead,” Emma said, her expression changing into one of horror.
“To me she was,” Melanie said, brushing a piece of lint off her ugly pants.
Tennyson couldn’t stop the stab of pain at Melanie’s words. Melly had told her children that her former best friend was dead? How could she lie that way? How could she even think it?
“Well, surprise, everyone! I’m not dead,” Tennyson said, trying to lighten the mood, even though Melanie looked about as bitchy as she ever had. And she’d never been bitchy. Quite the opposite. She’d been the one to give her money to the Red Cross and sit with the unpopular kids at lunch upon occasion. Bitch and Melanie didn’t go together. Or they hadn’t. She still didn’t know this new Melanie.
Marc had been watching with fascination and more than a bit of glee. Perhaps he’d planned the entire thing because why not elicit more emotion than they already had going? There was fun in that drama.
Tennyson held up a finger. “In my defense, I did not know Gammy Mui was in that vase.”
“Oh, please, it wasn’t a vase.” Melanie rolled her eyes. “I told you that we could sell everything in the closet but the urn. I even put a sticky note on it so you wouldn’t forget. But you took it anyway. You made enough for the Six Flags tickets. Too bad I couldn’t go because I was punished for four months.”
“Jesus, let it go, Melly.”
“You let it go. You sold my dead grandmother,” Melanie said, the low heel of her ugly shoe clonking the tiled floor. “And you’re the one who always causes problems. You’re the definition of wreaking havoc in every circumstance. Take last night. I have to buy Janie a new dress, and we wasted perfectly good cake because someone had to have her dog there.”
“She’s an emo—”
“Don’t give me that crap, Teeny. That dog isn’t anything of the sort. You use that animal for attention. What emotional support do you need? Doesn’t the booze work anymore?” Melanie said.
Tennyson felt like Melanie had lobbed a knife at her head. “Fuck you, Melly.”
“I see you still use your words, Teeny.” Melanie sniffed and turned her head.
“Oh my God, what is happening here?” Emma asked, her gaze going from her mother back to Tennyson. Her eyes were as big as the gerbera daisies gathered in the Royal Doulton china vase on the table, and she looked like she might cry.
Marc even looked a bit shocked, but then he clapped his hands. “Now, now, ladies, weddings are an emotional ev—”
“This has nothing to do with the wedding, and everything to do with Tennyson getting her way. As always,” Melanie cut him off, delivering her best frigid stare. Déjà vu slammed into Tennyson because the woman looked just like her mother. Brrr.
“Oh, give me a break. You say that shit to make you feel better about what you did to me in the first place. Come to think of it, this has everything to do with a wedding. This bullshit has sat between us for too many years. If our children are going to have a prayer’s chance in hell of surviving the next two months, we need to clear the air between us.” Tennyson sat her teacup on the table and wished like hell Marc Mallow offered more than stupid tea. She could use a shot of vodka right now. Two shots. Or three.
“I don’t have to do anything. You caused all of this. You. Not me,” Melanie said.
“Mom, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re acting totally crazy. We’re so behind on everything already, and Mr. Mallow has agreed to help us. Can’t we just put whatever this is aside for the next forty minutes of this appointment so we can make a few decisions?” Emma asked, pleading evident in her voice.
Melanie turned the color of the drapes—a wholesome pink—as if she had just realized she’d lost it in front of everyone. Her expression softened. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry about losing my composure. It’s a rarity, I assure you, Mr. Mallow.”
“It’s Marc, and as I said earlier, weddings bring forth many, many emotions.”
Melanie didn’t apologize to Tennyson. She didn’t even look her way.
So this was how they were going to play it—tit for tat? Seemed about right because that was how Melanie had always been. Passive-aggressive should be her middle name. That she had even lost her temper in front of Marc and her daughter, allowing herself to grow angry enough to even say “crap” was in itself a small victory for Tennyson. Not to mention, Melanie hated it when Tennyson used any affectation, so Tennyson’s playing it blasé earlier had likely driven Melanie right off the edge.
Good.
Melanie didn’t get to be any more comfortable than she was about this impending marriage. Tennyson adored Emma—it was hard not to—but she didn’t have to love that her son was marrying into Melanie’s screwed-up family, did she?
After all, Melanie had turned into her own worst nightmare—her mother.
And she’d told her children that Tennyson was dead.
Jesus.
“Yes, we’re sorry, Marc. Emma is right. We’re here for a wedding,” Tennyson said.
Emma gave a tremulous smile. “So let’s get started on the plans. I booked the church for August thirtieth and the Remington Hotel rooftop for the reception. It will be hot, but I like the idea of dancing on the rooftop. All the lights up there are so pretty, and it’s just fun.”
Marc rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a notepad. “We can do some cooler fans outside. Not a problem. Ladies, let’s hammer out the major decisions. I need to know number of people, budget, and things like band or DJ so I can do inquiries tomorrow morning. We’re on a time crunch, so once we decide and book, we stick.”
“Whatever Emma and Andrew want, we can make happen,” Tennyson said, crossing her legs and picking up the album marked for floral arrangements.
“And what they want is something simple,” Melanie said.
“Don’t worry, Melanie. I can help you and Kit pay for the wedding. No need to set a tight budget.”
Melanie’s mouth went flat as a frog’s. “This isn’t about money, it’s about being reasonable. And tasteful.”
Irritation flared inside Tennyson. Reasonable? Now that really could be Melanie’s middle name. How many times had Melanie asked her to be reasonable? Ten? Twenty? A thousand times? She was fairly certain the last time that word had flown from her mouth had been when Melanie and Kit had told her that last summer that they were “together now.” Tennyson had pitched a hissy fit, and Melanie had grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “Come on, Teeny. Don’t be like this. Be reasonable. You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him. That’s not fair to Kit.”
/>
To which Tennyson had said, “I don’t mind someone else having him. Just not you.”
Melanie had released her shoulders and cried.
But her former BFF hadn’t given Kit up. Nope. Instead she’d married him.
So saying Tennyson should be reasonable wasn’t something she wanted to hear because she didn’t want to be reasonable. Not for Andrew’s wedding. Not for Melanie or Kit’s pocketbook. Not for anyone in the world. Because reasonable was boring as hell. And trite. And commonplace. And not the way Tennyson O’Rourke rolled.
As for taste, Melanie had a lot of nerve when she herself dressed like a bag lady.
“How about you decide what’s reasonable, Melly, and I’ll add the ridiculous to it so this wedding can be something perfect rather than just tasteful.” She said that last word as if she were spitting out a cockroach. Then she turned to Emma. “Does that work for you, Em?”
Emma blinked once, twice, and finally said, “Uh, thank you, Tennyson.”
“Darling, you can call me Teeny.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I hate her. Like truly hate her,” Melanie said to Kit as they pushed into their favorite Mexican place. They’d just gone to the Remington Hotel to pay the balance on the deposit Emma had put down on the hotel. Her mother was out doing the preliminary scout for wedding dresses with Emma, and they would join them for dinner. Melanie wasn’t looking forward to dining with her mother, but when Emma had suggested they meet up to go over the finalized plans to that point and hadn’t invited Tennyson, Melanie had agreed. Kit would also be joining them because he’d been downtown in a meeting with Hal, who was signing the legal papers giving him the money for the new subdivision.
“You don’t. Not really,” Kit said, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.
“No. I do. She implied we couldn’t afford to pay for our daughter’s wedding just because I said we should be reasonable. I was so embarrassed in front of Marc. Not to mention, Emma had that look in her eye. You know, like she doubted we could do this . . . and that she trusted Tennyson could.”
“If Tennyson wants to pay for some of the wedding, let her. I’m not going to lie—I’m not really looking forward to the total waste associated with weddings. You know how I feel about them. We witnessed firsthand how they can tilt into disaster faster than a fart in a whirlwind.”
“Our wedding was fine until the end.” She approached the hostess stand. The older woman behind the stand arched a brow in the universal how many? inquiry. “Four, please.”
“Better make it six. Charlotte’s coming and bringing her friend Brendan.”
Melanie gritted her teeth and tried not to frown. “Sorry. Six.”
The hostess nodded, gathered the menus, and proceeded to the large metal table at the front of the eatery. All that without a single word.
“Juan will be your waiter,” she said, finally finding her voice.
“I’ll take a margarita,” Melanie said, throwing her diet out the window. She needed a drink if she had to dine with her mother and Charlotte. And Brendan. Whoever the hell he was. She could hope it was a boyfriend who would screw Charlotte seven ways to Sunday so she would stop looking at Kit like she’d like to dine upon him. Three cheers for Brendan being a stud in the sheets.
“Um, I’m the hostess,” the woman said without a smile, disappearing before Melanie could respond.
“Well, she was rude,” Melanie said, pulling out a chair next to Kit and sitting.
“But not a waiter,” Kit replied.
“Can you never take my side?”
He looked up. “I didn’t know there were sides.”
“Didn’t you?” Melanie said, lifting her gaze from the cheese- and sour cream–laden dishes pictured on her menu to her husband’s face. “You never agree with me. You always discount what I say. Like with Tennyson. Or the kids. Or even the stupid hostess. I’m just asking if you are ever on my side?”
“Mel, of course I am. I’m your husband.”
“Let’s hope Charlotte remembers that. And why is she coming to dinner, anyway? Who invited her?” Melanie sounded grumpy but didn’t care. Everyone was pleased in life but her. Everyone got the benefit of the doubt from Kit but her. With her, he constantly pointed out how crazy she sounded, placating her, reminding her how “blessed” they were, like she had to take everyone’s crap because she drove a Lexus and had two healthy children.
What-effing-ever.
“Char was there when you called to see if I wanted to meet you. She said something along the lines of loving Caliente and not having eaten here in a while. So I said she was welcome to join us, and she said maybe. I was being polite. I mean, that’s okay, right? Charlotte is merely a friend, and I think if you could become friends with her, you’d see that your fear that I would cheat with her is unfounded.”
“You admitted to wanting to sleep with her.”
“I did not. I admitted to being attracted to and flattered by her. Those are two different things. The therapist said as much. Remember, we have to trust each other and know we have the other’s best intentions at heart.”
Melanie blinked away the sudden tears. Yeah, therapy was fun. Because the therapist also made her female intuition about Charlotte sound like someone going off her rocker. Melanie wasn’t crazy. Even Tennyson had seen the way Charlotte overstepped when it came to Kit. But her husband hadn’t cheated, and he was right—everyone is flattered by the attention of an attractive person. “Fine.”
She looked up to Emma pushing into the restaurant with her mother on her heels.
“Mom!” Emma said, weaving around diners who’d paused mid-chimichanga to watch her progress. “I found it! I found the dress!”
Melanie set the menu down. “I thought you were just scouting to see which shops you wanted to visit. You said you weren’t trying anything on.” Her heart clenched at the thought of Emma committing to a dress without her even seeing it.
“I didn’t try it on. Because it’s not in Shreveport. It’s in Dallas. Tennyson found the one I liked online at Stanley Korshak. It’s so pretty and perfect.” Emma sank onto the booth seat with a swoony sigh.
Melanie looked up at her mother, who was slightly out of breath. “I thought . . . what’s going on?”
Anne Brevard made a displeased face. “I don’t agree with Tennyson being the person to decide your dress.”
Emma laughed. “She’s not. But you have to agree that it’s beautiful. We have an appointment in four days. We’ll have to pay more for alterations because usually that takes three months, but they have my size, so hopefully there won’t be too much to do. Even Gee Ma has to admit that what we looked at today just wasn’t right for me. I mean, there were so many mermaid dresses and fluffy princess ones with tacky crystal belts. Even the lace looked cheap.”
Melanie leveled a knowing look at Kit, who had started to look pale.
Juan chose that moment to show up. “Hello, mis amigos. Can I get you a drink?”
“I’ll have the two-for-one margarita,” Melanie said, quick as spit.
Her mother looked disapproving as she lowered herself onto the chair opposite Melanie, but not before inspecting the cleanliness of the utensils. “I’ll see your wine list.”
Juan’s engaging grin didn’t disappear as he said, “All we have is red or white.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Juan grinned even bigger. “We don’t have a wine list. Just a house red and a house white. And tequila. We always have tequila, Grandmother.”
“Water with lemon, please,” Anne said, with a lift of her chin. Disapproval of Juan’s boldness glittered in her dark eyes. “Bottled water, please, as I do not care for tap.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “And you, sir?”
“I think I’m going to need the tequila flight,” Kit said, tapping the table.
Juan laughed. “You have your hands full with these beauties, yes?”
Emma ordered water and some tableside guacamole, Juan went
off to gather the libations, and Melanie’s mother folded her hands on the Formica and looked at Emma. “You cannot deny your mother the privilege of helping you select your gown. That does not belong to Tennyson, no matter how helpful she intends to be.”
Emma made a face. “I’m not. Mom is totally included. And you, too, Gee Ma.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Melanie said, feeling a bit of relief. Her mother sticking up for her was always a small pleasure because it felt so rare.
Emma sighed. “All I’m saying is that this is an incredible opportunity. It’s an exclusive salon, and it’s hard to get an appointment. Tennyson knows the owners or something, and they’re doing her this favor. We got an appointment on Tuesday. Marc agreed to move the cake tasting to the day after in order to accommodate us.”
“I have to take Poppy to the vet on Tuesday, and your brother has his first summer league game,” Melanie said, withdrawing her phone and tapping on the calendar.
“The appointment is for one o’clock. You can move the vet appointment and probably still make it back in time for Noah’s game, not that he’s going to even play. Please, Mom. Stanley Korshak. You know we will find the perfect dress there.”
Melanie didn’t want to go to Dallas, but she did want to have that special experience with her daughter. Hey, she watched Say Yes to the Dress and knew how sweet that moment was when a mom saw her daughter in the perfect dress. She’d dreamed about seeing Emma in her bridal gown since she first changed the child’s diaper. Of course, it felt surreal that it was happening in four days. However, she wasn’t going to miss her daughter donning frothy white dresses, pirouetting and swishing in the lace, tulle, and seed pearls even if it felt too fast and was orchestrated by Tennyson. “Okay, I’ll move Poppy’s appointment.”
“Good. Tennyson said we can do brunch in Dallas and go to the salon from there. She hired a car to take us. This is going to be so fun. I mean, it’s silly, but I’m so excited. Do you want to go, Gee Ma?”
Melanie looked at her mother. She knew that Anne would rather be caught in her underwear at the outlet mall than go anywhere with Tennyson. Her mother gave a rare smile and reached over, patting Emma on the arm. “I will wait to see you in your gown. I will cherish the surprise of seeing you the same way your groom will.”