A Lowcountry Wedding (19 page)

“No, I’m decided. Plus I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“But you hardly ate any.”

“You had enough for both of us,” Carson said.

Harper gave Carson a stern glance of warning. “Think of cake tastings like wine tastings.”

Dora set her fork on the table, feeling suddenly embarrassed that she had attacked the cakes like a woman starved. If this were a wine tasting, she’d be drunk now. “I know that. I was just hungry. I skipped breakfast,” she said, trying to salvage her dignity. “What about you, Carson? Did you taste the hummingbird cake?”

“I did, thanks. They’re all mouthwatering. But honestly, I’m thinking of going with cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes?” Harper exclaimed, clearly shocked. “But you’re getting married at the Legare Waring plantation. You could do the cupcakes at a beach wedding, like mine. But for a traditional wedding location, you should go with a classic cake to go along with the theme of your wedding. You have to follow tradition!”

“What if I don’t want to? I don’t care if the dessert is nontraditional.” Carson was getting her back up. “Unconventional is more my style.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harper said archly. “You chose the Legare Waring House. You’re having a formal wedding. You set the theme, tone, and vision for the day, and everything must follow. Including cakes.” She smoothed the pleats in her skirt. “You should have chosen a beach wedding. Then you could have been more relaxed about things.”

“Oh, please . . .” Carson slapped her hand over her eyes with a groan. “I don’t think I have to follow all those rules. What does it matter? I should get to choose something for my wedding, don’t I? And I choose cupcakes.”

Dora shot her hand in the air as if she’d just seen Jesus. “Oh. My. God. I had a vision, ladies. First, Carson, that’s positively inspired. I have a friend who owns a wedding-cupcake shop on wheels—Sweet Lulu’s Bakery. They have a nontraditional vintage trailer that’s decorated real pretty. They’ll put those sweet little cupcakes in those cute mason jars. How’s that for southern?”

“I like it.” Carson smiled smugly. “Done. Cross that off the list for me.”

“Wait.” Harper made a faux pout. “Now I want that. Mason jars would be adorable.”

Carson looked back at her, incredulous. “But will it work for a beach-wedding theme?”

Harper and Dora both burst out laughing, and eventually Carson joined them.

Dora relaxed, glad to see the three of them finally seeing some humor in all this wedding charade. “I’ll give you Sweet Lulu’s contact information.”

Harper beamed. “I’ve been waiting for months for you to get home so we could make these decisions together. Isn’t it fun?”

Dora nodded.

“Like a barrel of monkeys,” Carson replied, tongue in cheek.

Harper’s smile faded. “The wedding is only two months away. Really, Carson, it means a lot to do this with you.”

Carson reached out to place her hand on Harper’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you care.”

“Of course I care. I care about getting married to Blake. I just maybe don’t care about all this cake business. At least not as much as you do.” Carson rallied and said cheerfully, “So, what do you recommend?”

“Well,” Harper said, taking the question to heart, “if I were you and having my wedding at the Legare Waring House, I’d go with the hummingbird-cake cupcakes in mason jars. Just as you said. It’s brilliant and as lowcountry as you can get.”

“That
is
the theme of my wedding,” Carson said.

“I’m a little jealous, to tell you the truth. I love those mason jars.” Harper twiddled her fork between two fingers. “But I love my coconut cake, too.”

“The coconut cake. Must taste the victor.” Dora reached across the table to take a forkful of the coconut cake. “By the way, do I have to remind you that you’re going to be eating both cakes anyway? You’re the bridesmaids for each other’s wedding.”

“Along with you, matron of honor,” Carson said to Dora. “And if you keep eating like that, you’re not going to fit into your dress.”

Dora stuck out her tongue, then slipped the cake into her mouth.

Harper put her napkin on the table and moved aside the plates. “Now that we have the cakes decided on, let’s talk about what we should put in the goodie bags. They should reflect the different themes, too.” Harper reached down into her enormous bag and pulled out two manila folders. “These are the goodie-bag choices. I’ve narrowed them down to these few. So look them over and let’s make our choices.”

“This is a few?” Carson’s eyes went wide with horror at the bulging files.

Harper ignored Carson’s outburst and put the files on the table, flipping them open to reveal countless photos of items ripped from magazines and more downloaded from the Internet. Dora thought Harper seemed quite pleased with her organization.

“Dora, will you write our choices down?”

“Absolutely.” Dora pulled a pen and paper from her purse. She, too, moved the cake plates back, but not before a long, lingering look at the lemon curd. “It’s like a shower,” she said with a giggle.

Carson stared at the thick piles, then pretended to roll up her sleeves. Her fingers flipped through the photos as fast as a croupier did cards. Dora went through the photos more slowly, wondering which ones she might have chosen for her wedding a decade earlier. Hers was a traditional Charleston wedding, and all the stops were pulled out. Her wedding was held at the venerable St. Philip’s Church, her rehearsal dinner at Mamaw’s impressive house on East Bay, and the reception at the exclusive yacht club. Dora’s mother spared no expense for the grand wedding. Dora had felt like a princess that day in a gown of
satin and tulle. She’d never been thinner, either. Despite the marriage’s failure, she’d always hold that one, beautiful day as a highlight in her life.

She was daydreaming about her wedding when Carson handed her a small pile of photographs and announced, “Done! I choose fans, flip-flops, suntan lotion, saltwater taffy, bottles of water, sun hats, and, if there’s enough money, beach towels.”

“Wait, you’re going too fast,” Dora said, writing on the paper. When she finished, she looked up. “Okay. Got it.”

“That wasn’t too hard, was it?” Harper asked with innuendo.

Dora, not wanting to get off topic again, said, “Harper, your turn.”

“I’ve been through these for weeks now. I already know what I want. Ready? Jars of tupelo honey, bug spray, pralines, and a canvas bag. And since Carson gets the cake in mason jars, I’m going to give away scented candles in mason jars.”

Dora finished writing Harper’s choices, then reviewed the selections. She tapped her pen against her lips and double-checked the lists. Her face became thoughtful. She set her pen in her lap, looked at her sisters, and made a face.

“Did you see what y’all did? You selected items for the other bride’s wedding. Not your own. Harper, all your things are for a plantation wedding, and Carson, you chose things for a beach wedding.”

Carson and Harper each looked at their own selections, then at the other’s, and started laughing.

“I just chose the things I wanted to give away,” Carson said. “It came naturally. My mind always goes straight to the beach.”

“Me, too.” Harper grew introspective. “I always wanted a traditional wedding. I’m drawn to the formal weddings in bridal
magazines. And when Prince William and Kate got married, I was glued to the television.” Harper looked at her sisters, her expression perplexed. “I don’t know what to do for a beach wedding.”

“Then why are you having a beach wedding?” asked Carson.

“It’s what Granny James wants.”

Dora said, “But, Harper, it’s
your
wedding.”

“I know, but it makes her happy to plan it. She’s been so generous with me. I owe her this much. Besides, I’m getting married to Taylor, which is all I really want.”

Dora wasn’t buying it and gave Harper a look that told her so. “That’s hooey. No one who does this much research and collects this much stuff doesn’t care.”

Harper blushed. “Okay! I admit it. I want a plantation wedding complete with an elegant wedding gown, live oaks dripping with moss, winding creeks, scented candles in mason jars.” She put her hands to her face. “Carson, I want the wedding you’re having. The Legare Waring plantation has so much lowcountry history and tradition. That’s more who I am. I guess I always thought I’d get married some place like that.”

“I know what you mean. I always saw myself getting married on some beach. Just him and me and a few people I really cared about.” Carson wiggled her brows. “Preferably in Hawaii.”

Dora scratched her head. “Hold your horses. Let me get this straight. Carson, you want a beach wedding, but Harper is having that. And, Harper, you want a plantation wedding, but Carson is having that.” Dora crossed her arms, pointing her fingers at each of them. “You two are having each other’s wedding?”

Both brides looked at each other, then giggling, nodded.

“How in heaven did that happen?”

Harper leaned back against the chair. “That’s what comes of letting someone else plan your wedding.”

“Or not caring enough to get involved,” Carson said.

“But that’s just crazy,” Dora argued. “These are
your
weddings.”

“Not really,” Harper said with finality. “It’s a family wedding. That’s what weddings really are. And as such, they are events filled with compromise.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Dora said. “You both wanted a lowcountry wedding and that’s what you’re both getting. Carson’s having the lowcountry plantation wedding. And, Harper, you’re having the lowcountry beach wedding. You’ve got the lowcountry wedding theme covered. It’s too late to change venues now, anyway. Money’s been put down and the invitations have gone out. So we might as well have fun helping plan each other’s wedding.”

The baker, Mr. James, returned to their table with a flourish of smiles. A slender man, he had well-trimmed, longish hair and was stylishly dressed in slim black pants and a crisp white shirt. Dora couldn’t imagine how a man could bake cakes for a living and still be so slender.

“So, ladies,” Mr. James said, a polite smile on his face, “do you have any questions before you make your selections?”

Carson told him she was undecided, but Mr. James wasn’t the least flustered. He focused his attention on Harper. He sat at the table with sketch paper and discussed with her the wedding themes and colors and tossed around ideas for design. The women clustered around him as he sketched his ideas for Harper’s wedding cake right in front of them.

Harper clasped her hands together at the sight of a three-tiered cake with Tiffany Blue icing and long, arching sea grass, shells, and coral. “It’s perfect. That’s the cake I want.”

“Done! Now it’s time to celebrate.” At Mr. James’s signal, a waitress carried out a tray with three glasses of champagne. “For you!” he said gaily. “Congratulations!”

“None for me, thank you.” Carson held up her hand.

“Me neither,” Harper said. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have some!” Dora exclaimed, taking a glass.

The waitress carried away two flutes of wine.

“Coffee then?” Mr. James asked. When Carson and Harper nodded, he said, “Very good. I’ll be right back.”

Carson watched him leave the room, then gave Harper a long, searching look. “I know why I’m not drinking wine. Care to tell us why you’re not?”

Harper shared a glance with Dora.

“Okay,” Carson said, catching the look. She sat straighter. “Tell me.”

Dora pinched her lips tight under eyes shining with knowledge.

Harper spread out her arms in announcement. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Dora could not be contained. Even though she’d already been told, fresh tears filled her eyes and she fluttered her hands in the air like butterfly wings. “We’re having a baby!”

Harper looked searchingly at Carson, who sat wide-eyed and speechless. Dora felt a flash of worry Carson might take the news poorly in light of her own miscarriage. Dora needn’t have worried.

Carson yelped with joy and wrapped her arms around Harper. “Congratulations! Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. When are you due?”

“Not till the fall. Late September.”

Dora counted back on her fingers. “Someone had a merry Christmas . . . ,” she joked.

“Does Mamaw know?” Carson asked.

Harper shook her head. “Only Taylor. Dora. And now you. I’ve been waiting till Granny James gets here. Two birds with one stone and all that. But I’ll need your support. I’m not sure how they’ll respond to my being pregnant before I’m married. Them being from another generation and all. Do you think they’ll be upset?”

“I can’t speak for Granny James,” Carson said, “but I don’t think it will be an issue with Mamaw. After all, it wasn’t when I was pregnant. All she cared about was my health and happiness. She stood right by me.”

“I agree with Carson. Times have changed. Besides, honey, what do you think they can say? Cancel the wedding? Ship you off somewhere? You own your own house! Your only worry, frankly, is fitting into your wedding gown. Though I have to say, I’m relieved I’m not the only one with that on my mind.” Dora peered past the table to Harper’s midsection. “You had me fooled with those loose tops. I never would have guessed.”

“Everyone will guess by the time the wedding arrives.” Harper frowned and cried in a forlorn voice, “I’ll be that pregnant bride.”

“You’ll be beautiful,” Carson said. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m happy . . . but I’m kind of pissed, too. All my life I dreamed of my wedding day. Now I can’t eat the tuna tartare
or sushi I like or drink champagne. I can’t even drink much caffeine. And if all that’s not bad enough, I don’t think my dress will fit.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Carson teased while pretending she was playing a violin.

Dora took Harper’s worries seriously. “Can they let the dress out?”

“They can try. But the way it’s constructed . . . I have my doubts. I actually thought about canceling my wedding and just having a quick ceremony.”

“No!” Dora blurted out. “Don’t do it. Who cares if you have a baby bump? Besides, it’s too late. We’re tasting cake, for heaven’s sake. The invitations went out!”