Every Girl Gets Confused (16 page)

“Ah.”

“I sense it's a family trait. If you catch my drift.” She gave me a knowing look. “But don't let the lack of words get in the way. Promise? Actions speak louder, or so I've always been told. And I know my son really well. He's feeling those words in his heart. Promise you won't give up on him?”

“Give up on him?” I shook my head. “Of course not, Nadia. I could never do that. He's stuck with me. I'm not going anywhere.”

“That's good to hear.”

From inside my purse, my phone buzzed. I reached inside
and pulled it out, stunned when I saw Casey's name on the screen. Great. Just what I needed. I answered the phone and headed to the hallway for some privacy.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Katie,” he said. “I know you're with Brady right now.”

“How did you know that?”

“Oh, Alva called Queenie and she told Bessie May, who saw Prissy when the WOP-pers met for prayer this morning. Prissy ran into Mama at the gas station—did you know you get special points for shopping at Brookshire Brothers?—and Mama called me because she knows I'm a fan of Brady's.”

“I see. And the party line lives on.”

“Yeah.” He released a strained laugh.

“So, what's up, Casey?”

“Well, I'm back in town for the holidays.” His words felt rushed, as if he'd rehearsed them or something. “We've shut down the plant in Tulsa until mid-January, so I'll be around for several weeks. Mama wanted me to call and see if you guys wanted to do our usual Thanksgiving game day thing. I know things are a little different this year, but . . .”

A
little
different?

“Our usual thing?” I managed.

“Yeah. Are you going to be home for Thanksgiving?” he asked. “It's just four days from now.”

“If everything goes as planned, I'll be home.” I'd planned to bring Brady with me, but that couldn't happen now. The idea of leaving him here was upsetting, but missing Thanksgiving? Mama and Pop would kill me.

“So, what do you say? My mother's pumpkin pie? Queenie and your father arguing over football? Yahtzee and Scrabble at the kitchen table?” Casey's voice pulled me back into the conversation.

I had to admit, it all sounded nice. Very nice. Comfortable, even. And right about now I needed something to feel comfortable.

“I'll ask Mama what she's got planned, Casey. I don't really know. But I promise to ask, okay?”

“That's good enough for me,” he said. “Oh, and Katie . . . I really am concerned about Brady, and not just because I'm a fan. How is he doing?”

“He's . . .” I probably let the silence go on a bit too long, but I needed to find exactly the right words. “He has the best orthopedist in town, and the surgery went as well as could be expected.”

“Great. He'll get back in the game, then?”

I didn't mean to sigh, but I must've.

“More complicated than that?” Casey asked.

“Yeah. A little more complicated than that. Just pray for him, Casey. He needs it.”

“O-okay.”

We ended the call, and I thought about how strange it was to ask my ex-boyfriend to pray for the man I loved.

The man I loved.

Yes, this journey had solidified that fact, hadn't it? I loved Brady James, and I would stick with him through thick and thin, just as I'd told Nadia. Nothing could tear us apart, not even an ex-boyfriend with a little too much interest in spending time with me.

The really frightening thing about middle age is the knowledge that you'll grow out of it.

Doris Day

T
he days leading up to Thanksgiving were a whirlwind. Somehow Eduardo talked Mr. Sanders into reconsidering the dress order by persuading him that Carrie would be the envy of all the other brides in San Antonio. Turned out Mr. Sanders's pride outweighed his basketball leanings. All was saved, thank goodness.

My days were spent driving back and forth from the shop to Alva's place. Half the time I worked on bridal extravaganza
details, the other half I spent caring for Brady's needs and helping Nadia shuttle him back and forth to post-op visits.

By the time Wednesday arrived I was a wreck. I worked late into the night with Madge and Twiggy to make sure we had the front of the store set up properly. Dahlia and her team took a break from their design work to help us move several racks of our more expensive gowns to the back, leaving only the giveaways and sale gowns up front. By the time we were finished it was nearly midnight. Did I really have to drive to Fairfield in eight hours, then return less than twenty-four hours later? I must've been crazy to think I could handle all of that.

I awoke early Thursday morning to the smell of coffee and the sound of familiar voices in the kitchen. I'd always loved Thanksgiving morning, but today something seemed amiss.

Ah yes. I couldn't move. I tried to get my legs to cooperate but they refused. After so much work yesterday—moving things around in the shop and hauling boxes to and fro—my muscles had apparently declared a mutiny. Who could blame them?

“Ow, ow, ow!” I did my best to stand and stretch, but the pain was unbearable. And my back wouldn't straighten up.

A rap on my door sounded and Alva popped her head inside. “You okay in here, Katie? I thought I heard a noise.”

“Probably the sound of my joints crying out.”

She stared at me as I tried again to stand upright. “Oh my. You overdid it this week?”

“To say the least. We spent hours moving things around at the shop in preparation for the Black Friday event tomorrow morning.”

She leaned against the open door and shook her head. “I never understood why they called it Black Friday. It's just a shopping day, for pity's sake. And what's with all of that
competitive shopping? What sort of people get out at six in the morning to shop? Anyway, I hope you haven't overextended yourself. We have a long day ahead of us, driving to Fairfield.”

“And back. I hope you don't mind that I have to come back in the wee hours of the night. I've got vendors arriving at the shop at five in the morning. It won't affect you, I promise. One of the boys will drive you back tomorrow sometime. Probably Dewey.”

“You poor girl.” She clucked her tongue in motherly fashion. “When this is over you're going to have to sleep for a week.”

That sounded mighty good. I stretched my legs and groaned. “I'll be there in a minute. Or two.”

Or ten. It certainly took longer than anticipated to slip on my clothes, brush my teeth, and hobble out to the kitchen, where I found Alva and Brady engrossed in an animated conversation about toast.

Toast? Really?

Brady liked his with margarine. Alva couldn't abide anything but butter on hers. I interrupted their conversation with a cheerful, “Happy Thanksgiving!” but couldn't get my hand up to give them a wave. The pain in my shoulders was unbearable.

Brady smiled at me. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you look . . .”

“Terrible?” I tried.

“I was going to say sleepy.”

“No, I look terrible, but I think I feel even worse.” I hobbled over to him and gave him a kiss. “Are you sure you don't feel up to coming with us to Fairfield? I don't want to leave you here alone on Thanksgiving.”

“I won't be alone. Madge and Stan are coming by around one to bring turkey and dressing. We'll make a feast of it.”

“If you're sure.” I gave a little pout. “But I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too. But I don't want to mess up your plans.
Go home and spend time with your family. Try to make it a normal day, okay?”

“Normal?” I yawned. “When I have a huge event in the morning and I'm fretting over you being here without me?”

“Don't fret over me. Go. Have fun.”

And so we did. Alva and I hit the road at eight fifteen, heading toward Fairfield.

Going home for Thanksgiving made me feel like a kid again. In spite of my disappointment about leaving Brady back in Dallas with his mother and Madge, I slipped back into “Katie Fisher, Fairfield resident,” with ease. Alva and I arrived at my parents' place just before ten. I carried in the bowl of cranberry salad Alva had made, though my aching joints made the trip up the front walk a difficult one and I nearly lost the bowl more than once. Alva finally took it from me with another cluck of the tongue.

Mama greeted us at the door but was up to her eyeballs with the side dishes, so we offered to help. Not that I was much help in my current condition, but I tried to make myself useful. Mostly I stayed out of the way while Mama and Alva bickered over the ingredients.

Soon after, Queenie and Reverend Bradford arrived carrying in three pies: chocolate, pumpkin, and pecan. Yum. Just one more reason to celebrate coming home for the holidays.

Just a few minutes later Jasper and Crystal arrived. Ever the happy couple, they entered the room hand in hand. I had to give it to those two—they were the stuff love stories were made of. Seeing them together made me think of Brady and miss him all the more.

“Jasper, would you mind going out to the freezer in the garage and checking our ice supply?” Mama asked. “I don't want to run low.”

“Sure, Mama.” He let go of Crystal's hand, gave her a wistful look, and said, “I'll be right back.”

“I'll miss you,” she said.

Good gravy.

Mama and Aunt Alva went to work chopping up the celery for the stuffing but ended up in a heated debate. Crystal and I looked at each other, neither of us brave enough to intervene. Finally I could take it no longer. I had to know what all the fuss was about. “Mama? Aunt Alva? What in the world?”

“I
always
put chestnuts in my stuffing.” Mama put her hands on her hips. “But she won't let me.”

“Can't abide chestnuts.” Alva wrinkled her nose. “Can we leave 'em out? I get hives.”

“Chestnuts give you hives? Are you allergic?” I asked.

“In theory.” She winked. “Just can't stand 'em. I'm allergic to them in my mind.”

Mama sighed and tossed the bag of chestnuts aside. “Well, Herb will pitch a fit, but I guess he'll have to deal with it.”

“Deal with what?” Pop sauntered into the kitchen, dressed in his undershirt and boxers. “What am I going to have to deal with, Marie?”

“Herbert Fisher, go put on some clothes.” Mama pinched her eyes shut and shook her head. “We have guests.”

“Just family.” My father shrugged. “They don't mind seeing me in my natural habitat.”

Actually, I did mind, but it was his house, so who was I to argue?

“That's an
unnatural
habitat if I ever saw one.” Queenie slapped him on the arm. “Now, mind your mama and go change into some decent clothes. I raised you better than that.”

Alrighty then. My father grunted and headed down the hallway toward his bedroom.

Jasper came back into the kitchen to update us on the ice situation. Then he and Mama began to argue about whether or not we'd be watching the big game later this afternoon. Jasper was all for it, naturally. Mama said that it was sacrilege to watch television on Thanksgiving Day. This led to a debate between Reverend Bradford and Mama about the value—or lack thereof—of football on family holidays.

A short time later the turkey was ready to be carved. Pop, now appropriately dressed, did the honors, as he did every year. He commanded hushed reverence as he sliced, sliced, sliced the bird into manageable pieces. “It's an art form,” he explained to all who were listening. “Not just anyone can cut a turkey.”

“But anyone can eat it,” Jasper said.

“Not if he keeps carving it so slowly.” Alva groaned. “At this rate we're not going to have our Thanksgiving dinner until Christmas day.”

That got a laugh out of everyone.

Well, almost everyone. Dewey had arrived in a sour mood. I'd have to talk to him later to see why he and Dahlia hadn't worked things out. Not that it was any of my business. Then again, maybe it irked him to see Jasper and Crystal so happy. And Beau and Twiggy looked pretty blissful these days too.

Beau and Twiggy. For the first time all day it occurred to me that they hadn't arrived yet. Mama would throw a fit if Beau didn't show up for Thanksgiving dinner. That had never happened.

Thank goodness they arrived a few minutes later, arms filled with packaged rolls. “I stopped at Brookshire Brothers, just like you said, Mama.” Beau put the bags on the counter. “I still can't get over the fact that they're open on Thanksgiving Day.”

“There was a time when that would've been a criminal offense.” Queenie shook her head. “What is this world coming to?”

“I guess it's a good thing they were open or we wouldn't have had any bread to eat.”

Queenie carried on a passionate dissertation. Her emotions only intensified when she realized that Alva planned to leave the skin on the potatoes when she mashed them.

“But I don't like to keep the skin on the potatoes when I mash them,” Queenie said. “It's hard on my false teeth.”

“But the nutrients are in the skin,” Alva argued. “And why did you pay good money for teeth that don't chew? I say go back and get yourself some more teeth and then eat potatoes with the skin on.”

Mama quietly peeled the potatoes in the background while the two sisters carried on. Alva would just have to live with it.

In the end, we were all willing to live with it. The potatoes, like everything else, turned out great. By the time the table was loaded with food, I could hardly wait any longer. Pop said the blessing and we dove right in, the conversation so erratic and fun that I almost forgot about the bridal extravaganza. Almost.

We ate until our bellies were full. Just about the time we settled down in front of the TV to watch the big game, slices of pumpkin pie in hand, the doorbell rang. I knew who it would be. For as long as I could remember, the Lawsons had joined us for dessert and football on Thanksgiving Day. Yet the idea of spending the afternoon with Casey left me feeling a little conflicted. Okay, not conflicted, really, just . . . odd. And it made me miss Brady more than ever. I would have to remember to call him when things slowed down.
If
things slowed down.

Mrs. Lawson entered with the most gorgeous lemon pie I'd ever laid eyes on.

“My goodness, Charlotte, it's beautiful.” Queenie clasped her hands together. “And I'm so glad you brought lemon. I brought several others, but not that. And I don't believe I've ever seen such a pretty meringue.”

“She's been watching the Food Network,” Mr. Lawson said. “That
Italian Kitchen
show has her hooked.”

“Oh my, yes. I just love
The Italian
Kitchen
.” Mrs. Lawson stepped into the kitchen. “Rosa and Laz are so down-to-earth. Natural. Rustic.”

“They sound like my kind of cooks,” Alva said. “Bet they leave the skin on
their
potatoes.”

“I followed Rosa's recipe to a tee.” Mrs. Lawson set the lemon pie on the counter. “And I have a coconut pie in the car. I'll go fetch it now.”

Turned out she didn't have to. Casey went for her. I had to give it to him—he'd always been a good son. Actually, he'd been a great boyfriend too. Except that part where he'd broken my heart.

A short time later Joni arrived. Her appearance surprised me a bit. I could tell Mama was caught off guard too, though she greeted our guest with a broad smile.

“There's my favorite wedding planner!” Queenie threw her arms around Joni's neck. “I'm so glad you made it.” She looked around. “Levi's not with you?”

“Oh, no ma'am. He's back in Dallas sharing Thanksgiving with a couple of the kids at the college who weren't able to go home to be with their families. You know how dedicated he is to those kids.”

I knew, all right. Good old Levi, making all the rest of us look like spiritual slouches.

In spite of the heavy meal we'd eaten, we dove right into those pies. Before long we were all moaning and groaning from
the rapid influx of food. Mama and Mrs. Lawson sat on the bar stools talking. Most of the others were in the living room watching the game. I took a seat at the kitchen table next to Casey and Joni, who were already prepping the Yahtzee game.

“I love that feeling you have after eating Thanksgiving dinner,” Casey said.

“Miserable?” Joni asked.

“No. Contented.”

“And miserable.” I rubbed my stomach. “I always feel like I'm in a catatonic state.”

“That's what you're supposed to feel like on Thanksgiving,” Casey said. “That's half the fun.”

“Ugh.” Didn't feel like much fun right now. Felt more like I needed to find an antacid.

Aunt Alva took a seat next to me. “It's that spice your mama puts in the dressing, Katie.”

“I heard that, Alva.” Mama looked over from her conversation with Mrs. Lawson.

“It's true, Marie. I've never used that particular spice before.”

“I think it's the lack of chestnuts that made it taste a bit odd,” Mama said. “But that's just my opinion.” She leaned back in her chair. “I hope no one minds, but I'm just going to sit here for a bit while the rest of you play games and such.”