When Sid and I began working together, I was adamant that I wanted most, if not all, of the vendors we used to be small, local artisans. He showed me an album of various wedding invitations, and I narrowed my choices down to four different styles. Three of those four were by Contessa Designs.
I thought it was just a coincidence. Maybe the designer just liked the word contessa and wanted to use it in her business name, like the Barefoot Contessa. When I called the designer on the phone, she introduced herself as Contessa and she was very friendly. She didn’t stutter or pause when I introduced myself as Rory. I was certain she was not the same Tessa who had attacked me at Wallace Park.
Of course, I was wrong. There she was when I entered Contessa Designs near Lloyd Center. My fiancé’s ex-wife, sitting behind a gorgeous vintage writing desk, her blonde blunt-cut hair glistening under the warm lighting. Her eyes were fixated on the sleek screen of her Mac computer, her bracelets jingling as her slender hand pushed the mouse around, probably working on a new design.
I almost turned around and walked out. She hadn’t seen me yet. I still had time to leave. Then I thought of those three wedding invitations and I knew I wasn’t going to find a better designer in Portland.
When she sat me down to look at style albums and discuss concepts for my invitations, she was bursting with excitement and ideas for designs so beautiful they made me salivate. I found myself thinking, Wow… She’s not as awful as I thought she was. Not once during our whole meeting did she try to crack me over the head with a thermos.
We even chatted a bit about how she’s doing. She told me she opened Contessa Designs a few months after her hospitalization, and she’s now happily involved with a man she met at, of all places, a friend’s wedding. She seemed happy and stable. Not once did I think she would send out invitations with the wrong date.
“What are you going to tell Houston?” Kenny asks as we slide into the backseat of a cab outside Portland International Airport.
“Nothing,” I reply without a missing a beat.
Kenny raises his eyebrows. “Lucy, you got some ’splaining to do. You can’t just ignore this problem.”
I sigh heavily. “I am not going to tell Houston. No way. Not in a million years. I’m… I’m going to have to talk to Tessa.”
“And you think she’s just going to admit to sabotaging your wedding?”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? Try to get hold of 150 people to ask them to confirm that they RSVPed for the correct date?” I groan with frustration. “Ugh. I’m so stupid for trusting her.”
Kenny smacks the top of my thigh. “You are not stupid. You just wanted the best invitations for your wedding, so you gave Tessa the benefit of the doubt. That doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you kindhearted… and a bit of a risk taker.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have phone numbers for all 150 people on the list. Some of them are in Houston’s contacts and he’ll notice if I get home and start puttering around on his computer.” I turn to Kenny, a desperate plea in my eyes. “We have to go to Tessa’s shop and ask her how many invitations she messed up. You have to come with me.”
Kenny cocks an eyebrow. “Um… You’re the one who just said you were stupid for trusting her. Now you want to go ask her to confess to screwing up your invitations? And you really expect her to tell the truth?”
“You never know. She sent the invitations out eight weeks ago. Maybe she was just having a bad day, or maybe she didn’t get enough sleep and it was an honest mistake.”
He lets out a deep sigh as he slumps down into the backseat. “Fine, but if Houston finds out about this, it was your idea to keep this a secret, not mine. Got it?”
I nod. “Got it. Thank you, Kenny,” I say, linking my arm in his and laying my head on his shoulder. “You’re the best maid of honor a girl could ask for.”
“Baby, can you make me one of those poop smoothies you made yesterday?” I ask Rory when I enter the kitchen to find her balancing Austin on her hip while pouring almond milk into a sippy cup.
She shakes her head as I take the baby from her. “I’ll make you a poop smoothie if you make Austin his dinner. There’s some shredded chicken and mashed sweet potatoes in the fridge.”
“I can do that,” Patricia offers, hurrying past me to beat me to the refrigerator. “You go sit down and spend some time with the baby. I’ll get his dinner ready.”
I take a seat in a dining chair and Skippy plops down at my feet as I sit Austin on the table in front of me. “You and I are getting treated like kings today.” Austin wobbles a little as if he’s going to fall sideways, but I catch him. “Are you drunk, buddy? Has your mom been spiking your boob juice?”
“Make fun all you want. You’re not the one who has to stick your nipples in a machine all day Friday.”
“Rory, watch your language in front of the baby,” Patricia scolds her.
“What?” Rory laughs. “Nipples isn’t a dirty word. Nipples are a part of the human body, and they also happen to be part of a bottle. Just like pussies are cats and cocks are roosters. These are not bad words, Mom.”
Patricia huffs as she sticks the bowl of baby food in the microwave. “For heaven’s sake, you have an English degree. You should know better than that. Language is meaningless without context, and context is what makes those words inappropriate.”
I turn back to Austin so I don’t have to witness another battle of the English majors. “Baby, did you find out what happened with my uncle Ned’s invitation?”
“Houston, don’t let him sit on the table,” Rory replies, completely ignoring my question. “I don’t want him to grow up thinking it’s okay to sit on the kitchen table.”
I sigh as I pull him into my lap and grab his toy zebra off the high chair to keep him busy. “What happened with the invitation?”
“Kenny and I are still looking into it. In fact, can I look at the contacts on your laptop? I don’t know if I have the right phone number for your uncle. And there are a few other numbers I need, just to verify this invitation debacle isn’t a bigger issue than we think it is.”
“Of course, you don’t have to ask. You know I have nothing to hide from you.”
She flashes me an uncomfortable smile, but she doesn’t reply. Something tells me she’s hiding something from me.
Patricia sets a bowl of warm chicken and mashed potatoes on the table. Skippy sits up straight, his wet black nose sniffing the air. I glance at Rory to make sure she’s not watching me, then I hand him a small piece of Austin’s chicken.
“Is something wrong?” I ask Rory, to cover up the sound of Skippy licking his chops.
She heads over to join us at the table. “Are you talking to me?” she replies, placing the sippy cup of almond milk and my poop smoothie next to Austin’s dinner bowl.
She takes a seat in the chair next to me and leans forward to scratch Skippy behind the ears, but his attention is still laser-focused on Austin’s bowl.
I blow gently on a spoon of mashed potatoes before I slide it into Austin’s mouth. “You just look a little worried,” I reply. “Did something go wrong with the dresses?”
“No. Well, not really. Kenny had a little trouble zipping me up.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Kenny goes in the dressing room with you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Does that even warrant a response?”
“Have you gained weight or is it just my seed growing nice and plump inside you?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow morning.” She stares at the zebra plush toy on the table for a moment, lost in thought. “What if we postpone the honeymoon?”
“What?” I reply with a chuckle as I spoon some chicken into Austin’s mouth. “Why would we do that?”
“It’s just that there’s so much up in the air right now. I may be pregnant, which means I won’t be able to drink or do anything remotely fun in Maui, like parasailing or horseback riding. I
t seems like a waste of a honeymoon to do it while pregnant.”
I look at Patricia to see her reaction and, as expected, her arms are crossed over her chest and her eyebrow is cocked with harsh skepticism. In other circumstances, I would consider Rory’s concerns legitimate. But with all the turmoil between Rory and Patricia these past two days, I’m almost certain this has more to do with Rory trying to find a way out of leaving Austin for a week than feeling like she won’t be able to have fun in Maui. Rory’s trying to heighten the tension between her and her mother so that Patricia can throw in the towel, leaving us no choice but to cancel the honeymoon.
I smile at Rory and she smiles back, probably thinking I’m going to agree with her. “Baby, I don’t need to go parasailing or horseback riding to have fun with you. That shit is for tourists. You can still hike up a volcano while pregnant and you can still hike up my volcano.” I wink at Rory and her face drops, but this gets a laugh out of Patricia. “See, Patricia, I know how to use context.”
“Yes, you do, young man. And I completely agree with you, as usual.”
“As usual?” Rory chortles. “Fine. If you two want to team up against me, that’s fine.” She shoots up from her chair. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. You can put Austin down tonight.”
“I can do that,” Patricia offers.
Rory turns to me. “Don’t forget that you agreed to stay home tomorrow. I know you have something big going on at the brewery, but it’s Saturday. It’s my last full day to write and run errands. You have to be available in case my mom or I need you.”
I smile as Austin spits out the last bite of mashed potatoes and reaches for the zebra. “I’ll be at your beck and call, m’lady.” I glance at Patricia as she clears her throat. “Pardon me, m’ladies.”
* * *
When I wake at 6:22 a.m., Rory is already showered and blow-dried and sitting at the kitchen table with her makeup case and a cup of coffee.
“Where’s Austin?” I ask, grabbing a mug out of the cupboard to pour myself a cup.
“I peeked in on them a few minutes ago. They’re both still asleep,” she replies, making that weird monkey face she makes when she’s putting on mascara.
“Where are you off to so early?”
She uses her hands to fan her eyelashes as she responds. “Kenny and I are going to meet the cake designer. She wants us to try a couple of new filling recipes she came up with. She works from 12 a.m. to 8 a.m., so we have to head out early.”
I sit across from her, setting my coffee on the table. “I don’t get a say in the filling?”
“Your groom’s cake isn’t changing. This is for the actual wedding cake.”
I don’t bother mentioning that the groom’s cake is only being served at the rehearsal dinner, so technically I should still have a say in what she puts in the wedding cake. But I’ve learned to choose my battles wisely when it comes to the wedding.
I tilt my head as I think I hear Austin. Rory is already on her feet, but I hold my hand up to stop her. “I’ll get him, baby. You finish getting ready.”
She watches me as I get up from the table and head for the bedroom. I can feel her eyes on my back as I walk away. That woman is going to drive Austin crazy when he’s a teenager if she doesn’t loosen up before then.
When I enter the bedroom, Patricia is out of bed and reaching for Austin.
“I can take him,” I say, sidling up to the crib.
She pats my arm and smiles. “Good morning, Houston.”
I smile as she leaves the room, but when I turn back to Austin something’s wrong. His face is flushed bright pink and he’s crying softly, almost silently, as he rubs his eyes. I scoop him up and he rubs his face all over my T-shirt.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” I say, reaching up to feel his forehead. Shit. He’s burning up.
Rory startles me when she enters the room. “I have to go now. I’ll see you later,” she says, puckering up for me to give her a kiss.
I kiss her lips and she quickly turns her attention to Austin, who’s still rubbing his eyes.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asks, reaching up to lay her hand on his forehead. “He has a fever.”
“I’ll give him some Tylenol. You go ahead. You have a clinic appointment, don’t you?”
“That can wait. Why does he keep rubbing his eyes?”
She reaches up and we each take hold of one of Austin’s chubby hands to pull them away from his face. He begins to cry louder as Rory tries to examine his eyes.
“They’re both pink and his eyelashes are stuck together. Do you think he has pink eye?”
I shrug. “How could he get pink eye? He was here all day with your mom yesterday and she’s fine.”
“Unless she took him somewhere. Mom!” she calls out as she leaves the bedroom.
Oh, man. Here comes another argument, I think as I follow Rory into the kitchen, where Patricia is stirring sugar into her coffee.
“Did you go anywhere with Austin yesterday?” Rory asks, assuming her mother-hen pose.
Skippy plods into the kitchen and heads straight for his bowl of water. Patricia watches him as she seems to be trying to remember what she did yesterday.
“We went to Hallie’s Hope. I needed to talk to your father about… about the fund-raiser in Vancouver next month. And I let Austin play in the playroom for a little while.”
“Unsupervised?”
Patricia glares at her. “Of course not. Your father and I were in there with him.”
“Were there any other kids in there?”
Patricia nods. “There were a couple of other children, but they looked healthy. I wouldn’t have let him play in there if they were sniveling and feverish.”
Rory sighs and turns to me. “I’ll take him with me when I go to the clinic. Maybe the doctor can spare a moment to check him out. I’ll be back in an hour.”
As soon as Rory’s gone, I give Austin some baby Tylenol and let him chase it down with a bottle of whole breast milk, no water or almond milk added. Less than two hours after he woke up, he falls asleep on my chest while I’m lying in bed watching a recorded episode of SportsCenter. He doesn’t even stir when Patricia knocks on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I call out, and his wispy eyebrow twitches.
Patricia pushes the door in slowly, glancing at the TV as I mute the sound. “I can come back later if you’re busy.”
“I’m not busy. What do you need?”
She sighs as she wrings her hands. “I wonder if maybe we should ask your mother to come and take over. I… I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”
I look down at the fuzzy brown hair on Austin’s head as I try to think of an appropriate response. The truth is that I think my mom’s easygoing temperament is better suited for the role of babysitter, but my mom is too busy with the foundation to watch Austin for more than a week. She made it very clear that she was only available to take care of Austin during the honeymoon as a “last resort.” I don’t begrudge my mother her priorities. Hallie’s Hope has given her a purpose, and we’re not all cut out to be caregivers.
“Patricia, don’t let Rory’s frustration get you down,” I begin. “She’s under a lot of stress right now with the wedding and the honeymoon and leaving Austin for the first time for a whole week… And not to mention the possibility of being pregnant. The last thing she, and any of us, need right now is for Austin to get sick. But no one believes this is your fault. And if he’s sick, they’ll give him some antibiotics and it should be cleared up before we leave next week. Simple as that.”
She nods, though she doesn’t look convinced by my words of encouragement. “Thank you, Houston.” She gazes at Austin for a moment. “I don’t tell you often enough, but my daughter is lucky to have you.”
As soon as she leaves, I get on the phone and call Troy.
He picks up on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Jesus, we h
ad an angry crowd of brunch customers this morning.”
I laugh as I imagine the scene. Saturday and Sunday brunch and dinner are by far the busiest times for the Barley Legal restaurant. Those are the only times we have to open up the second-floor dining area. Except that the second floor is closed today, and all week, until after the wedding next weekend. We have a delivery of white silk tents coming in today from a vendor Kenny found at the last minute. The warehouse isn’t clean enough to store the tents, so we have to use the second-floor dining area, which means there’s probably an hour or longer wait to be seated for brunch today.
“I’m home with the baby,” I say, smoothing down Austin’s hair and kissing the top of his head. “He’s sick. How’s that other thing going?”
“Lookin’ good. I think we’ll be done on time.”
“Good. Thanks for putting in the extra hours on this.”
“No sweat, bro. You coming in later? I think it would really help morale around here. These guys are working their asses off.”
I pause as I think about my promise to Rory to stay home in case she needs me, then I think about how hard the guys have been working to put out this latest order. I’m sure Rory won’t have a problem with my dropping by the brewery for an hour or two once she gets back from the doctor’s office.
“I’ll be there.”
I didn’t lie to Houston about having to meet the cake designer at the bakery this morning. I just didn’t tell him that I’m also going to visit Tessa afterward.
After Kenny and I settle on the cake designer’s latest concoction—hazelnut macchiato Chantilly cream—we decide to walk the thirteen blocks from Irvington to Contessa Designs, since Tessa won’t arrive to open up the shop for another forty minutes or so. We stroll casually arm in arm as if we don’t have a care in the world, when the reality is that in two days, my world has gone from a slow simmer of day-to-day wedding errands to a violent rolling boil of wedding disasters. But it feels nice to be out here on a pleasant August morning, meandering through the streets of Portland as if we’re just taking a leisurely stroll. Maybe on our way to the farmers’ market or to a lazy brunch.