Page 11 of The Wedding Favor

“You, too, Mama. But you are being weird,” I said to her back as she walked away. She laughed in response.

After I finished the movie, had a piece of leftover cake, and I locked up for the night, I paused at the counter to pick up my pickle jar. Next to it was the postcard. I flipped it over and read the short message.

“May you have the happiest of birthdays.”

Some years my father sent me a note on my birthday. But it looked like this year wasn’t one of them.

The postcard was signed, Love, Carlos.

FOUR

“Most people would assume I was a precocious child.

I was but I was very good at getting away with it.”

—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,

Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes

“I ordered bacon,” Mr. Gossett said. He glared at the offending food on his plate.

“Yes, I know,” I said, sliding a hand into my apron pocket. It was just after nine in the morning the day after my party. I was where I could be found most any Wednesday morning—at the Sit-n-Eat Café, arguing with old men.

This place was a Two Harts’ institution, having been around for decades. It was a little worn around the edges, but the new owners were slowly bringing it back to life. When I started college five years ago in Houston, I’d been able to live at home and work here around my school schedule. These days, I worked Monday through Friday from six a.m. to closing time at two in the afternoon. The Sit-n-Eat was not open for dinner. Up until a few years ago, it hadn’t even been open on Saturdays.

Mr. Gossett pushed away the plate that held two scrambled egg whites with a side of wheat toast and a fruit cup. “Then where’s my bacon?”

I pulled a note from my apron pocket, snapped it open, and read it aloud. “To everyone at the Sit-n-Eat, my idiot husband has high cholesterol.”

“Now wait a dang minute,” Mr. Gossett said. The other men at the table chuckled.

I ignored him and kept reading. “So bad, the doctor was worried he’d have himself a stroke any minute. Told him to watch what he eats. So don’t let him order anything that’s not heart healthy. No whole eggs or butter. No bacon or sausage.”

“She’s not the boss of me,” he sputtered in outrage.

One of the guys snorted. Another turned his head away to hide a laugh. These men, all retired, had made the Sit-n-Eat their daily hangout. They’d set up shop in the back corner, sometimes up to ten of them, sipping coffee and gossiping like church ladies at a prayer circle. Half the time, they brought games like cards, dominoes, or chess. They took up space, didn’t order much more than refills on their coffees, and gave me a hard time.

I loved them.

“If he throws a fit,” I continued to read, “you tell him to come on home, and I’ll cook for him. Thank you, Pam Gossett.”

Mr. Gossett’s face paled. Someone sucked in an audible breath.

“She means business,” one of the men muttered, his face turning an alarming shade of green. It was a well-known fact that Pam Gossett was not only a terrible cook, but she could render any food completely inedible.

“That woman will be the death of me way before the bacon.” Shoulders sagging in defeat, Mr. Gossett pulled his plate back toward him and stabbed at the eggs.

I chuckled as I made my way to the folks at the counter. I liked working at the Sit-n-Eat. Although I would never call myself a people person, I did like the routine of it, the ease of taking orders and giving people what they asked for. I liked seeing the regulars come in every day. I’d had this job long enough that I didn't have to think too much about what I was doing. It was second nature now.

My phone vibrated with a text message. I whipped it out and saw Aidan’s name. My heart rate jumped and anticipation pooled in my stomach.

I was pathetic.

Aidan: We’re working on wedding stuff. Missy wants to know who your plus one is.

“The look on your face says you’re either going to be sick or you’re planning someone’s imminent demise.” Ellie, part owner of the café, nudged me with her shoulder, her long blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She had flour and something wet on her apron and one of her shoes looked like it might have melted chocolate on it.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said.