27. Abigail
It feels like a million years have passed since the day I sat in my office in Houston, chatting with the lawyer on the phone about Jed’s passing. When he told me that my kids had inherited a massive cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere, I had absolutely no intention of even visiting here, much less moving everything out and building a life in the world’s least populated area, surrounded by cows.
I’ve always been someone who thrives with a plan for her future.
Once, during law school, a renowned psychologist came by to speak to us. He asked all the law students to raise our hands if we set goals, made plans to achieve them, then enacted the plan, modifying it as required until we reached our goal.
More than half the class raised our hands. Mine shot up before anyone else’s because that was a perfect description of how I live my life. Neither luck nor fate was allowed to interfere. With each course correction I would find the most logical path forward and keep on going.
Then that man dropped his bomb: less than one percent of the human population does that. Most people intend to do things, but somewhere between setting the goal and getting it done, things break down, never to be recovered.
I remember being absolutely flummoxed at that, until I started thinking about some of the other people I’d met in my life. The dry cleaners who helped me be presentable for moot court regularly took longer to deliver than they promised. Sometimes they even lost things outright. The fast food people screwed up every order in at least one major way. Grocery story baggers fling things around like they’re all indestructible, and packing stuff I’m purchasing is literally their only task. Generally speaking, the entire mill of humanity around me struggles to do even the most basic of things they’ve chosen to do as their life work. For the first time, I started to understand that perhaps those people weren’t just the underachievers I’d always thought of them as.
Maybe they were just wired differently than I was.
I proceeded along my way, though, unperturbed, focused, until the day when luck intervened in a big way. For the first time, in spite of my ability to make plans, enact them, and see them through, I was left without a way to fix my plan.
I was alone, widowed, and miserable.
But with time, I made a new plan. I powered through. I think that’s why luck had to intervene again. Because my way needed a course adjustment. Maybe not for me. Maybe not for all of my kids, but for at least one of them.
Ethan has always been my hardest child. From the second he was conceived, he turned my life upside down. But I’m a firm believer that God knows what each of us need. Some people need a hand in making plans, in enacting plans, or in adapting them. Others need a hand with letting go.
Manila, Utah, its people, its climate, and the life we have built here have been a perpetual lesson for me in letting go. I’ve learned to allow life to surprise me with the possibilities that open up anew for me every single day.
When the day of Mandy’s wedding dawns, I haven’t yet taken all my Christmas decorations down, wrapped them up, and packed them into boxes. Usually I make sure that happens on the afternoon of Christmas day. After an entire season of clutter and extra gifts, something about piles of paper and trash sends me over the edge. My kids hate it, but we pack things up almost as soon as the gifts are opened.
But not this year.
My beautiful baby caught some kind of cold on Christmas Eve, and he did not sleep well, which means I didn’t sleep well. So when I finally got him down for a much-needed nap on Christmas Day, instead of marshaling the troops and cleaning up like I always do, I slept.
And so today, on the day after Christmas, while my hands itch to finally put decorations away, when my husband returns home weary from yet another long night shift, I kiss his forehead, and I start to ready the kids for another wedding.
“It hasn’t even been a month since Aunt Helen’s wedding,” Gabe grumbles. “I hate wearing suits. They’re so itchy.”
“I think I figured that one out,” I say. “I cut the tag out—ripped it out, in fact, and then I stitched the shirt back up.”
“Really?” his eyes light up. “You ripped a hole in it, and then you stitched it back up? So now it’s like a zombie shirt?”
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s hope the zombie shirt can behave itself today.”
He’s smiling as he jogs to his room.
I’m halfway through applying my makeup when Nate starts to cry.
“I got it.” Izzy breezes in, her short blonde bob as perfect as ever, but a little fluffier than usual.
“You actually blow-dried it for once,” I say.
She shrugs. “Miracles do sometimes happen.” She winks on her way out, already bouncing Nate up and down, his squeals following her out. I’ve never met a kid who likes babies more than she does.
“Not too much bouncing,” I call after her. “The last thing we need is to have him up-chuck the carrots he had for breakfast all over the place.”
“I’ll stop before I get him dressed,” she calls back.
There aren’t many things in this world I can rely upon as universal truths, but Whitney and Izzy squabbling is one of them, and Izzy taking care of a baby with competence and a smile is the other. Apparently it’s just when kids hit ten or eleven that she starts to get annoyed by every single thing they do or say.
It feels like a miracle, but Steve emerges from his nap without being woken up, all blinky and slow-moving, right as I finish marshaling all the troops. Ethan and Beth have arrived, both in their own cars, but dressed in corny coordinated outfits that never fail to make me smile. Moments later, Steve ducks into the shower, and I make him a steaming cup of instant coffee.
It’s ready just as he comes out, suit on, but tie hanging loose around his neck. “Is everyone ready?”
Whitney salutes. “Horses fed sir, chickens have full water and food, and the dishes are. . .” She glances sideways at Gabe.
“Done,” Gabe whispers. “Even the stupid silverware.”
Our puppy yips as we lock her into her crate, but she always stops once we reach the door. “Who has the gift?”
It almost killed me, taking a break from Helen’s baby quilt to make Mandy’s quilt in the week right before Christmas, but I managed to finish it just in time, if finishing at three a.m. counts as being ‘in time.’
“She’s going to love it,” Steve says. “Trust me.”
I know Helen will get Mandy something lavish and ridiculous. Amanda will know just what she’s been wanting. And Donna will stress to the point of misery and get her something weird.
It’s just what we do.
But my role is to make something special and heartfelt, and it’s starting to feel like a contact sport, with all these weddings and babies piling up one right after another. “The seams aren’t great,” I say, “but it’s done.”
“She’ll understand.” Steve sips on his coffee and then blows on it again.
“Or she won’t even be able to see that they’re crooked,” Izzy says.
Whitney jabs her right on cue.
“What?” Izzy says. “She’s ancient. Everyone knows old people can barely see.”
Steve’s laughing. “How long until we’re ancient?” He rotates his right shoulder slowly. “Because my shoulder feels like an antique already.”
The drive to the wedding is so short that we’re not even late, which is nice. It might even be the best thing about small towns. We’re all shivering as we dart across the parking lot and duck into the long hallway that leads to the ballroom of Gold Strike.
It’s clear as we walk up that Amanda has outdone herself with the decorations, and we’re not even inside yet. The long, normally white walls are plastered with a series of hilarious signs, and every one of them screams Mandy.
Amanda nailed this part.
They say things like, “Marriage: when dating goes too far,” and, “Those who fly solo have the strongest wings,” and, “The older I get, the more everyone can kiss my petunia.” Every sign makes me smile, and I suppose that’s the point.
Part of me wonders whether Amanda put a little extra energy into this because it’s the wedding she wanted and just didn’t have the bandwidth to do after giving her first setup to Donna. Mandy and Tommy gave her carte blanche on budget, decor, and entertainment, with one stipulation.
“There will be no bridesmaids,” Mandy had said. “I enjoyed that farce for the last few weddings, and it was nice to be included, but everyone at my wedding is an old maid.” She had cackled like mad, and then said, “Actually, that should be our theme. Old Maids.”
As we step through the double doors into the ballroom itself, every guest is issued an ‘old lady hat,’ each one bigger than the last, or more piled up with flowers. “These aren’t optional,” the woman passing them out says. “All women have to wear them.”
“What about us?” Steve asks. “We don’t get anything?”
The woman points over her shoulder at where a few feet ahead, there’s a man passing out striped canes. The hats and the canes each have little tags saying, “Thanks for joining Tommy and Mandy as they tie the knot. Better late than never.” Then they’re all marked with the date, which would be easy to remember in any case, being the day after Christmas.
“Ooh,” Gabe says. “This is awesome. I call Nate’s stick.”
“It’s not a stick,” Steve’s explaining fruitlessly. “It’s a cane, to help you walk.”
“But I already walk fine,” Gabe says. “So do you.”
“It’s a joke,” Steve’s saying.
“Jokes are supposed to be funny.” Gabe’s frowning. “This is just weird.”
I let Steve worry about that one as I look around.
There’s a deck of Old Maid cards in the center of each table, and the floral tablecloths are perfectly fussy. Each table’s set for high tea, with floral china, and large, stacked tiered trays laden with cakes, sandwiches, and little treats. There are also disposable cameras in little piles all over, which must be Amanda’s version of old school, but I have no idea where she’ll get the film developed.
There are photo booths on either wall, all taking only black and white photos, with props that look right out of the 1920s. The wait staff are dressed like candy stripers, though I’m not sure what that has to do with old maids or even being old.
All in all, it looks more like a reception than a venue for a wedding ceremony, which is probably exactly what Mandy asked for. There will be no long line of people, no pews and rows, and no waiting in boredom. She told us to make sure that when she walked in, it’s already a party.
I’m ready to do my part, and it looks like everyone else is too, because at that moment, the band starts to play. Maren’s apparently singing, again. She waves at me and blows Steve a kiss, and then she launches into her first song. After two or three more, Eddy actually climbs up the stairs and joins her. They actually sound pretty nice, and they keep the volume low enough that people can still talk.
Aiden and Gabe race around the room, waving their canes a little too exuberantly until Will reaches out and yoinks them both, hiding them under the table until an unspecified ‘later.’ If he’s smart, they’ll disappear forever. Several of the roaming kids are working out how to use a disposable camera, which is entertaining, but they’re frustrated that they can’t figure out how to see the photos they’ve taken.
“You can’t see them,” I explain. “You don’t get to see them until you take them in and pay to have the film developed.”
It makes no sense to them, but once I explain we did it because it was our only option, they look exceptionally unimpressed. “You’re kidding,” Izzy says. “That’s so dumb. How could you know whether you got a good photo?”
I shrug. “Why do you think we have so few great photos of Mandy and Tommy?” I toss my head at the beautiful, blown-up images Amanda hung on the wall. They’re actually lucky they have anything to work with, after Mandy’s stupid barn fire.
But looking at their smiling faces, youthful and fresh, I can’t help smiling in response. Life marches on, but there’s beauty in all the stages of it. It’s too bad that you really only learn to appreciate it as you draw nearer the end.
Suddenly, without warning, Mandy bursts through the back doors, blinding us all as the light from the midday sun backlights her and Tommy both. “Let’s get this party started.” I can hear the smile in her tone. “Who wants to see a wedding?”
She and Tommy march through the middle of the cheering guests, dodging errant chairs, skewed tables, and heedless of the flashes of instant cameras from the right and the left. They look happier than probably any other couple I’ve seen.
As Mandy passes me, I can’t help saying, “What a gorgeous dress.” I tilt my head. “You look just stunning.”
Because she does.
Instead of a slinky dress, or a big puffy dress, she opted for a Jackie-O style midi-skirt. The hem hits her mid-calf after flaring from the waist outward, and the bodice itself is both modest but also fitted, showing that even at eighty, she’s still got an impressive figure.
She sashays her hips and smiles. “I had to show off my ankles. They’re my best feature.”
“I formally disagree.” Tommy chuckles. “But you do look amazing.”
When they reach the front of the room, the same pastor who gave the sermon for Mandy’s father and mother’s funerals, the same pastor who taught a sermon every Sunday, stands up and welcomes us all.
“I am so happy to be here this fine day after Christmas, with two of my favorite people.” Pastor Michael spreads his arms out wide. “For Thanksgiving, we were able to celebrate a wedding not far from here, and here we are, not even a month later, celebrating another.”
We’re all feeling that pain, Pastor Michael.
“But today’s a very special wedding indeed. Two very good people who were apart for a very long time are finally being joined.” He isn’t brief, like Helen’s former professor was. He’s not the most eloquent either, but he is familiar, and he cares.
He’s also a friend.
When he reaches the part about vows, he says, “I know you two said yours would be short and sweet, but however long they are, now’s the time to say them.”
“I promise never to lie to you again,” Mandy says. “And I promise that I’ll always eat my vegetables so I can be with you as long as humanly possible.”
He presses his hand to her heart and smiles. “I’ll hold you to that. I know where they keep the broccoli down at the True Value.”
Mandy rolls her eyes.
“And I promise that if you ever do lie to me again, I won’t pretend to believe it.”
Everyone who knows about Mandy’s weird decorations laughs.
“I also promise that from now until the day I do die, you will be the only thing that matters to me. I will steam and prepare broccoli until our whole house reeks, and I’ll love every minute of it.” He leans closer and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll even pretend that your ankles are your best feature, if that’s what you want, though anyone with eyes knows it’s your?—”
“Okay,” says Pastor Michael. “Let’s keep this PG.”
“Is this the part where I can kiss my bride?” Tommy asks.
“We already did that part,” the pastor says. “But if you want to do it again.”
Tommy doesn’t wait for more of an invitation, kissing Mandy with the energy of a teenager. This time, he even dips her. I’m a little worried that his knee might give out and they might both crash to the ground, but they’re both fine when they finally do come back up for air. Once they straighten, Tommy reaching over to repair Mandy’s ruffled hair, Pastor Michael rolls his eyes and mutters something like ‘this is not the right order,’ but then he finally says, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
We all cheer.
Clearly doing things in the right order hasn’t been their forte.
In fact, if I’ve learned much in my last few years here, it’s that the order of things matters a great deal less than the love and emotion with which something is done.
So when I give Mandy my gift, out of order and at the wrong time, right after the ceremony, I don’t worry about making people wait. I don’t worry about what others might think.
I look only at Mandy as she opens the box slowly, lifting the quilt I made out reverently. I chose my favorite photo of each of her favorite people, and with each friend or family member I identified, the quilt got bigger and bigger. I can’t think of a better testament to the love people here have for her than this.
“It should easily be big enough for your king size bed,” I say.
“Tommy.” One utterance of his name, and the man turns away from the person he’s chatting with and toward his new bride.
His strong hands grasp one end of the quilt and help Mandy spread it out so she can see all the blocks with all the faces she loves. Maren, eyes closed, hands on a guitar, singing. Emery, a rapt smile, riding her dark bay. Gabe with his hand up and a self-deprecating smile, winning everyone’s heart during the school play. Steve, wearing scrubs, distracted by a patient. It’s a snapshot one of his colleagues sent to show me that he’s wearing the scrubs Whitney embroidered, but it’s probably my favorite photo of my hot, hard-working husband.
I even included a photo of myself.
Amanda took it on the day I fell asleep, waiting for Mandy’s procedure to be over. In the center of all the photos, there’s a large block that says ‘Love,’ but it’s spelled out with one handprint from each of the people in the images. Izzy, Emery, and Whitney all helped me embroider names on each individual handprint.
“It’s to represent?—”
“I know,” she cuts me off. “Love isn’t a feeling. It’s something we build together.”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are full of unshed tears. “Thank you, Abby. In many ways, you built all of this. We certainly couldn’t have done any of it without you.”
I shake my head. “I wish I had embroidered you something else,” I say. “You said on your notes, ‘better late than never.’” I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, too. “But I think some things are better when they’re late. It’s the only way we appreciate them fully.”
When Mandy pulls me tightly against her body, I know she gets it. She loves Tommy as much as she does because of the lost years. I love Steve as fiercely as I do, because I know what it feels like to lose the first love of my life.
It’s easy to think that our mistakes lessen our lives, but really, they lesson our lives so we can learn to do better with each day we’re granted. In so many ways, it’s the temporal, finite nature of our lives that makes each day so very precious.
There are no guarantees.
As the sun sets and another beautiful day winds to a close, I find myself very, very grateful for the twists and turns that have led us to this bright, happy, and very full place. If any one person wasn’t here, it wouldn’t be quite so very beautiful, which is the real joy of family.