Diana Palmer - Christmas Wishes Part 3

“Take a break. Put your feet up.” He leads me to the sofa, and starts fussing with the fire to spark it up before joining me.

He surveys me. “Lil, you look a little…peaked. Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I must look a fright. I push a tendril of hair back, as usual wearier once I’ve sat down for a moment.

“OK. It’s just I don’t want to be standing at the altar alone, while you’re tucked up in bed sick or something.”

I giggle at the thought of Damon all dressed up in his tux, checking his watch. “I’m no runaway bride. If I was sick I’d be there anyway. Happy to spread my germs with you. In sickness and in health, remember?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I remember. Let’s test the waters.” He leans closer and cups my face, and kisses me slowly. A tingle of desire races through me, and I’m giddy with the fact I get to marry this man.

“Get a room!” We jump as if scalded to the sound of my dad’s jocular voice and rise to greet him. He wraps me in a warm hug, and musses my hair. “Where’s Mamma?” I ask.

Dad scratches the back of his neck. “She’s running late on account of a wardrobe malfunction. I don’t know what that means, but there you have it.”

“A wardrobe malfunction?”

Dad shrugs and Damon takes it as a cue for drinks. “I’ll uncork the wine. You guys catch up a while.”

“Good man,” Dad says and sits heavily. There’s something utterly teddy-bearish about my father. He’s got a pot belly from too many sweets, and wears red braces that make him look like some kind of professor. His bushy eyebrows stick straight up as if he’s been zapped with lightning; they’re longer than the hair on his almost-bald head.

I lower my voice and say, “She’s dilly-dallying over what to wear, isn’t she?”

He touches a finger to his nose implying it’s a secret. “She said she’d just be a minute.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with what she usually wears.” I have the grace to blush a little as I remember myself fretting about the exact same thing this morning.

Damon returns with a bottle of red wine, and glasses. “Now you’re talking,” Dad says, accepting a glass eagerly. I think his pot belly might also be a product of his penchant for red wine, which he claims is purely medicinal.

A second later Mamma arrives, her hair covered in snowflakes, which melt quickly as she rushes towards the fire. She unwraps her winter coat and throws it towards Dad. “Evening all!” she trills happily.

“Mamma!” My eyes go wide with surprise. “What are you wearing?”

Golly, I can see where I inherited my fashion sense from. Mamma is decked out in a silky pantsuit, with every color imaginable splashed across it making my eyes cross in confusion.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she says. “I borrowed it from Rosaleen. She said shoulder pads are coming back in. And that the vibrant colors make me look a decade younger.” She gives her newly styled hair a dramatic flick. Obviously she snuck in to see Missy at the salon this afternoon too.

“Where’s Cee?” she asks.

“Gone on home. Says tonight is just about family.”

Mamma’s lips pucker. “But she is family.”

I shrug. “She wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

CeeCee is more than an employee; she’s my best friend and more like a mother figure, especially when my own was traveling the globe for nearly a year.

Mamma says, “Maybe she’s beat, Lil. You’ve both been burning the candle from both ends.”

“Yeah…I guess.” I survey the café, making sure I haven’t left any empty mugs or plates around. On the bench is the gum paste and the few acorn leaves I managed to mold so I wander over and pack them away. With one last look around I’m satisfied the café is as ordered as it’s ever likely to be. I wonder what strangers make of it when they walk in. The sofas are so well loved they’re worn. The dark chocolate walls have tiny chips where kids scuff up against them when they’re hooting and hollering around the place. Christmas decorations hang down from silver hooks in the ceiling, and golden tinsel laces around every available surface. To me, it seems cozy and festive, and almost like a home away from home. Woolen throw rugs are bundled in a wicker basket by the recliners, and secondhand books are an arm stretch away. I want people to visit, and loll about as if they’re at a friend’s house. To stumble in on a cold day, take a deep breath, savoring the scent of what we’re baking, and take their time while they’re here.

Dad and Damon wander to the window display, wine glasses in hand, chatting away as if they’re old friends. They’ve only known each other a few weeks, and already they get on so well, it makes my heart sing to watch them. Dad’s one of those people that really listens when you talk. Looks you right in the eye and asks questions as if you’ve gone and solved the meaning of life or something.

Mamma pours herself a glass of wine and I take the opportunity to strike. “I hear we need a few more place settings at the wedding?” I purse my lips.

She fumbles with the stem of her wine glass. “Honey, it’s only a few—”

“An entire bookclub, Mamma?”

“They’re my friends…”

“And Rosaleen?”

She lifts a hand. “You ever think she’s just lonely? I think she could use some friends, Lil.”

“How’re we all supposed to fit at L’art de l’amour ? Mamma, I know you’re excited but how can I make that work?”

“Well, I asked—”

A flurry of wind whips in as the front door opens and in walks Olivia with George in tow.

“Good evening.” Olivia saunters over. She’s wrapped a fine fur stole. She makes a huge show of kissing Damon on both cheeks before striding over to me.

Mamma starts to fidget with her shoulder pads. “Olivia, I’m Lil’s mamma, Sue. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I hear the nervousness in Mamma’s voice and I just want to hug her.

Olivia smiles that sugary smile of hers and says, “Wonderful to meet you, Sue. We’ve been looking forward to this for an age.”

“Us too.” Mamma smiles at Olivia.

Olivia takes off her stole, and begins taking her gloves off, finger by finger. “Lil, as we discussed I went ahead and found you the centerpieces. They’re being delivered tomorrow.”

I clear my throat. “About that, Olivia, we didn’t actually—”

She grins at Mamma. “She’s so busy, what with the café, and Christmas, it was the least I could do. I practically drove the entire length of Connecticut until I found them.”

“That was really kind of you,” Mamma says. In the background Damon makes a joke that has both dads sputtering into their hands.

I glance back to his mother. “But, Olivia—”

“They’re gorgeous, stunning in fact. Big fake sweeping white lilies .” She puts so much emphasis on the words fake and lilies that I almost reel. Is she calling me fake? “They sit in a crystal vase, quite tall, actually. I did worry about people being able to see over the top of them, but figured that isn’t important in the scheme of things.”

“They sound darling,” Mamma says, and nudges my arm. “Don’t they, Lily?”

Damon sits on the arm of the sofa, swishing his red wine before taking a mouthful. I try to catch his eye, but he’s too caught up with a story my dad is telling. “Well,” I say, “I’d hoped on getting poinsettias as part of the Christmas theme.”

Olivia lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, Lil. No! They’re so old-fashioned.”

Mamma nods. “I’ve been trying to tell her that.” I stare at Mamma, trying to explain by the sheer look in my eyes that she’s not helping.