Chapter Three
Ella
Claudette can marry people?
I drop the measuring cup I just got out of a drawer.
“What? But you’re not a minister.”
“No, I’m not. But I hold a license to officiate a marriage.”
I stare at her. What did I just say about expecting the unexpected with this woman?
“You do?”
My disbelief is obvious in my voice.
Claudette grins. “Yes, I do.”
“How? Why?” I stammer.
Claudette fills the kettle with water and sets it to boil, no doubt to make us a cup of herbal tea. It’s her sign that she’s in a talkative mood. But when is she not?
“A few years ago, Miriam had a whirlwind romance and wanted to get married.”
“Really? To a man or a woman?” I ask.
Having gotten to know Miriam at Mountain Breath, it could be either.
Claudette gives me a wink.
“A woman named Romy. They met at a flea market, reaching for the same book about mosaics. Sparks flew and, well… you can imagine how they spent their time. After only three weeks, they wanted to get married. Miriam is a true romantic at heart and wanted a friend to officiate, so she asked me.”
Oh wow. I’m a little stunned.
“I didn’t see a ring on Miriam’s finger. Where is Romy now? Did they get married?”
Claudette turns to pour the hot water into the teapot with the licorice root.
“No. They didn’t. Five days before the wedding, they both realized sex couldn’t be the basis of a relationship and that they didn’t have much in common. So they parted as friends. I think they still hook up occasionally.”
“Oh.” That concept is so foreign to me, but I guess if the sex is good and you get along, why not?
I can’t imagine still being friends with my exes. Then again, if Miriam had been cheated on, I doubt she’d still be friends with Romy. While she has an easygoing, jovial nature, I get the impression she can hold a grudge.
“So you became an officiant for her, but is your license valid in Alaska?”
Claudette’s eyes glimmer with mirth as she takes two cups from the overhead cupboard.
“You know I don’t believe in coincidences, right?”
I nod, not sure where she’s going with this.
“Romy lived north of Fairbanks and wanted to get married on her family’s homestead. So my license to officiate marriages is for Alaska.” Claudette’s smile is bright.
The Twilight theme starts playing in my head, and I blink a few times, trying to process what my psychic friend is telling me.
“So you can marry us anytime?”
“Yes, as long as you have a marriage license. You’ll need to get it today or tomorrow before their office closes for Christmas. Otherwise it won’t be legal, and that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Yeah, Tiero wouldn’t be happy otherwise,” I reply.
Claudette pours us both a cup of tea, then pulls out her phone.
“I’ll look up where you have to go to get the license. You’ll need to appear in person. Good thing your new identification arrived last week.”
“I’d say!”
“Well, while we wait for your ex-Mafia Don fiancé to return, let’s make that cake and gingerbread. Then the two of you can head to the Borough Clerk’s Office and take care of the formalities.”
We both take a sip of the licorice tea and sigh in unison.
“See? Your wedding is already coming together. It’s meant to be,” Claudette muses.
“Well, the most essential item is taken care of, but there are still plenty of others. I need to make a list. God, I really wish Rhia were here. She’d be in her element. She’d know exactly how to pull this off.”
My bestie would be beside herself if she knew about this latest plan.
Too bad she’s in Atlanta at the moment, catching up with her family. Well, obviously that part isn’t bad. After their shock of learning their daughter was ‘dead’, they needed to spend time together.
Her parents, Connor and his wife, and Zoe flew in from Ireland and will probably stay till after Christmas.
So I have to channel my inner Rhia and get this wedding organized myself. Given it’s not a large affair, really, how hard can it be?
Claudette points to the row of ingredients on the kitchen bench.
“Let’s get this show on the road… or the cake in the oven, so we can secure your wedding license afterward.”
I salute her, pulling out a mixing bowl from the cupboard.
“I’m surprised you don’t need a recipe,” she says.
I tap the side of my head. “It’s all in here. I’ve been making gingerbread and Linzer Torte since I was four. First with Oma and Ma, then when we moved to Dublin, Rhia joined the fun. It became our tradition.
“This year will be the first time since meeting her that we won’t be together for Christmas.”
The thought saddens me, but Rhia has given up everything for me. So this is a small sacrifice by comparison.
Still, I need to will back the tears. These damn hormones have them on a hair trigger these days.
I stare out the far window as memories of our baking adventures play in my mind.
“When Rhia and I were making gingerbread as teenagers, her cookie shapes got… creative,” I tell Claudette.
“One year, she shocked her nana by giving her a tin of penis-shaped gingerbread. They all had different colored icing, and she told her grandmother they were wrapped in flavored condoms. Red for strawberry, blue for blueberry. And then there was one where the cock was shriveled up and the balls blue—”
Claudette bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but join in.
“Hey, I was proud of that gift and fully intend to make those cookies again,” a voice that sounds an awful lot like my best friend’s says from behind us. “They were fun to eat, weren’t they? I think this year I’ll add a cock ring.”
Oh. My. God!