Chapter Nine
It’s a family wedding. That’s what weddings really are. And as such, they are events filled with compromise.
Dora sent the tines of her fork slicing through the layers of the yellow cake. The lemon curd filling oozed out. She raised the cake to her mouth and slipped it inside, groaning, “Oh, Lord, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Carson looked at her and shook her head ruefully. “You’re going to die, all right, if you don’t stop eating seconds of all the cakes.”
“I’m not eating seconds,” Dora protested, between chewing. “I’m taking a second bite, that’s not the same thing.”
Harper shared a glance with Carson.
Dora caught the glance and flushed. “I have to be sure which cake I like best.” Dora set down her fork on the linen-covered table.
“And which of the cakes do you like best?” Harper asked, trying to soften the tease.
Dora rolled her eyes with a short laugh. “I can’t decide. They’re all so good!” She picked up her fork. “Maybe I’d better taste a few more.”
The three Muir sisters were seated at a table in the charming tasting room of the Charleston bakery Harper had selected.
They’d made an appointment and had preordered the five different cakes that sat in front of them.
Neatly, and without fuss, each of the five cakes were sliced and served.
Then they were left to discuss their choices.
“I’m getting them confused. Tell me all the flavors again?” asked Carson. She was turning one of the cakes around to get a better look at the filling.
Harper reached for the printed list. “Lemon buttercake with lemon filling, buttercake with chocolate Kahlúa filling, and almond buttercake with fresh-raspberry filling. The one you’re looking at, Carson, is a hummingbird cake.”
“My personal favorite.” Dora slipped a forkful into her mouth.
“It says here that this bakery only uses European Plugrá butter.”
“What’s that?” Carson asked.
“It’s a slow-churned process that creates less moisture content and a creamier texture, thus a flakier pastry,” Harper answered. “It’s so much better. The word Plugrá comes from the French plus gras. ‘More fat.’ ”
“Of course it does,” Dora said woefully, wiping a bit of the chocolate-cream filling from her lips with her pinkie.
“And last but not least,” Harper said, “is the fresh-grated-coconut cake. Which, by the way, is the one I’m going with.
” Saying that, Harper pushed back a bit from the table.
“It’s a Charleston classic and I’m mad for it.
I fell in love with it on one of my first dates with Taylor at the Peninsula Grill. ”
“Hummingbird cake is very traditional, too,” Dora said, digging into another bite of it. She pushed the slice of cake toward Harper. “Try it again.”
“No, I’m decided. Plus I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“But you hardly ate any.”
“You had enough for both of us,” Carson said.
Harper gave Carson a stern glance of warning. “Think of cake tastings like wine tastings.”
Dora set her fork on the table, feeling suddenly embarrassed that she had attacked the cakes like a woman starved.
If this were a wine tasting, she’d be drunk now.
“I know that. I was just hungry. I skipped breakfast,” she said, trying to salvage her dignity.
“What about you, Carson? Did you taste the hummingbird cake?”
“I did, thanks. They’re all mouthwatering. But honestly, I’m thinking of going with cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?” Harper exclaimed, clearly shocked.
“But you’re getting married at the Legare Waring plantation.
You could do the cupcakes at a beach wedding, like mine.
But for a traditional wedding location, you should go with a classic cake to go along with the theme of your wedding. You have to follow tradition!”
“What if I don’t want to? I don’t care if the dessert is nontraditional.” Carson was getting her back up. “Unconventional is more my style.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Harper said archly.
“You chose the Legare Waring House. You’re having a formal wedding.
You set the theme, tone, and vision for the day, and everything must follow.
Including cakes.” She smoothed the pleats in her skirt.
“You should have chosen a beach wedding. Then you could have been more relaxed about things.”
“Oh, please . . .” Carson slapped her hand over her eyes with a groan. “I don’t think I have to follow all those rules. What does it matter? I should get to choose something for my wedding, don’t I? And I choose cupcakes.”
Dora shot her hand in the air as if she’d just seen Jesus.
“Oh. My. God. I had a vision, ladies. First, Carson, that’s positively inspired.
I have a friend who owns a wedding-cupcake shop on wheels—Sweet Lulu’s Bakery.
They have a nontraditional vintage trailer that’s decorated real pretty.
They’ll put those sweet little cupcakes in those cute mason jars. How’s that for southern?”
“I like it.” Carson smiled smugly. “Done. Cross that off the list for me.”
“Wait.” Harper made a faux pout. “Now I want that. Mason jars would be adorable.”
Carson looked back at her, incredulous. “But will it work for a beach-wedding theme?”
Harper and Dora both burst out laughing, and eventually Carson joined them.
Dora relaxed, glad to see the three of them finally seeing some humor in all this wedding charade. “I’ll give you Sweet Lulu’s contact information.”
Harper beamed. “I’ve been waiting for months for you to get home so we could make these decisions together. Isn’t it fun?”
Dora nodded.
“Like a barrel of monkeys,” Carson replied, tongue in cheek.
Harper’s smile faded. “The wedding is only two months away. Really, Carson, it means a lot to do this with you.”
Carson reached out to place her hand on Harper’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you upset.”
“Sometimes I don’t think you care.”
“Of course I care. I care about getting married to Blake. I just maybe don’t care about all this cake business. At least not as much as you do.” Carson rallied and said cheerfully, “So, what do you recommend?”
“Well,” Harper said, taking the question to heart, “if I were you and having my wedding at the Legare Waring House, I’d go with the hummingbird-cake cupcakes in mason jars. Just as you said. It’s brilliant and as lowcountry as you can get.”
“That is the theme of my wedding,” Carson said.
“I’m a little jealous, to tell you the truth. I love those mason jars.” Harper twiddled her fork between two fingers. “But I love my coconut cake, too.”
“The coconut cake. Must taste the victor.” Dora reached across the table to take a forkful of the coconut cake. “By the way, do I have to remind you that you’re going to be eating both cakes anyway? You’re the bridesmaids for each other’s wedding.”
“Along with you, matron of honor,” Carson said to Dora. “And if you keep eating like that, you’re not going to fit into your dress.”
Dora stuck out her tongue, then slipped the cake into her mouth.
Harper put her napkin on the table and moved aside the plates.
“Now that we have the cakes decided on, let’s talk about what we should put in the goodie bags.
They should reflect the different themes, too.
” Harper reached down into her enormous bag and pulled out two manila folders.
“These are the goodie-bag choices. I’ve narrowed them down to these few.
So look them over and let’s make our choices. ”
“This is a few?” Carson’s eyes went wide with horror at the bulging files.
Harper ignored Carson’s outburst and put the files on the table, flipping them open to reveal countless photos of items ripped from magazines and more downloaded from the Internet. Dora thought Harper seemed quite pleased with her organization.
“Dora, will you write our choices down?”
“Absolutely.” Dora pulled a pen and paper from her purse. She, too, moved the cake plates back, but not before a long, lingering look at the lemon curd. “It’s like a shower,” she said with a giggle.
Carson stared at the thick piles, then pretended to roll up her sleeves.
Her fingers flipped through the photos as fast as a croupier did cards.
Dora went through the photos more slowly, wondering which ones she might have chosen for her wedding a decade earlier.
Hers was a traditional Charleston wedding, and all the stops were pulled out.
Her wedding was held at the venerable St. Philip’s Church, her rehearsal dinner at Mamaw’s impressive house on East Bay, and the reception at the exclusive yacht club.
Dora’s mother spared no expense for the grand wedding.
Dora had felt like a princess that day in a gown of satin and tulle.
She’d never been thinner, either. Despite the marriage’s failure, she’d always hold that one, beautiful day as a highlight in her life.
She was daydreaming about her wedding when Carson handed her a small pile of photographs and announced, “Done! I choose fans, flip-flops, suntan lotion, saltwater taffy, bottles of water, sun hats, and, if there’s enough money, beach towels.”
“Wait, you’re going too fast,” Dora said, writing on the paper. When she finished, she looked up. “Okay. Got it.”
“That wasn’t too hard, was it?” Harper asked with innuendo.
Dora, not wanting to get off topic again, said, “Harper, your turn.”
“I’ve been through these for weeks now. I already know what I want. Ready? Jars of tupelo honey, bug spray, pralines, and a canvas bag. And since Carson gets the cake in mason jars, I’m going to give away scented candles in mason jars.”
Dora finished writing Harper’s choices, then reviewed the selections. She tapped her pen against her lips and double-checked the lists. Her face became thoughtful. She set her pen in her lap, looked at her sisters, and made a face.
“Did you see what y’all did? You selected items for the other bride’s wedding. Not your own. Harper, all your things are for a plantation wedding, and Carson, you chose things for a beach wedding.”