said again. The words came more easily the second time.
David’s paternoster continued to work its magic, because Clara didn’t miss a beat when she asked, “Have you decided on the wedding party?”
“Melissa will be my matron of honor, of course.”
“Of course,” Gran and Clara agreed at the same time. My grandmother subdued another strawberry before she asked, “Where is Melissa? I thought she was joining us for brunch today.”
“She was. But Rob’s been tied up on a huge litigation matter ever since they got married. This is the first weekend day he’s had off in a month, so she texted me this morning and begged off.” And I understood that. Really, I did. But a part of me had wanted to type back that I hadn’t seen her in every bit as long.
Married life had done strange things to my relationship with my best friend. I was happy for her; of course I was. But we had yet to celebrate Melissa’s wedding—no Mojito Therapy in the six weeks since she and Rob had run off and tied the knot. Not that a marriage should require therapy . What I really meant was that I longed to toast Melissa’s marriage—just like we’d toasted a million things in the past. Strong drinks, good food, and talking until we’d both gone hoarse. Was that too much to ask of a best friend?
It wasn’t Melissa’s fault, not at all. And it certainly wasn’t Rob’s. I’d been every bit as busy as they had been. But there was something wrong when I’d been wearing an engagement ring for six weeks, and my best friend still hadn’t seen the diamond.
Gran must have sensed my disturbance, because she offered up the best salve around—a slice of bacon from her plate. It was salty and thick and chewy and smoky all at the same time, a bite of meaty heaven. Gran nodded in complete understanding of my groaned bliss before she asked, “And David’s best man?”
“I don’t know,” I said, struck by the oddness of that statement. “He’s got two younger brothers, but I haven’t actually met them. There are the other warders at the Academy, but they’re more co-workers than friends. I don’t know,” I said again, and I shoved down a queasy roll of my belly.
No, that wasn’t a warning sign that anything was wrong between David and me. It was simply a statement that orange juice and Dutch Apple Baby and bacon were a little too much to eat for breakfast. Really. That was the only problem.
Gran breezed past my uncertainty. “Well, let me know when he’s made up his mind. I have a little something I’d like to do for the wedding.”
My grandmother had been my support system for years; she’d nurtured me through my tortured teens, through all those college years when I couldn’t decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. Gran had the proverbial determination of a bulldog and the legendary patience of a saint.
But she made some terrible choices when it came to wedding festivities. Witness the orange and silver bridesmaid dress I’d worn to her own wedding, the one with a gigantic lamé bow across my butt, with dyed-to-match Gatorade-colored shoes. And that crime against the senses had been accomplished with Neko at her side, offering the best of his fashion guidance. I trembled to think of what Gran might come up with on her own. Offering a sickly smile, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Keep what in mind?” Clara asked. “You don’t even know what your grandmother is planning.”
So much for David’s panacea.
I shook my head, as if I’d just been momentarily distracted. Bride’s prerogative and all that. “I’m sorry, Gran. What ‘little something’ were you talking about?”
She wiped her fingers off on her napkin and reached for her handbag. “Just a little something I came across in a knitting magazine.”
“I didn’t know you knit!”
“I haven’t done it in years,” Gran said, producing a sheaf of papers. “But Uncle George’s hair is awfully thin on top… I couldn’t bear the idea
David’s paternoster continued to work its magic, because Clara didn’t miss a beat when she asked, “Have you decided on the wedding party?”
“Melissa will be my matron of honor, of course.”
“Of course,” Gran and Clara agreed at the same time. My grandmother subdued another strawberry before she asked, “Where is Melissa? I thought she was joining us for brunch today.”
“She was. But Rob’s been tied up on a huge litigation matter ever since they got married. This is the first weekend day he’s had off in a month, so she texted me this morning and begged off.” And I understood that. Really, I did. But a part of me had wanted to type back that I hadn’t seen her in every bit as long.
Married life had done strange things to my relationship with my best friend. I was happy for her; of course I was. But we had yet to celebrate Melissa’s wedding—no Mojito Therapy in the six weeks since she and Rob had run off and tied the knot. Not that a marriage should require therapy . What I really meant was that I longed to toast Melissa’s marriage—just like we’d toasted a million things in the past. Strong drinks, good food, and talking until we’d both gone hoarse. Was that too much to ask of a best friend?
It wasn’t Melissa’s fault, not at all. And it certainly wasn’t Rob’s. I’d been every bit as busy as they had been. But there was something wrong when I’d been wearing an engagement ring for six weeks, and my best friend still hadn’t seen the diamond.
Gran must have sensed my disturbance, because she offered up the best salve around—a slice of bacon from her plate. It was salty and thick and chewy and smoky all at the same time, a bite of meaty heaven. Gran nodded in complete understanding of my groaned bliss before she asked, “And David’s best man?”
“I don’t know,” I said, struck by the oddness of that statement. “He’s got two younger brothers, but I haven’t actually met them. There are the other warders at the Academy, but they’re more co-workers than friends. I don’t know,” I said again, and I shoved down a queasy roll of my belly.
No, that wasn’t a warning sign that anything was wrong between David and me. It was simply a statement that orange juice and Dutch Apple Baby and bacon were a little too much to eat for breakfast. Really. That was the only problem.
Gran breezed past my uncertainty. “Well, let me know when he’s made up his mind. I have a little something I’d like to do for the wedding.”
My grandmother had been my support system for years; she’d nurtured me through my tortured teens, through all those college years when I couldn’t decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. Gran had the proverbial determination of a bulldog and the legendary patience of a saint.
But she made some terrible choices when it came to wedding festivities. Witness the orange and silver bridesmaid dress I’d worn to her own wedding, the one with a gigantic lamé bow across my butt, with dyed-to-match Gatorade-colored shoes. And that crime against the senses had been accomplished with Neko at her side, offering the best of his fashion guidance. I trembled to think of what Gran might come up with on her own. Offering a sickly smile, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Keep what in mind?” Clara asked. “You don’t even know what your grandmother is planning.”
So much for David’s panacea.
I shook my head, as if I’d just been momentarily distracted. Bride’s prerogative and all that. “I’m sorry, Gran. What ‘little something’ were you talking about?”
She wiped her fingers off on her napkin and reached for her handbag. “Just a little something I came across in a knitting magazine.”
“I didn’t know you knit!”
“I haven’t done it in years,” Gran said, producing a sheaf of papers. “But Uncle George’s hair is awfully thin on top… I couldn’t bear the idea
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