Chapter 13
MY MOM LIVES AND dies by yellow legal pads and number two pencils.
Currently, she has three of each set out on the kitchen table.
I pass on the coffee the next morning and instead pour myself a glass of iced tea and sit at the seat with the legal pad that has NICOLE written in neat block letters at the top. The two others are marked CARA and JACQUELINE.
Apparently, Mom doesn’t trust any of the men with their own legal pads. I peek over at Cara’s list. It’s significantly shorter than mine, and seems mostly to involve putting together a guest list and sending out invitations.
“Now then,” Mom says, putting on her reading glasses. “We’ve settled on the last Sunday we’re all here, which is the thirteenth of July, yes?”
“Yes,” Cara confirms. “The thirteenth.”
That’s only a few days after my birthday—which somehow feels like another betrayal.
July has always been our family’s special time.
Even after we kids were grown up, we’d find our way back to the lake for most of July.
Pete’s a teacher, and Linney’s a stay-at-home mom, so it’s always been easy enough for them to spend a couple weeks here in the summer.
There was a period when Cooper first started his software sales job and was only available for the holiday weekend, but now even he can work remotely.
My first few years out of college, I would count down the days until the Fourth.
Since I was out of school, I couldn’t go home for the entire summer anymore, but I always made sure to save up my vacation days for that week in July.
Then I went on LovedBy. After that, I stopped coming east in the summer.
The flight from LA was so far, I told my family.
And I was often juggling a shooting schedule plus a million social media campaigns.
But the truth is, sometimes it just felt easier to avoid home and all the expectations that come with it.
All the questions about when it would be my turn.
When I’d get that Happily Ever After everyone knows I went on LovedBy looking for in the first place.
“One week,” Linney says, flipping through her notepad pages. “To plan an entire wedding.”
“Yes,” Mom says resolutely, like she’s leading us into battle. “Cara, hon, that means we need to get invitations out today.”
“I’m on it.” Cara leans over her legal pad and dutifully takes notes.
Linney looks alarmed. “I think you have to send out electronic save-the-dates, at least. People need time to plan.”
“She has a point,” I jump in. “This is so hasty, I bet most of your friends and family won’t be able to come.”
Mom turns to me. “I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, her voice laced with warning.
“I’ve already texted my closest friends,” Cara says. “And Dad is reaching out to family. Everyone important to me will be here. I mostly just want the paper invitations as a keepsake.”
“Excellent,” Mom says, pushing on. “Nikki, I put you in charge of flowers. You’re so good at it.
I was thinking something simple—individual stems in bud vases?
” She looks to Cara, whom I expect to bristle at her mother-in-law-to-be taking charge of the planning, but she’s just nodding along enthusiastically.
“Exactly. I love that.”
They nod in perfect unison—Mom and Cara, totally synced. A tiny, stupid twinge of jealousy sparks in my ribs.
Mom smiles and turns back to her checklist. “I will make the cake.” She pulls out a recipe clipping for a white chocolate and strawberry cake, dripping in flounces of snowy white and pink icing.
“Are you sure you want to make a cake?” I ask. “That’s a huge lift, Mom.”
“I’ve always wanted to make one.” As she looks down at the photo of the cake, Mom’s voice goes a little dreamy, as if she’s looking at her own personal Everest. “Linney wouldn’t let me do hers.”
Linney rolls her eyes. “I wanted you to enjoy the wedding, not cater it.”
“And,” Mom continues, “Peter and Tripp eloped without even telling me.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s how eloping works,” Linney says.
Tripp’s parents had been, as Cooper said at the time, pretty uncool about Tripp marrying a man.
Pete felt like a big wedding with our whole family would just call attention to the absence of Tripp’s.
He didn’t want any part of their wedding day to be sad, so it was just the two of them married on the beach in Fiji a few years ago.
Still, I can hear the genuine disappointment in Mom’s voice for having missed out. The same impulse that had me practicing my pageant walk when I was twelve, and staying up studying past midnight in high school to make sure I aced my American history exam, takes hold.
“You know, I might get married, Mom. You can make my cake.” I try to keep my tone light, but I can’t keep the earnestness out of it.
She looks up at me, and I can’t quite read her expression, but it almost looks like disappointment. Then she smiles. “That’s so sweet, dear.”
I can’t help but feel it’s a brush-off. Like my future wedding is so hypothetical, it may as well never happen.
Looking back down at her legal pad, Mom clears her throat. “Cara can look for a dress at LuAnne’s. They’re still closed for the holiday, but I called Beau, and he’s going let us in on Tuesday.”
“Is LuAnne’s really Cara’s style?” Linney asks. LuAnne’s is the local shop where I’d go for all my pageant dresses. Similar to my firework philosophy, LuAnne’s sartorial stance on sequins is that more is more is more. “She doesn’t really seem… like the ballgown type.”
Linney’s right. Cara seems like someone who’d rather have something preppy, structured, and minimalist. One trip to the dressing room at LuAnne’s—with its flouncy, satiny numbers and excessive sleeve-spans—might be enough to convince Cara to call off the wedding.
After all, the amount of times Mom made me go there to try on pageant dresses was enough to make me almost quit the circuit.
The only reason I stuck with it was because there was scholarship money on the line.
And, okay, also because I didn’t want Mary Moore to win them all without me.
“Oh, you’ll love it,” I say to Cara now, painting a wide smile on my face. “Her stuff is so fun—I’ve gotten lots of dresses there over the years.” Not entirely a lie.
“And you have such amazing style!” Cara grins back. “So I’m sure we’ll find something great there.”
She’s sitting there, smiling blithely, but given my outfit this morning—cutoff jeans and an old Life is Better at the Lake T-shirt knotted at the waist—I can’t help but sense it’s another subtle dig.
“Anyway, if nothing else, I have a little white slip dress I can wear,” Cara says to the group. “Since we’re keeping things kind of casual anyway.”
“That’s probably for the best,” I say sweetly, then lean in like I’m whispering a secret. “Too many sparkles can really wash a pale girl out.”
“Oh, I know,” Cara says, matching my lean-in. “Good thing I don’t have to worry about that. Luckily, my undertones are pretty forgiving.” She pats my knee. “But thank you for the tip.”
Linney’s eyes ping between us like she’s watching a match at Wimbledon.
Mom’s oblivious.
“Now, Cara, your dad is going to cover the meat,” she says.
Her pencil scratches softly as she checks that off.
“We’ll order sides from Magnolia Smokehouse—a full Southern spread, and folks can help themselves.
We’re thinking around thirty people total, yes?
” Cara nods. Mom makes another check mark.
“Good, I’ll put the order in today. So that’s food covered.
Graham will obviously officiate.” Linney’s husband is a Presbyterian minister.
He can’t leave his parish for very long, which is why he’s rarely here.
“I’ll make sure he’s free,” Linney confirms.
“We’ll need to figure out music too,” Mom says.
In a burst of cruel genius, I school my face into careful neutrality. “Maybe Cooper’s old band can play?”
There’s a tense silence from Linney and Mom as we all remember the caterwauling of Cooper’s old band.
Cara, totally unaware of this, looks intrigued, but wary—probably because the suggestion is coming from me. “That could be fun… Cooper always talks about how great they were.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re busy. They’re grown up.
They all have their own lives now,” Mom says, shooting me a look of disapproval.
Part of me wants to retreat back into the warmth of her good graces, but I press on.
The cost of Semi-Total Wedding Destruction might be my mom’s approval, but I’m willing to risk it.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind!” I force cheeriness into my voice.
“Especially if they know how much it’d mean to Cooper. ”
“You want Leg Tears to play at the wedding, Nikki?” Linney asks.
“I just think it’d be a nice personal touch!” I try for as much innocence as possible. “And they’ll probably do it just for the open bar.”
Mom clears her throat and turns back to her legal pad. “Which reminds me, Linney, can you handle alcohol?”
Linney’s eyes narrow and don’t leave me. “Yes, Mom. Of course.”
Linney looks like she’s about to put the screws to me, but before she can get started, I stand up. “Why don’t I get started on those centerpieces?”
“Check the thrift store on Maple for bud vases,” Mom says. “They usually have some good glassware.”
“Perfect. I’ll head there right now.” Clutching the notepad to my chest, I rush from the kitchen, escaping Linney’s scrutiny.
REBA REFUSES TO START. And this time, no amount of pep talking can convince the engine to turn over.
“Need a little help?” Nate appears beside my open window. He crosses his forearms and peers into the car.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I really do like this shirt.” I’ve changed out of my old lake tee into a simple linen tank, but it’s the perfect simple linen tank.
I got it years ago when my best friends and I went on a tour through Europe, and it’s irreplaceable.
“I’m not sure my wardrobe can withstand any more Nate Lancolm help. ”