Authors: Beth Kendrick
T
he extra wedding cake at the reception (because “not everyone likes chocolate, dear, and you should give your guests a choice”) should have been a clue.
The illicit extra order of invitations (because “I know they said the reception hall only holds two hundred people, but the girls in my bridge club would never speak to me again if I didn’t invite them”)? Those should have been a clue, too.
But really, if we’re talking clues, the peanut brittle was the opening salvo that should have sent me running for cover.
“I’m so happy for you two!” Renée exclaimed when David and I announced our engagement over his family’s annual Christmas Eve dinner at her house in the Berkshires. She hugged me so hard my ribs practically snapped, then blotted the
tears from her eyes with a holly-embroidered linen napkin. “Of course, I always assumed that David would
be
a doctor instead of marrying one, but I suppose times have changed. Girl power and all that, right?”
I glanced over at David, who was accepting a hearty handshake from his cousin Sarah’s husband while pretending not to have heard his mom’s little barb.
So I followed his lead and smiled determinedly.
“Here, dear.” Renée released her death grip on my torso long enough to shove a platter of Christmas cookies into my face. “Have some peanut brittle.”
“Oh, thank you, but I can’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; you’re wasting away! All those long days at the hospital…if you don’t take better care of yourself, you’ll never be able to carry my grandchildren! Here.” She attempted to force a jagged shard of peanut brittle between my clamped lips.
I sidestepped the issue of her grandchildren (David could break the news that we weren’t planning on procreating anytime soon) and jerked my head back. “No, honestly, Renée, I can’t. I’m allergic to peanuts, remember?”
“You are?” She furrowed her brow and whisked the jaunty red Santa cap off her sleek brunette bob. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” We’d been over all this before, but maybe she’d forgotten.
“Oh. Well, all right, then, if you say so. But please do eat
something.” She moved on to interrogating David about which date would be best for a wedding at her country club. I waited for him to tell her that we’d decided to have a small, casual ceremony in Boston, but he just changed the subject.
The next morning, Renée served me oatmeal for breakfast. With peanuts chopped up in the brown sugar instead of walnuts. The traditional Christmas turkey dinner was followed up with peanut butter cookies and a caramel peanut butter cake.
“I can’t have peanuts,” I kept repeating. “Truly. I could die.”
“Of course!” She’d smite herself on the forehead. “How silly of me. I’m turning into a senile old biddy, I tell you.”
Yet the peanuts kept showing up in increasingly inventive disguises. Soups, sauces, salads. I finally borrowed David’s car, fishtailed to the grocery store through a blustery nor’easter, and bought five boxes of granola bars to get me through the rest of the weekend.
Before David slipped that diamond ring on my finger, I thought that women who bitched about their mothers-in-law were petty little drama queens. With no respect for the sanctity of family. Who weren’t trying hard enough.
I was such an idiot.
David and I were scheduled to return to Boston the day after Christmas—as a pediatric resident, it was a miracle I’d been able to get Christmas off at all—and Renée spent the entire morning slaving away in the kitchen.
“A culinary send-off for my only child,” she explained, waving the spatula at me. “I know he doesn’t eat well in the city…all those crazy hours you have to work.”
“Don’t worry too much about him,” I said. “He’s an excellent cook.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, is he?”
“Absolutely.” I grinned at David across the kitchen table. “As long as he follows the directions on the back of the box.”
“Orange macaroni and cheese.” He smiled back. “It’s what’s for dinner. And breakfast. And lunch.”
Renée pursed her lips. “And when you have children? I hope you’re not going to feed them out of a box, too. I’ll send some leftovers back with you, David. You can freeze it and have a few decent meals.”
My brand-new fiancé shrugged, emanating vitality and good cheer in his cabled wool sweater and mussed, pre-shower hair. “Great. What’re you making?”
“Roast duck.” Renée rinsed her hands under the faucet. “And stuffing.” She shot me a look.
“Not
from a box.”
I pushed back my chair. “Let me help you, Renée. What can I do?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” she cooed. “I’m almost finished. You just run upstairs and fix yourself up.”
I glanced down at my khakis and crisp white shirt. “I’m fixed. Please let me help—we’re family now.”
“Not quite.” She raised one index finger into the air, as if
testing the wind. “We’re not family till you walk down that aisle at the country club.”
I looked pointedly at David, who mumbled something about needing to shave and escaped upstairs. Traitor. I took a deep breath and tried to be gentle. “Well, actually we thought we might get married in Boston. It’ll be so much easier to plan, and with most of my family flying in from California—”
Her smile never wavered. “The country club is tradition in our family. David’s father and I were married by Pastor Rick and had our reception at the club, and we always knew David would do the same. Rick’s a wonderful pastor, but his health is getting worse all the time—you two better hurry up. What about Labor Day weekend? The weather will be lovely, the leaves will be turning.”
“Yes, but…” I studied the gleaming black and white tiles on the kitchen floor. “With my work schedule, I won’t be able to come all the way out here to pick out a caterer or a florist, and—”
“Don’t worry about the details, dear. You career girls don’t have time to fuss about centerpieces and whatnot. Just leave all that to me.” She turned her back on me and shoved her hands into bulky red and green oven mitts. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Renée, you’ve really outdone yourself,” I said as we sat down to lunch. “This is fantastic.”
“Oh, thank you, dear.” Renée winked. “After the wedding, I’ll give you the recipe. It’s a family secret.”
“Duck is Aunt Renée’s specialty,” David’s cousin Sarah informed me. “And her stuffing is legendary. Although…today it tastes a little different.”
“That’s because I added juniper berries,” Renée said. “For extra oomph. Do you like it?”
Sarah frowned. “I guess. It doesn’t taste like berries, though, it kind of tastes like—”
“Oh God,” I wheezed. My fork clattered onto my plate as I clutched at my throat.
“Erin?” Renée watched me intently. “Are you all right? Do you need a glass of water?”
“My EpiPen,” I squeaked at David, pointing frantically at my purse, which was perched atop my suitcase by the front door. “In the—”
“What’s wrong with her?” Sarah clapped her hands over her mouth. “David, what’s—”
“Anaphylactic shock,” he yelled, toppling his chair as he raced across the room. “She needs epinephrine
now.”
I tried to tell him that my EpiPen was in my purse’s inside zippered pocket, but all that came out was a faint hiss. My tongue had swollen, my throat was closing up, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
“Mother,” David bellowed as he rooted through my suitcase, scattering clothes and shoes and frilly lingerie all over the dining room floor. “What the hell is in that stuffing?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, I…oh dear.”
“What did you do?”
“One of the secret ingredients; I can’t believe I forgot…”
I stood up to get my own damn EpiPen, took two faltering steps on the blue-and-green patterned rug, and crashed to the floor.
“Peanuts,” Renée confirmed. “But only a few.”
“Blrrrgh,” I gargled, flailing toward the suitcase.
“Got it!” David held up the small yellow tube triumphantly. “Hang on, sweetie!”
But I couldn’t hang on. The sparkling crystals on the chandelier started spinning, then receded into black as I gasped for air.
“Oops,” I heard Renée trill as I lost consciousness. “Is she going to die? What a shame.”
W
hy isn’t he here yet?” my cousin Danni asked as she zipped up her chocolate brown bridesmaid dress. “Do you think he changed his mind?”
“For the last time. He didn’t change his mind.” I turned back to the makeup artist, who held out a tissue for me to blot my lipstick. “He did
not
change his mind.”
“Of course he didn’t,” the makeup artist soothed. Her voice was the auditory equivalent of Valium—she dealt with frazzled brides every single weekend. “Maybe his car broke down.”
“Nope.” Danni smirked. “He hired a limo.”
“Well, maybe the limo broke down,” the guardian angel wielding the lip gloss suggested. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.”
“In Alden, Massachusetts? On a Sunday morning? On Labor Day weekend?” Danni tossed her red curls. “Doubtful.”
I bit my lower lip. The makeup artist applied more gloss and said, “Try to relax. He’ll be here.”
“Then why hasn’t he called?” Danni crowed.
The makeup artist lowered her voice and squeezed my hand. “He’ll be here.”
I nodded, desperate to believe her. And I did, for about ten seconds. Then I lunged across the dressing room, grabbed my cell phone, and redialed Nick’s number.
It rang and rang, then went to voice mail. Again.
“No answer?” Danni
tsk-tsk
ed when I hung up. “I hope he hasn’t gotten cold feet. After the way you pressured him for that ring…”
I ground my molars together, careful not to smudge my lipstick. “I didn’t pressure him.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t have to pretend with me! I was rooting for you two all along. My mom said he’d never propose—girls like you don’t marry guys like him, blah blah blah—but
I
said he’d cave in eventually, and sure enough, he bought you that cute little diamond—”
“He’ll be here!”
I turned to the makeup artist for backup, but she was packing up her brushes and mascara tubes as fast as she could.
A soft knock at the door. “See?” I couldn’t keep the triumph out of my voice. “There he is!”
But it was just Melody, the wedding coordinator, giving us a fifteen-minute warning. “You should be in your dress by
now,” she admonished when she saw me still wrapped in my blue robe.
“Sir, yes, sir.” I helped her lift my ivory tulle ball gown out of the garment bag hanging on the back of the door.
“Your hair looks gorgeous,” she assured me as she climbed up onto a metal folding chair. “Hold your arms up like you’re about to dive into a swimming pool…there, like that…okay, keep your face down…”
She slipped the dress down over me. The cool silk (okay, poly-silk blend) lining whispered against my skin. This gown was by far the most expensive piece of clothing I’d ever owned. It felt rich and regal, a promise of things to come.
“Now, listen, there have been a few last-minute snags, but that’s normal, that’s to be expected.”
“Like what?” I demanded, suddenly terrified that my sister Tanya’s bratty sons had ripped down all the pew decorations. Or my mother’s new husband had started hitting the champagne a little too early. Or, oh God, what if my mother’s
last
husband had shown up? It would be a bloodbath down there…
“Well, Pastor Rick is all ready to go, but we have an officiant from Lenox waiting in the wings.” She held up a hand before I could panic. “Rick was complaining of chest pains after the rehearsal dinner last night, but he refuses to go to the doctor until after the ceremony. His wife is spitting nails. I lined up a replacement, just in case. So that’ll be one extra plate at the reception…”
But the wild look in my eyes wasn’t about reception costs. “What about Nick?”
She blinked. “What about him?”
“He’s not here yet,” Danni sing-songed. “She’s afraid he’s gonna leave her at the altar.”
“Danni.” I closed my eyes and clenched my hand into tight fists. “It would be a real shame if I got blood on this wedding dress. Capeesh?”
Melody tried to maintain her placid, maternal façade, but I could tell she was worried. “Nick’s not here? But I just saw his brother handing out programs. I gave him the boutonnieres and he never said a word.”
“Of course he didn’t.” I sat back down. “I’m sure his family will be thrilled if he leaves me at the altar. Then they won’t have to pollute the family tree with a girl who grew up in a trailer park.” Even as I said this, I knew it wasn’t fair—Nick’s parents had never been anything but sweet to me. They had me over for brunch every weekend. His mother had thrown me a shower straight out of
Martha Stewart Living
and loaned me a pair of sapphire earrings that had belonged to her grandmother for my something borrowed and blue. The problem wasn’t Nick’s family. The problem was Nick.
“Well.” Melody squared her shoulders and prepared to marshal the troops. “We’ll just have to send out a search party. Maybe something’s happened. Things happen, you know, incredible things.” She patted my shoulder.
“Nothing’s happened,” I murmured. “He’s…if he’s not down there, then—”
“Casey?” Nick’s voice drifted through the door.
“Nick! Thank God! I love you!” My knees almost buckled with relief.
“I have to talk to you.” He eased the door open and popped his head into the dressing room. When I saw the expression on his face, my anxiety made a big comeback.
“No! No! You’re not allowed to see her before the cere…” Melody trailed off as we got a load of his wedding-day attire: jeans, sneakers, and a raggedy Amherst T-shirt he’d had since college. “What happened to your tux, hon? It’s go time in fifteen minutes and counting!”
“I need to talk to Casey.” He coughed nervously. “Alone.”
Melody’s eyes widened, but she swept out the door without another word. Danni dawdled, shooting me knowing looks until I jabbed her in the solar plexus with my elbow.
“When did you get so violent?” she huffed as she flounced into the hall. “I’m just trying to be supportive.”
“Support me from the hall. And no eavesdropping.”
The moment the door slammed behind her, I turned to my fiancé, arranged my face in what I hoped was a neutral expression, and braced myself for the letdown that part of me had always known was coming. No matter how many years had passed since high school, the star basketball player-slash-prom-king just didn’t marry the frumpy girl with glasses from the
wrong side of the tracks. It went against every law of God and man. “Where’s your tux?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “At home.”
My neutral expression faltered. “And that means…”
“I need more time, Casey.” He stepped toward me and tried to hug me. I backed up against the wall, shaking my head.
“More time? More than fifteen minutes?”
He ducked his head and shrugged.
“You said you wanted to get married!” My voice ratcheted up into a shrill, tinny wail. “You promised me that—”
“I know.” He looked miserable. “I know.”
“So?”
He scuffed one sneaker against the floor.
“Why didn’t you bring this up at the rehearsal dinner yesterday?”
“Because I was fine yesterday! When I got up this morning, everything felt great, but then as soon as I went to put on my tux, I freaked. It was like a panic attack or something. I couldn’t even breathe.”
I slapped my palms against the wall. “Nick, everyone we know is out there! The whole town! Your family, my family—what there is of it—all our friends. I have spent months, along with all my savings, prepping for this day.” I threw out my arms. “Hello? I’m wearing the big white dress?”
“I know.” He finally looked up. “You’re beautiful.”
“And I can’t…” I stared up at the ceiling, blinking back
tears. Heaven forbid I should ruin my makeup job. “You need to decide what you want. Right here, right now.”
“That’s not fair. I just need a little more time.”
“You’ve had three years—that’s plenty of time. So make up your mind. You either love me or you don’t.”
“Of course I love you.”
“You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? Everyone out there thinks you could do a lot better.”
“No one thinks that,” he swore, but we both knew that was a lie. His high school buddies thought he should have stuck with Anna Delano, the sultry, sassy cheerleader he’d dated in high school. And his parents, no matter how sweet they’d been to me, had hoped he’d settle down with Julia, his girlfriend from law school.
“Well, if you don’t want to marry me, then don’t,” I spat. “I’m not your charity case.”
“Casey, stop it.” He set his jaw. “This isn’t about you.”
“Isn’t about?…” My eyes felt like they were going to fall out of my head. “I’m standing here in church on our wedding day and you’re calling the whole thing off and you have the nerve to say
this isn’t about me
?”
He held up his palms. “Okay, yes, it sounds bad, but if you’ll just hear me out—”
“No. The only thing I want to hear is the answer to this question: are we getting married or breaking up?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is for me. I can’t keep my life on hold anymore. I want a future. A house. A partner.”
“I want that, too.” But he wouldn’t make eye contact. “I do. I just…”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “You have fifteen minutes to decide.”
He turned and left without another word. Deep in my heart, I knew that he’d leave me.
But that was the thing about Nick—he always managed to surprise me. Five minutes later, Melody bustled into the dressing room, handed me a tissue, and chirped, “You ready to walk down that aisle?”
I wiped my eyes and stopped sniffling. “Nick?”
“All dressed up and waiting at the altar.”
So I got in line behind Danni and the flower girls in the church vestibule. The huge double doors swung open, and everyone stood up to watch me walk myself down the aisle. (My father hadn’t been available for paternal escort duty since I was seven.) I’d always hated being the center of attention, but now I barely noticed the stares. I kept my back straight and my eyes focused on Nick, who was shifting from foot to foot at the end of the altar. He had apparently borrowed his best man’s tux, which was a little too big for him. The pants bagged down, hiding his sneakers. The sleeves enveloped his fingers.
Nick Keating, the golden boy I’d yearned for from afar all those years, was finally going to be mine. We were going to
have a good life, and I’d never have to introduce myself as Casey Nestor again.
I never paused in my low-heeled white pumps, but as I watched him fidgeting in the oversized suit, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to say my vows to a boy instead of a man.