Christmas Wishes Part 3. Diana Palmer
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get changed before dinner with the soon-to-be in-laws tonight. As I step over the pile of clothes I’ve dropped to the floor it dawns on me how stupid I’m being. The way I dress probably won’t make an iota of difference to Olivia. And why the hell do I care anyway?
With a grin, I pull out my favorite Christmas sweater, a Kermit-green knit that announces: This girl believes in Santa! With the token chubby Father Christmas embroidered to the fabric. So I won’t win any prizes for my fashion sense, but if you can’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater and not smile, then there’s something wrong. I pull on my jeans, and head to the dresser to pick out a set of Christmas earrings.
The kitschiest, brightest outfit I own will do just fine today. Plus, it cheers up our customers, and I have a few local children that stop by daily and have a giggle over what I’m wearing. We make them welcome, and sit them near the fire with some Santa coloring-in pictures and a cup of warm cocoa.
The phone shrills from the depths of the lounge. I race out to find it, wondering who’d call so early. Damon still sleeps in the bed, his soft snores following me out of the room.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Child, what’s with all the secrets? Just because I’ve been away does not mean you have a right to keep me out of the loop!”
And here we go. “Mamma, what’re you talking about? We only just went through the wedding stuff a few days ago!”
She huffs. “And you neglected to mention Damon’s folks are in town! You know your daddy and I need to meet them…”
Oh, golly. “Geez, Mamma, they arrived late the other night. It was news to me too. How on earth did you find out already?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“So it was Rosaleen, I take it?” You have to give it to her: Rosaleen would make a fine detective.
Mamma sighs all dramatically down the line. “And so what if it was? At least someone’s telling me what I need to know!”
“I’m probably the best one to ask, though, Mamma. Not Rosaleen.”
“Lil, are you getting jittery? Is that what this is?”
Mamma’s the second person to suggest I’m a bundle of nerves. I take a deep breath and silently count to ten. What is it about weddings that send everyone a little mad? “I’m not jittery, Mamma. I’m just busy. So how about you and Dad come and meet the Guthries at the café for supper?”
I picture my mother at the other end of the phone. Her dark blond hair falling in soft short curls around her face. She’ll be wearing the usual sweat suits and sneakers, as though she can achieve so much more if she dresses as if she’s going to the gym. She’s been power-walking over to my house every few days, with her pencil behind her ear, ready to take notes for the wedding. Even a blizzard won’t stop her from marching here. She’s the softest person around though, truly wears her heart on her sleeve.
A tut drags me back to the phone. “You’re expecting me to have supper with the Guthries…” she pauses “…and you tell me this now?”
It seems we all feel a mite uncomfortable around the distinguished Guthrie family. “Yeah, Mamma, why? You’ve got plenty of time between now and then.”
Another drawn-out Mamma sigh wangles its way down the line. “Fine. But I do have quite a big wedding list to conquer, you know.”
“Like what?”
She pauses, which I know means trouble.
“Out with it! What?”
“Now, honey…”
I groan. “Don’t you honey me…what are you up to?”
“Don’t think I can’t tell by your tone that you’re not open to this.”
“This sounds ominous…”
“Just hear me out. Your cousin Jeremiah—”
“No!”
“That’s not hearing me out!”
“Mamma, he is not coming to the wedding. Absolutely not!”
I can almost hear her mind tick while she thinks of a response that will convince me. My older cousin, Jeremiah, got himself so intoxicated before my first wedding that when I walked down the aisle he hummed the theme song for Jaws at the top of his voice. It didn’t end there. I wanted to strangle his scrawny neck before the night was out.
“He’s changed…he’s more…together now.” She uses a beseeching tone that she knows will guilt me into agreeing. “And, Lord, think of your Aunt May. She’s been through the wringer with poor Jeremiah. It would be uncharitable not to invite them.”
“Mamma, are you serious? How do we know he’s not going to act the same?”
“Lil, please.”
I think back to the one-man wedding wrecker. Jeremiah groped my bridesmaids, interrupted the speeches, knocked the two-tier wedding cake to the floor — not before splattering the groomsmen who sat next to it. His grand finale, though, was the worst. He lit up a bunch of fireworks he’d stolen from God knows where, which unfortunately went off before he had time to get away, resulting in his tight black curls setting alight. He looked like Lucifer himself.
“He’s sorry. He wants you to know that. You know his hair grew back grey — surely he’s paid enough!”
I’m truly bamboozled. Shaking my head at my mother’s attempts to cajole me, I glance outside, to see snow falling heavily. Another cold and wintry day, the kind that favors snuggling in front of a fire with a hot cup of cocoa.
“Mamma. I just want it to be perfect. If he’s there I’m going to worry about what he’ll be up to…”
She exhales a huge breath. “Honey, weddings and funerals are family time. Let’s just be grateful it’s a wedding and not the alternative.”
I shake my head at my mamma’s reasoning. There’s no way she’s going to give in, I just know it. The guest list is swelling at the seams, and thinking practically we really can only fit a certain number at Guillaume’s. But how can I say yes to Olivia, and not to Mamma?
“Lil, I admit his behavior could have been better—”
“Better!”
“Hear me out, Lil. But that was a long time ago…we’re all different than we were back then. You’d be the first to say everyone deserves a second chance.”
She’s done it — her much-practiced mother guilt. “Fine, Mamma, but if he does one crazy thing, just one, you have to make him leave.”
“Deal.”
I sigh.
“And also, Jeremiah is-bringing-his-family.” She scrambles the words so fast it takes me a moment to decode them.
“What? No! What family?”
“He’s seeing a lovely lady with six kids…”
“Mamma!”
“OK, OK, I’ll tell them to get a sitter. Now I’ll see you tonight at the café. I don’t know how I’m meant to get everything done in time. There are the ribbons for the chairs I need to pick up, they’ll need ironing—”
“What ribbons? For which chairs?” Exasperation edges into my voice.
“For the reception — Guillaume said it was OK. Though I did have to say it was Cee’s idea… Anyway, never you mind, Lil. I know you’re busy at the café. I’m fine-tuning, that’s all.”
“OK…” I say warily.
“You’ve gone and thrown a spanner in the works by telling me about supper so late…” Her