Christmas Wishes Part 3
“Don’t you worry ’bout me.” She huffs, and I know she’s worried about the wedding cake and what I’ll say. “Lil, I’m so sorry…”
“Cee, don’t be. There’s nothing we can do about it now. I just hope we have enough time to make another one. And this time, we’ll ban her from the café, just until it’s safely delivered to the restaurant.”
“Oh, Lil. It was terrible…when I saw the fridge come down, and your mamma fly through the air to catch it, golly…” We start laughing on account of Mamma’s clumsiness. She has trouble boiling water at the best of times. Though without her we would have been in a pickle; there’s no way CeeCee would have been able to cope alone.
Our talk is cut short as the doorbell jingles, and a flurry of customers arrive.
“Hey, Georgia,” I say to a regular of ours. She comes in most mornings with her little boy Matthew. “The usual?” I ask.
“Yep,” she says, smiling. “But Matthew wants two gingerbread men, says he’s earned it on account of his school report.”
I raise my eyebrows at Matthew. “Is that so?”
His big brown eyes look earnest as he says, “My teacher says I can read as good as the class above me. She sent Ma a letter and everything.”
Matthew had all kinds of problems when he started school. He couldn’t make sense of the words like other kids. Georgia struggled for the last two years trying to work out how to help him. She found an amazing tutor called Jo, who diagnosed his dyslexia. They’ve been working closely with him ever since.
I bend down to Matthew’s height. “Do you really think two gingerbread men are enough? I mean, that kind of brilliance needs to be celebrated. How about I give you some gingerbread men to take home, and you can choose whatever you want out of the Christmas display?”
He claps his hand over his mouth and looks up at his mother. She nods yes. Turning back to me, he says in a hushed tone, “Out of the window display? Anything?”
I scruff his hair. “Anything. You earned it.”
He shrieks and runs to the window.
Georgia and I exchange smiles as Matthew comes bouncing back with one of the chocolate Christmas boxes that are about the size of his head. “Whoops,” I say. “I take no responsibility for the ensuing sugar high.”
Georgia laughs. “I don’t see any signage, Lil, that says I can’t leave him here while I go shopping.”
I tap my chin. “Er…it’s around here somewhere.”
Matthew sits in his favorite chair by the fire, and commences eating. Chocolate crunches and cracks and falls all over the floor in his haste.
“I’ll bring your drinks over,” I say. “And maybe a plate for Matthew.” Kids and chocolate, there’s no better combination. Customers look over at the small boy as he chews happily, not caring chunks of chocolate box fall to the floor with each bite.
Matthew’s hands are smeared with chocolate as the fire crackles heartily behind him. My chest tightens as I think how lucky I am that these people are more than just customers, they’re friends. Ashford is a small town, and I know all the ins and outs of Georgia and Matthews’s life. It’s been tough for Georgia, a single mom with a child who needs extra help, yet she’s done it, she’s worked tirelessly for her son. Whenever she needs a hand, her gardens mowed, or something in the house fixed, someone will step up; they won’t expect payment, or even thanks. It’s just the way things are done here. Folk look out for one another.
And their visits almost every day are a highlight for me. This place, with its mix of eclectic people, is so easy to live in. It makes me all warm and fuzzy like one of Sarah’s heartwarming novels.
A young couple mill at the front of the café near our wicker baskets, which CeeCee has filled with shortbread shaped like Christmas trees. They flop against each other as they peruse, in that new love kind of way.
CeeCee and I set to work making gingerbread coffees, and hot chocolate for regulars who come in and hover by the fire. The café is a hive of activity this time of the day, friends catching up over plates of warm bagels, their chatter more animated as they cradle cups of steaming-hot coffee. They bunch closer when newcomers arrive, and stand back so they can warm themselves by the fire.
Missy struts in with a flick of her hair, and joins us at the bench. “Hey, sugar,” she says, grabbing a gingerbread man from the basket and unwrapping the clear cellophane. “You had us worried there for a minute.”
“It was nothing,” I say, watching crumbs fall down Missy’s front, which is somehow even bigger than it was just a couple of days ago. She rubs a hand protectively over her belly as she chews. I can’t help but stare at it thinking back to yesterday and how sure I was that would be me soon.
“Earth to Lil,” Missy says, waving her hand in front of my face.
I shake myself. “I’m a million miles away today!”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate. I’ve got some good news,” she says between bites.
“Yeah?”
“Your dress is finished. I happened to walk past Bessie’s shop, and thought I’d poke my head in. I had a teeny tiny little peep. It’s truly gorgeous, Lil.”
A ripple of excitement runs through me. “She’s finished all that beading already?”
“She sure did, and it’s as lovely as you are, Lil. I stood there, overcome again by one of those God-awful hormonal crying jags, and pictured you in it. Your long blond curls cascading down the open back of the dress, that bias cut sitting so well over your curves. You need to go try it on, Lil. Bessie said she can make any adjustments you need.”
Bessie’s the local dressmaker, and tailor extraordinaire. She runs a small haberdashery shop, too. Like most folk in Ashford, you need to offer as many services as you can to make ends meet. An unassuming woman who can take a piece of fabric and sew it into something magical. She’d sketched my gown, a while back, and I knew instantly from those black and white drawings it was perfect. Now it’s ready!
It’s like a satin sheath, with long sleeves, and a plunging backline, forties style, simple yet stunning because of the exposed back, which drapes into a cowl at the base of my spine. Bessie thought the front of the gown needed a little sparkle, so she hand-sewed some antique beads along the décolletage.
“It kind of makes it more real, doesn’t it?” I ask. When I went for the first fitting a few weeks back I sat with it draped across my lap wondering what Damon would make of it as I walked down the aisle. Would he be expecting a more formal gown, or would he instinctively know I’d choose something classic, and unfussy?
Missy gives me her megawatt smile. “It’s really real! Bessie said we can all scoot on down there whenever we’re ready to try on our dresses. And we need to meet up, us girls, and discuss the bridal shower. That’s if you still want to have one? I know getting sick has been a time suck…”
The thought of a late night out when I still have so much to do makes me sigh. Would the girls think I was no fun if I bowed out?
“Would I be a total party pooper if I said no to a nightclub?”
Missy struts around the bench, and gives me a hug. “No, definitely not, and to tell you the truth, with my ankles now canckles, and the need to pee a five-minute occurrence, I’m kind of relieved. How about we spend a night in watching soppy chick flicks and eating…” she surveys the cooling bench “…a few of those right there?” She points to a rack of butterscotch tortes.
“I been running over hell’s high acre,” CeeCee says, which is her roundabout way of saying she’s been busy. “A night in sounds about right to me too.”
Missy fills a paper bag up with cookies. “Golly, I’m going to be the size of a house when this baby comes out. And you know what? I don’t give a damn.” She rubs her belly. “OK, sugar, a night in… I’ll scoot over and tell Sarah.”
“You ain’t scooting anywhere on that icy road,” CeeCee says, her voice stern. “I’ll go an’ tell Sarah, and I may as well take this here pile of truffles for her. You know what she’s like if she doesn’t have a chocolate fix. It just ain’t fair you girls so skinny.”
Missy laughs, and showers me with crumbs. “I’m so skinny? I can’t even get in the door sideways!”
CeeCee rolls her eyes. “That won’t be for ever, Missy.”
Missy winks. “I hope you’re right. Lil, let me know when you’re ready and we’ll go see Bessie and try our dresses on.”
“Sure,” I say. “How about the day after tomorrow? I should be all caught up here by then.”
“Done. Don’t forget I want a piece of that pie when it’s ready, Cee.” She click-clacks her way out of the shop, somehow making pregnancy look glamorous.
Chapter Seven
Four days
It’s well before dawn the next morning, and we’re taking a break after making a huge batch of dough to make braided loaves for our lunch special. The yeasty smell of dough proving accompanies us as we sip our candy-cane coffee.
The doorbell jingles, and in walks Guillaume, gruff, and unsmiling. “Lily-Ella, what is the meaning of this?” He brandishes a piece of paper.
“What?” I ask. His face is dark with fury.
“You don’t want your reception at L’art de l’amour any more? I have already ordered the supplies! Found extra staff! And you send me an email to tell me this!” His thick French accent rises with each word.
CeeCee frowns. “Let me see that.” She rests her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she reads, mumbling as she goes, “Well, I’ll be…”
Olivia. I don’t have to read the email to be able to guess what it contains. I hurriedly reassure Guillaume. “Please don’t worry. We’re definitely having our reception with you. And in future, if anything changes, I’ll speak with you in person. I have an inkling someone has their heart set on making trouble, but it won’t happen again.”
Guillaume’s dark expression softens slightly as he gazes at CeeCee.
“Guillaume?” I say. “Everything can still go ahead as normal.”
CeeCee flushes, and pretends to be interested in the fire all of a sudden.
“Guillaume,” I say again, touching his arm.
“Oui?”
A grin splits my face; when he reverts to French I know he’s dumb with love for CeeCee.
“I said, everything can still go as planned, right?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “OK. Yes. Merci.”
My anger at Olivia will have to wait as I fight the urge to question CeeCee and Guillaume about why they can’t make eye contact.
“CeeCee,” I can’t help but tease, “are you OK? You’ve gone as quiet as a mouse.”
She turns from the fire, her hands on her hips. “Yes, yes. I’m…deep in thought on account of the letter, is all.”
“You’re deep in thought?” Who says that? My heart lifts, thinking love can find a person when they least expect it. I may be jumping the gun, but the vibe radiating from these two is enough to make the most oblivious person notice.
“You gonna make something of it?” She stares down her nose at me.
I laugh and shake my head. “No, ma’am.”
“I must go.” Guillaume shuffles his feet, and stares resolutely at the floor. “Lil, I hope there is no more problems. I cannot cook unless I’m happy. And this email, it did not make me happy.”
“I understand, Guillaume. It won’t happen again. And we want you to be happy.” I smirk at CeeCee, who looks away.
“Au revoir.” He gazes longingly at CeeCee once more before spinning on his heel.
I wait two counts before saying, “What in the heck was that, Cee?”
“It’s that soon-to-be mother-in-law—”
I wave her away. “Oh, I know, it’s her. But I meant that…” I point to Guillaume as he strides past the front window, shrugging down into his jacket against the snowfall.
She clasps her hands and grunts to herself.
I place my hands on my hips. “CeeCee, spill already.”
She takes a huge breath and says, “Fine! Glory be, you sure are nosey. You like a bloodhound or somethin’.”
I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow.
She giggles like a young girl. “Well…we’re just friends.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She sighs, but it’s half-hearted and she grins. “It just sort of happened, but it’s not like you young things. He’s a companion, someone to cook for on these cold winter nights. That’s all it is ’fore you go thinkin’ silly on me.”
“Oh, Cee. That’s so beautiful.” I am stunned she hasn’t told me, but I can see it’s a sensitive issue for her.
She fusses with her apron. “I don’t want folk knowing just yet, though it won’t be long before Rosaleen finds out, I’m sure. Just till I know exactly how I feel. Sometimes, when I think of Curtis, guilt rips me up inside. I promised I’d love that man for ever.”
I cluck my tongue. “You do still love him, Cee. But surely there’s enough room in your heart for a friendship?”
She averts her gaze. “I know, just some days are harder than others. Especially this time of year, the memory of Curtis passing hits me hard. And at any rate, I s’pose hand-holding ain’t a sin, after all…”
I smile, picturing CeeCee and Guillaume holding hands across the table as they share a home-cooked meal. Sweet.
“You should enjoy it for what it is, Cee. You’d be the first to tell me not to overthink it.”
She shrugs. “I know, cherry blossom. I’m OK, I truly am. It’s been real nice having someone to cook for again.”
I pat her arm. “I’m happy for you.”
“Why don’t you scoot over the road and tell Damon about what Olivia did?” Like an expert, she changes the subject.
“I’ll wait,” I say, my mouth a tight line as I remember the last few days. “He’ll be along soon, and I’ll explain then.”
“Well, OK. Let’s bake.”
“Good Lord, that syrup smells like heaven itself,” CeeCee says, dipping a spoon into the mix of berry coulis I’ve just made. The doorbell jingles and in walks Damon with his mother.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, sidling up to me.
“I’m fine.” I manage a tight smile as I think of Olivia running around behind our backs trying to make trouble.
Olivia smiles her huge smile, and says, “Whatever you’re baking smells divine!”
CeeCee and I exchange glances, and she nods to me. I swallow the lump in my throat, unsure about confronting her, but knowing I have to.
“I’m glad you’re both here,” I say, clasping Damon’s hand. “Guillaume paid me a visit early this morning…” I glance at Olivia expecting her to blanch, but she’s still smiling as if nothing is amiss.
“What’d he say?” Damon asks.
“It was more of what he thought we said that was a concern.”
“Do we have to guess? What is it, Lil?” Damon’s forehead furrows.
I sigh, and find the piece of paper Guillaume left behind. “Read it yourself.”
Damon takes the printed email, and reads quickly. “What? Who would do that? Is he mad?”
I hold back a guffaw. Who would do that? Does he have no idea? “He’s OK now, we’ve sorted it out. But there’s this—” I point to the email “—and a few other things. Olivia, do you care to explain?”
Her eyes go wide. “Care to explain what? What are you implying, Lil?” She puts a hand to her chest in mock surprise.
I sigh. “I think you know.”
Damon scoffs. “Lil!” His eyes darken as he frowns over at me as if I’m crazy.
“What?”
He clucks his tongue. “I hope you’re not suggesting you think my mother would send this, are you?” For a second I falter. His voice has a warning edge to it. I should have spoken up earlier.
I cross my arms. “Well, of course I am. She’s the one who’s been telling us we should change venues, and hire a different chef, one that was your supposed girlfriend…”
CeeCee wrings her hands on an apron. I know she’s debating whether to speak up.
“God damn it, Lil. Why on earth would she do something like that? I can’t believe you’d suggest it?” Damon’s never spoken to me so sharply before; tears sting my eyes.
“Well, she did, Damon.” My voice rises. “And she also visited Bessie and tried to get my dress shortened!”
Olivia inhales sharply. “I did no such thing!”
Damon clenches his jaw, as if he’s furious. My heart races as I realize he doesn’t believe me. “I don’t know who’s behind this but it certainly isn’t my mother! I think you should apologize, Lil.”
I fight the urge to stamp my foot in frustration. “Absolutely not!” I glare at Olivia. “Your mother has been making things hard since she arrived. She told me you hate small towns and that you were never planning on staying here. Is that right?”
Damon flinches momentarily.
“Oh, my God, Damon! You were never going to stay?”
He runs a hand over his face. “It wasn’t like that, Lil. I was going to set up the shop, and just see.”
“See what?”
He groans. “See if it made any money. If it did, I was going to hire someone to run it, and I’d go between here and New Orleans.”
I want to cup my face and cry. “But you said when I first met you…”
He pulls me into a hug, but I push him away. “Lil.”
“No, Damon. You told me you moved here so it’d be a safe place for Charlie to grow up. That you’d had enough of big cities. Now your mother is accusing me of taking you away from your child too. Am I? Do you want to move back to New Orleans?”
CeeCee’s face is pure sadness. She’s wringing the tea towel so hard that she’s in danger of shredding it.
“Sometimes I think it’d be easier, but—”
I cut Damon off. “Then you should go, if you really don’t want to be here.”
“Lil, it’s not like…”
Without another glance, I stalk off to the small office out back. Suddenly, it feels as though I don’t know Damon at all. He lied to me when we first met, and this revelation shocks me to the core. It makes me wonder what else I don’t know about him.
And I’m certain Olivia is happy she’s finally made a wedge between us. I hear CeeCee mumble to Damon, and the jingle of the bell as they leave. Sadness overwhelms me that Damon wouldn’t even hear me out when it came to explaining about his mother.
CeeCee finds me slumped in the chair, crying. “Lil, I think in the heat of the moment there was a lot said there that ain’t quite right. You didn’t stop to let Damon explain.”
“Cee, he wasn’t prepared to hear about how his mother is intent on wrecking our marriage before it’s even started. I haven’t seen him like that before…he wouldn’t even take one second to consider what I said.”
CeeCee tuts. “What would you do, Lil? If Damon sprung that on you about your mamma? Would you automatically assume he was right? Or would you think he was talking crazy?”
“It’s not the same, Cee.”
“Well, o’ course it is! There’s no way he’s going to think his sweet-as-pie mother would stoop so low. Why would he? She’s always laughing, and dishing out compliments, trying to help out. You’re going to have to sort this out, with both of them.”
I shake my head. “I’m the innocent one here, Cee.”
“So?”
“What do you mean so? So why should I?”
“Because how else is Damon going to find out what you’re saying is true?”
I huff. “Right now, I don’t want to even look at him.”
“Lil, there’s four days until your wedding…just remember the fact you love that man, nothing else matters.”
I swallow back any more conversation, knowing CeeCee’ll just keep on telling me to fix it. I don’t know if it’s fixable. Damon was never going to stay here. And he thinks sometimes it’d be easier to move back to New Orleans. And there’s Charlie. His gorgeous, bubbly daughter, who, by right, should have her daddy close by. Not to mention his conniving mother, who he only sees as lovely. Suddenly the thought of getting married doesn’t seem so merry.
I lock up the café. The icy wind blows my hair back as I dash to the truck. After spending the afternoon mulling it over, I know I have to talk to Damon, and sort everything out. My heart aches just thinking of him. I hate fighting, and I want to make it better. But there’s no way I’m kowtowing when it comes to his mother.
Arriving home, I see the house is lit up. I sigh, relieved — for a moment I thought maybe he might have stayed elsewhere.
I walk inside. Damon’s on the sofa in the front room.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Are we going to fix this?” He pats the cushion next to him.
I take my parka off and throw it on the end of the sofa. “I hope so.”
“Lil, why would you think my mother would do something like that? You make her sound like some kind of monster.”
I take my time replying, remembering CeeCee’s stern warning about if our roles were reversed. “Since that first night in the café, she’s been dishing out all these little comments that make me question everything. Bessie told me your mother walked in and started giving her instructions about my dress, Damon! You can go and ask her yourself! And she wanted to move the venue from day one, and then suddenly someone cancels Guillaume, from an email account in my name, that isn’t actually my account? She wanted to make sure you were happy here. She said that to me. I feel like a fool, Damon. At first I doubted myself, sure I was reading too much into it, but now I am certain it’s her. And then there’s the doubt about you. Why did you say all those things to me when we first met if they weren’t true?” As hard as it is to have this conversation, I feel better laying my cards on the table. I have to know Damon will support me now and forever. And I need to know where I stand.
“Lil, I had planned on moving here, but, like I said, I was going to go back and forth, if it was financially viable. But then I met you. We fell in love, and I had no intention of leaving after that. When I said I loved it here, and I wanted Charlie to have the experience of growing up somewhere safe, a town where people look out for one another, I meant it. I’d hoped that once she was old enough she might like to move here too. I don’t want to move back to New Orleans, but sometimes, when we’re fussing over sales figures, or worrying about the catering income, I yearn for a shop that makes a decent living because it’s in a busy town. And that’s all I meant by it.”
I close my eyes, partly mollified by his answer, until I remember his mother, and her attempts to destroy the wedding. And maybe our relationship too. “Your mother managed to plant all these seeds of doubt. And you don’t trust me. You believe your mother. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over that.”
“I do trust you, Lil. But saying my mother is responsible for cancelling the venue…it’s just not possible.”
I resist the urge to scream in frustration. “Not just that, the other stuff too.”
He sighs. “She’s says she didn’t do it, Lil. I know my mother — she’s not like that.”
“Well, who else would do it?”
“Let’s just leave it for now.”
Four days. And everything is up in the air. I’m angry at Damon. How can we just leave it? His mother for reasons unknown is set on ruining us and he doesn’t even care. “I’m going to lie down. I’m not feeling great.”
“Lil…”
I wake during the night and reach for Damon. He turns to face me, and in the dark room he says softly, “I’m sorry, Lil.”
Half groggy, I say, “For which part?”
“For all of it. I’ve been awake all night worrying about it.”
His skin is prickled with cold. I pull the quilt up, and thread my legs through his. “So what does that mean?”
“I guess…I need to really ask my mother if she had something to do with it all. It’s not that I don’t believe you — it’s just that I can’t see her doing any of that. I mean, what reason would she have?”