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“This is Aria, the maid of honor. And Aria, this is my friend, Gelsey.” Theo’s cheeks hold the slightest flush, which could be considered cute, attractive even, in another time and place.
“Nice to meet you.” I leave out the blistering repeat of the word “friend” that’s lodged in my brain. I shake her hand, and it’s as soft and smooth as a rose petal.
Of course.
I offer them both a brief smile and turn away, trying and failing to move along. We step outside, but there’s some bottlenecking going on in the line of guests who’ve exited the church. And everyone’s supposed to start milling over to the reception on the lawn around the back, but they’re all talking and laughing amongst themselves.
Isn’t it Theo’s unofficial job to direct them? To get them moving?
I squint in the bright, late afternoon, spring sun and bring my hand up to shade my eyes, looking for an exit strategy. It’s not like I want to ask Theo to say something to them. I can do it myself.
Just as I find a hole in the crowd that I can snake through, I overhear Gelsey behind me. “What do you think of my dress?” she asks Theo.
“It’s so good,” he responds playfully, and instantly, I’m back at the bakeshop when he said something similar to me, the same velvety layers in his voice.
Alrighty then.
Theo is actually the same as always. A womanizer to the core.
And I guarantee he’ll never change.
The next day, I restock the glass display case at Shorty’s Bakeshop, where I’ve worked ever since Camilla took ownership three years ago. I’m still tired from the wedding, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
Besides, the memories of Camilla on her big day have me grinning. Every part of the wedding screamed Camilla: happy and unexpected, like the finely detailed fondant groom’s cake that she made to look like Jesse’s dog, Moose. And her dress was perfect for her, flowy enough to accommodate her animated movements.
It was Theo and his date who had me digging fingernail-shaped divots in my palms and in the stem of my bouquet ever since she appeared at Theo’s side.
It wasn’t so much her—Gelsey. I’m sure she’s a lovely person. It was the way Theo interacted with her.
The focus is supposed to be on the bride and groom, Theo, not you and your woman of the month.
The whole thing had me scratching my head, especially because he came into the bakeshop not two weeks ago with adifferentwoman.
Camilla’s on her honeymoon in Bermuda, so I can’t exactly talk to her about this stuff. Besides, Theo’s officially her brother-in-law now. Is there some sort of rule for this kind of thing? Some etiquette around not bringing up your best friend’s new in-laws in a less-than-flattering light?
I text my grandpa about the wedding. It’s fun to explain the day like a story because I know he’ll enjoy it. Besides, he’s a great sounding board: non-judgmental, non-prescriptive, and he always makes me laugh.
Grandpa Beckwith texts back:Sounds like this Theo is a menace. Want me to set him straight?
I smile. I can always count on him to have my back, and to pick up on the parts that are a little sticky for me.
Me:Nah. But thanks. I just needed to vent to someone about it.
Grandpa Beckwith:I guess we can only hope he gets coal in his stocking this year, huh?
Me:I’ll cross my fingers. You’re still planning on coming for Christmas, right?
He’s spent every other Christmas, on the even years when he’s not with my mom’s siblings, in New Hedge for as long as I can remember. The tradition involves him taking us to the Charles Dickens Christmas Festival at least a couple of times. When I was little, he’d always buy me something, like some handmade doll clothes or a jewelry box. Since I’ve become an adult, we split some candied almonds and spend an inordinate amount of time at the huge model trainset and village on display. He still makes up goofy stories about the tiny plastic people that litter the village, creating generational lines connecting them.
Grandpa Beckwith:Of course. You think I want to be stuck in Boca Raton?
Grandpa is my person—a breath of fresh air in my not-so-functional family. He says it like it is. He makes me laugh like no one else—and he adores me, but not in a fussy way.
Me:Can’t wait for you to get here!
Grandpa Beckwith:Let’s see how many trips to the festival we can squeeze in.
I hear the kitchen door behind me swing open and Danene’s footsteps on the tile floor. “I’m finished up with the bread. You sure you don’t need me to stay?” she asks.
