Lil. Maybe she’s just thinking of her grandbaby, and it’s only natural that she’d want her son closer to his daughter, but that ain’t your fault, Lil. Damon’s the one who made that choice when he moved here. And he ain’t a fool — he planned a life here when he opened up that shop o’ his.”
I stand closer to the fire, which has burnt down; the glowing orange embers still warm the backs of my legs. “Yeah, I know. But she made it seem like he was running away from something, and that he’d move back to New Orleans once the dust had settled. I felt…like some kind of country hick rebound or something.”
“That man loves you, Lil. Loves you something silly. I don’t want to hear you talkin’ that way, ’cause it ain’t the truth.” She clucks her tongue. “You gonna need to tell Damon what she said.”
I grimace at the thought. “But, Cee, he was so happy to see them, so excited, like a kid or something. I don’t want to ruin that high. Maybe I’ll just wait and see what the next visit brings.”
She sighs dramatically down the line. “I don’t think keeping this to yourself is a good idea, Lil. But see what happens at dinner. Maybe she was out of sorts after a long-haul flight, who knows?”
“Yep, maybe that’s it.”
“You ain’t a pushover, so stand your ground, an’ be firm. Don’t let her tell you how Damon feels. He ain’t the type of man who bottles things up.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache looms. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry that pretty head o’ yours. I’ll be here for you, Lil. Maybe she was expecting some kind of huge fancy everythin’ wedding… She just needs to get to know you better.”
Even though our wedding is deemed simple, it doesn’t mean it’s not going to be pretty. CeeCee and I have spent an age poring over websites for ideas. We’ve found bride and groom knife and fork sets that say: Mr. and Mrs. And the cutest recipe for gingerbread wedding favors decorated like a bride and groom. Small touches that have special meaning.
“Do you think Damon really does want to invite all those other family members?” He’s often talked about cousins, and uncles who live not too far from Ashford, but he’s never made any attempt to visit them, or even call them on the telephone as far as I know. I can’t see him suddenly wanting them at the wedding. Or have I unintentionally pushed him into agreeing to keep the guest list small? As Olivia said, she’s known Damon his whole life and I’ve only known him a year. Already tonight I’ve seen a different Damon, one who seems more energetic and animated, quick to laugh, and more…himself.
CeeCee says, “I don’t rightly know, Lil. What I think is it’s late, you’ve had a long day, and all this worry ain’t gonna change a thing. Sleep on it, OK?”
The night has gone eerily quiet, with only the small crackle of the dying fire to keep me company. My earlier pre-wedding flush has faded away, replaced by a nervousness I can’t quite shake. “You’re right, CeeCee. A good night’s sleep will help.”
“Go home. Don’t give it another thought.”
“OK.”
“Night, sugar plum.”
“Night.” I hang up, feeling slightly mollified. CeeCee’s got a way of putting things in perspective, and I think maybe I’ve read it all wrong. I gather up the mop that leans against the table and swish it in the sudsy water, before finishing off the floors.
After I’ve packed the cleaning equipment away, I head on out back to my office. I open the drawer and pull out a jewelry box. Inside are wedding gifts I had made especially for our moms and my bridal party. Olivia’s gift sits on top, a silver locket inscribed, ‘Thank you for raising my Mr. Right.’ With a sigh, I wonder if it’s something she’ll like. Somehow after seeing the way she dresses, I can’t imagine her wearing a silver locket, with a gushy sentimental inscription. Instead, I look for Charlie’s gift, a necklace with a pearl pendant, and a card that reads: Charlie, you may know the old saying a bride needs something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, for good luck on her wedding day. But all I need is you. Will you be my flower girl?
I smile, thinking of Charlie’s radiant face, and how excited she’ll be to find out she’s part of the wedding. It was Damon’s idea to surprise her. When she arrives, the day before the wedding, she’ll walk into her bedroom to find a mink-colored gown hanging in her closet, with a faux-fur stole to match. Elegant little golden slippers sit at the foot of her bed, and a diamanté-encrusted clutch that glitters in the dim light. I want Charlie to feel special, and loved, not only included in our big day, but a huge part of it.
Am I the reason Damon lives so far away from his daughter? My heart hurts just thinking of it. I pack the box away. Would Damon keep his feelings secret? And if so, why?
After locking up the café, I jog to my beat-up truck out back. The icy wind takes my breath away, and I shiver, despite wearing a thick waterproof parka, and knitted scarf. The door of the truck creaks as I pull it open and jump up. Soon, I promise myself, I’ll buy a new truck. It whines as I reverse, but I thank my lucky stars it even started. I only live up the street a way, but with all our late nights, and early mornings, there’s no way I’m walking in a blizzard. Usually I have Damon for company on the sixty-second journey home, but he must have jogged home and picked up his car to ferry his parents around. As I wait for the truck to warm up, I idly wonder if he’s back from dropping them off yet.
Finally the old truck sputters to life, so I loop to the main street. The town is deserted with only the Christmas lights to keep me company. Pushing my foot on the brake, I stare into Walt’s furniture shop, which is directly across the road from the Gingerbread Café. It’s the only window bare of flashing lights and shiny tinsel, when it’s usually the opposite: the most decorated shop in town, with a life-size Santa inside, sitting on one of Walt’s handmade chairs.
But now, it looks bereft, no decorations, and empty of Walt’s one-of-a-kind furniture, and empty of the cheerful man and wife who’d usually be dashing around town at this time of year organizing the town’s celebrations. CeeCee goes regularly to visit them in Springfield, and always comes back a smaller version of herself, as if her sadness is somehow shrinking her.
Tearful, I push the accelerator down, and head slowly home along the slick wet street.
As I pull into my driveway the porch light bathes the house in a cheery glow. Damon must be back. Fairy lights shine through the lace curtains, flashing green and red like little pulses.
I don’t bother locking the truck, and head inside. Heat from the fire hits me as soon as I cross the threshold, and I race to stand in front of it, dropping my parka on a footstool, and unwinding my scarf as I go. In the corner of our small lounge sits a naked Christmas tree. The smell of the pine needles permeates the small room, and I gaze at it, picturing how it’ll look dressed in decorations. Being a festive-season fanatic, I’d normally have hung the ornaments a month ago in my excitement, but this year I want to wait for Charlie to do it. Her little cherub face will light up once she sees the gingerbread snowmen with bright silver button eyes and half-moon smiles that I baked and strung together to make a garland.
“Damon?”
“Glass of wine?” His voice carries out from the kitchen.
Carrying two glasses of red wine, he
