The Bridesmaid (19 page)

“Everyone, I think the shower is officially over,” Becky said with a businesslike smile. “I’ll help you all find your jackets. Thanks for coming.”

Becky gave Abby a comforting nod, then moved off to help the guests. Delila returned from the catering kitchen alone. Abby grabbed her into a hug and tried not to cry.

“Don’t worry, Ab. They’re just stressed,” Delila said. “They’ll figure it out.”

Abby nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She heard the crunch of tires on the drive outside and then the roar of her dad’s car’s engine. Her parents had never been big fighters and now, they had somehow become plate throwers. How were they going to get through something like this? How could this all be happening?

• 12 •

Who Gives This Woman?

Abby walked into the kitchen to find her mother sitting at the table in her bathrobe, staring into space. She was surrounded by blank place cards and calligraphy pens. There was a guest list lying in front of her. The scene was more than a little disturbing. It was four in the afternoon on a Monday, and her mother was still in her pj’s? Her mother was always up and dressed by eight-thirty! This was all wrong.

It wasn’t until Abby was standing right in front of her that her mother noticed she was there. Abby’s mother sat up straight, tucked her hair behind her ears and picked up a pen.

“Hey, honey,” she said with a wan smile.

“Mom, how long have you been sitting here?” Abby asked, sliding into the chair across from her mother’s. There was only one complete place card and the name was written on a severe diagonal.

“Oh, I don’t know,” her mother replied. “Not long.”

Abby’s mother picked up a mug, raised it halfway to her lips and then put it down without taking a sip. Abby looked inside. It was full of coffee that had probably been there all day. There was a slight film over the top of the liquid.

“Do you need help?” Abby asked. “I haven’t used my calligraphy skills in a while, but it’s probably like riding a bike.”

Her mother put her pen down and sighed. “Actually, that would be great. My wrist is still bothering me a bit. . . . I guess I haven’t gotten that much done today.”

“Mom . . . are you okay?”

“Just a little tired.” Her mother flashed that almost smile again. “It’s been a long couple of nights.”

Abby felt as if her heart were in her throat, blocking the air. “Have you . . . talked to Dad at all?” Her father had slept on the pullout couch in his office the night before.

“Not really. Not at all, actually. We’ve gotten very good at avoiding each other,” her mother said. “Abby, I don’t want you to worry. This is just a—a rough patch. Everything’s going to be fine, I’m sure.”

But she didn’t sound too convinced.

“Are Carol and Tucker around?” Abby asked.

“They’ve been out all day. I think they were meeting with the travel agent about the honeymoon and then running some errands,” her mother said. “At least they’re going ahead with it. I’d hate for your father and me to be ruining this for your sister.”

But you already are,
Abby thought, remembering how pale her sister had looked at the dress shop, and again at the shower. Part of her wanted to say something, but she knew the last thing her mother needed was more pressure. There was so much to keep to herself these days: Italy, Noah, Tucker, her feelings about her mom and dad. She was starting to wonder if she should bother talking at all.

“Mom, why don’t you go take a bath or something?” Abby suggested. “I can work on these for a while.”

“You sure?” her mother asked, brightening a bit at the suggestion.

“Definitely. It might even be fun,” Abby lied.

“Okay. Thanks, Abby.” Her mother got up and kissed the top of her head. “What would I do without you?”

Abby was overcome by guilt. What if things didn’t work out between her parents? Carol would be living in Colorado, Abby would be in Italy and her mom would be here all alone.

Or would she? Would her parents still run the Dove’s Roost together, or would they have to dissolve the business? Would they all have to move?

It was just too much to handle. She wished she could have discussed some of it with her mother. But with her mother looking so tired and out of it, now didn’t seem like the time for a mother–daughter heart-to-heart. It seemed like the time for a nice, long nap.

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard from Student XChange yet,” Delila said as she tore into her supersize fries. “What are they trying to do, give you an ulcer?”

“Actually, I did hear,” Abby said dully. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to tell her yet, but she needed someone to get happy about something
.
She glanced up from her untouched salad to witness Delila’s reaction.

“Omigod! They rejected you? What’s
wrong
with them?”

“Nothing,” Abby said. “I got in.”

“You did?” Delila screeched. She leaned forward, her eyes huge. “When were you going to tell me about this? When did you get the letter? What did your parents say? Why is my voice all squeaky?”

Abby snorted a laugh. “I’m not totally sure I’m going to go.”

“You’re kidding. You
have
to go.” Delila’s face dropped. “Oh, God. This isn’t because of Noah, is it? I mean, he’s hot, but you guys just started dating.”

“It’s not Noah,” Abby said. “The thought of leaving him does give me instant acid reflux. Still, it’s not him.”

“Then it has to be Dave and Phoebe. Do you need me to talk to them?”

“I haven’t even asked them yet,” Abby said quietly.

“What? Ab! Why are you sabotaging this?”

“I don’t know, Delila. I mean, you saw my parents the other day. I don’t think now is the best time to tell them I’m bailing on them for a year.”

“Abby, I know you’re upset about your parents, but you’re not responsible for their relationship,” Delila said. “You can’t let a couple of little fights get in the way of an experience like this.”

“My dad moved into his office, remember?” Abby said morosely. “My parents have stopped speaking entirely. It’s not a couple of little fights.”

Delila took a deep breath and shoveled a few fries into her mouth. “It’s your decision. I just think you’d have to be crazy nuts to pass this up.”

“I’m not passing it up . . . yet,” Abby said, lifting her shoulders. “I’ve just got other things to concentrate on right now.”

Like how to put my family back together in time for
Carol’s wedding.

Across the food court she saw Christopher walk in with a bunch of his friends.

Abby caught his eye. She waved and he raised his eyebrows. He said something to his buddies, then sauntered over.

“Check it out,” he said, hurling something at her from a few feet away.

Abby snatched it out of the air before it could land in her salad.

“Nice reflexes,” Delila said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s your press pass,” Christopher said with a grin. Abby gathered the cord up in her hand. Sure enough, the laminated card was decorated in red, white and blue and had the Revolution logo at the top. Her own name was printed right over the words
All Access.

“My dad just gave them to me,” Christopher said. “You psyched?”

“Definitely,” Abby said, mustering a smile.

“We’ll pick you up Wednesday at five.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Abby replied.

“Later.”

Christopher moved off to join his friends on the line at Nathan’s hot dogs. Delila sat up straight.

“Don’t say hello to me!” she called out. “I don’t exist!”

“Whatever, freak,” Christopher said over his shoulder.

Abby shoved the pass into her bag. It was amazing how something that had seemed like so much fun last week now felt like it was going to just be one more chore.

“What’s that all about?” Delila asked, looking down at her fries.

“We’re going to the Revolution game next Wednesday. His dad got us press passes.”

“Oh. Uh-huh,” Delila said. She studied the interior of her fry box.

“What does that mean?” Abby asked.

“Nothing,” Delila said. “Just wondering what Noah thinks about this little date.”

“It’s not a date. You know it’s not a date,” Abby said. “And Noah doesn’t think anything about it because I haven’t told him.”

Delila shook her head slowly. “If it’s not a date then why haven’t you told Noah about it?”

“It’s . . . complicated,” Abby replied, squirming.

“I’m sure it is,” Delila said. She raised her eyebrows and then turned her head away.

“What? What’s your problem?” Abby asked, her face feeling hot.

“Nothing! I just think you need to make some decisions about your life,” Delila said. “Are you going to Italy or not? Do you want an honest relationship with Noah or not? Are you going to tell Carol about Tucker or not? In case you haven’t noticed, they’re getting married in a week and a half and you still haven’t made a decision. You’re all over the place, Ab.”

“Like I don’t know this? You’re supposed to be my friend, D. Can’t you be a little supportive?”

“I am being supportive! I’m telling you—pick a lane!”

“Gee, thanks for the advice,” Abby said. “I’ll get right on that. It’s not that simple, Delila.”

“Whatever. I need more fries,” Delila said, getting up and grabbing her bag. “I’ll meet you by the exit.”

What is up
her
butt?
Abby wondered as Delila stormed away. Abby was the one who should be freaking out here. Her life was the one in shambles. And Delila was the one person she had always been able to count on.

Was she supposed to handle all of this alone?

Abby and Becky had been sitting in the craft room for hours. The various clippings, suggestions and orders from Abby’s parents were splayed out across the drafting table. No wonder Becky had been such a mess the past two weeks. The whole thing was totally overwhelming.

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Becky said, getting ready to go. “It’ll either be totally gorgeous or the most hideous fun-house wedding you’ve ever seen.”

“It won’t be hideous,” Abby assured her.

“I just don’t want to screw this up,” Becky said, gathering the papers into a pile. “I mean, it’s
Carol’s
wedding.”

“You won’t screw it up,” Abby said. “You were obviously born to do this, Becky.”

“Thanks. That means a lot coming from a Beaumont,” Becky said with a smile.

“Yeah. Not so much from this Beaumont.”

“You sell yourself short. You did a fabulous job with the shower and you’ve helped me out with these details more than you know,” Becky said. Abby felt her face break into a grin. “So, you coming?” Becky asked.

“Nah. I need to finish the place cards for the Citron wedding.” Abby stretched her arms over her head. “A Dove’s Roost daughter’s job is never done.”

“Well, thanks again for going over this with me,” Becky said. “I really needed a second opinion.”

Just then the door to the craft room opened and Abby’s dad stuck his head in. Abby’s heart caught, skipping over itself in nervous surprise. Her dad had been practically invisible all week—going for long walks in the morning, turning in early and taking meetings outside the Roost. She had barely seen him since he’d walked out on Carol’s shower and he looked terrible. His eyes were tired, his chin was stubbly and even though it had only been a few days, somehow he actually seemed thinner.

“A second opinion on what?” he asked lightly.

“Oh—on—my hair,” Becky said, laughing easily. “I’m trying to decide whether to go back to curly.”

“Well, I always liked your curls,” Abby’s dad said, crossing over to the drafting table. He patted Abby on the head and smiled. “But then, I’ve always had a soft spot for curly-haired girls.”

“Thanks, Mr. Beaumont. I’ll take your vote into account,” Becky said, heading for the door. Then she gave Abby a quick wave and closed the door behind her.

“So, Abby, what are you doing in here?” her father asked.

“Finishing the place cards for Saturday.” Abby pulled a few cards toward her. “What’s up?”

“I was just going to pick up the supplies for the favors.”

“I think the box is in the corner,” Abby told him. Her heart pounded. She knew this was the perfect time to ask him what was going on.

“Here we go,” he said, lifting up the box of favors. He brought it over to the table and leaned it on the edge. “How’s your job going?”

“Fine,” Abby said. She looked up at her father, who looked so sad. She just couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Dad, what is going on with you and Mom?” Abby blurted out.

Her father sighed. “It’s complicated, honey.”

There was that word again.
Complicated.

“So, explain it to me.” Abby spun her chair so she was facing him. “Because as far as I can tell this whole thing is insane.”

“Abby, there are just some things you can’t understand until you’re older,” her father said. “Until you’ve been in a relationship.”

Abby’s face burned. Sometimes it was like her dad had forgotten to notice that she had grown up. “I am in a relationship, Dad,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up. “You are? With whom?”

“With . . . Noah Spencer,” she said.

“Really?” Her father smiled. “I thought he was a poop head.”

“Dad! I was in, like, third grade when I said that,” Abby said, laughing. “Things change.”

Her father’s face quickly darkened. “Yes. Unfortunately they do.”

“What does that mean?” Abby felt a pit in her stomach. “You haven’t—I mean, the way you feel about Mom hasn’t changed, has it?”

“No!” her father said quickly. Then he sighed and looked at the floor. “Abby, I really don’t think—”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Forget it,” she said, turning back toward her work. He thought she was immature? Fine. Let him think what he wanted. But wasn’t it he and her mother who were the ones acting like little kids? They were the ones making public scenes, refusing to talk to each other and messing up the whole family. All of this because they couldn’t agree on a few wedding details. How grown-up was that?

“Good night, Abby,” her father said. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.