A Very Perry Wedding Page 6

  “You okay?” I ask quietly.

  He blinks, his eyes clearing. “Fine. Thank you.” His gaze shifts past me to Marisol, who joins us and sets a cup of coffee on the counter.

  Jasper pays and then politely excuses himself to join the others. I was unaware I’d been watching him until I turn to find Marisol’s eyes on me.

  “That man is an onion,” she says.

  “Come again?”

  “An onion,” she repeats. “Many layers. Deep ones too, if I’m not mistaken.”

  I grab a cloth and start wiping down the counter, despite the fact I saw Marisol do it not long ago. Her knowing gaze makes me twitchy, and I need to do something to keep my hands busy. “You got that from the thirty seconds you spoke to him?”

  She tilts her head, giving me an enigmatic smile. “Sometimes you just know. You know?” Her attention is across the room now, eyes trained on Jasper. “I imagine it would take someone pretty special to help peel back those layers.”

  “What if he’s happy with his layers the way they are?”

  Marisol’s lips twitch. “I know you saw that far-off look in his eyes. It’s often true what they say about still waters running deep.”

  I want to make a joke about her mixing metaphors—is Jasper an onion or is he a lake?—but her words, paired with what Gwen has told me about her soon-to-be brother-in-law, have me thinking she’s right. It also makes me wonder if Marisol is in on Gwen’s matchmaking scheme and if my two best friends are about to tag-team me.

  Before I can say anything, a group of teens come into the café, and I get to work making them the pumpkin spice lattes they order. An unexpected rush follows, keeping me occupied for the next half hour. It seems my social media posts are paying off; at least a quarter of the people who come in mention the discount I posted in our stories. I make a mental note to tell Gwen and Ivy they’re not the only PR mavens around here anymore.

  While I’m working, my eyes have a mind of their own and keep shifting to the table where Gwen and the Perrys are sitting. I initially tell myself it’s because Gwen and Evan are my friends and I want to make sure they have everything they need. I can’t deny the real reason, though: there’s something about Jasper that fascinates me. Marisol’s words about layers and water tumble through my brain every time I see him speaking quietly to Gwen or fussing over Sherée, who seems to enjoy the attention.

  At the next lull in customers, Gwen comes to the counter to order another round of drinks.

  “Seems like you haven’t had to play referee for a while,” I say.

  “Everyone’s been playing nicely,” she says with a good-natured eye roll.

  “Well, just in case you’re the one keeping everyone on their best behavior, why don’t you go back and I’ll bring the drinks when they’re ready.”

  A few minutes later, I make my way to the table with a loaded tray. I slow my approach when I see Malcolm’s stormy expression from earlier has returned. Sherée is laughing at whatever Jasper just said as she shifts in her seat and attempts to get to her feet. Jasper immediately hops up and reaches for her arm.

  Malcolm shoves his chair back from the table and stands. “Dude, will you back off? She’s my wife, not yours.”

  A hush descends over the café as everyone freezes. It’s like one of those bizarre still-life tableaus. I’m relieved none of the table’s occupants have noticed me hovering a few feet away with my tray because second-hand embarrassment is making heat creep up my cheeks.

  Sherée is the one to break the silence. “Malcolm Joseph Perry, what the hell has gotten into you?” She never did make it to her feet before, so she grasps Jasper’s hand now—he’s still frozen in place beside her—and hauls herself up with an exasperated sigh. “Malcolm and I need some air. We’ll be back.” She turns and gives her husband a shove toward the door. I know it shouldn’t be funny, but Sherée’s feistiness paired with Malcolm’s chastened expression has me swallowing laughter.

  I proceed toward the table, where I set the tray down wordlessly. No one says anything as I unload the drinks. Jasper blinks a few times before sinking into his seat. He looks as if he’d like to keep going until he’s all the way under the table.

  I’m about to tuck the tray under my arm and flee when Evan says, “You know how some people joke about things like sympathy pains and partners gaining weight when their wives or girlfriends are pregnant? I think Malcolm has a case of sympathy hormones.”

  Gwen and I laugh. When Jasper’s gaze remains distant, Evan reaches out and claps him on the shoulder. “He’s tense and he’s taking it out on you because he knows you’re a safe space and will love him no matter what.”

  Jasper looks surprised by this. Hell, I’m surprised by this. Gwen has always said one of things she loves most about Evan is how in tune he is with his emotions and the feelings of others, and she wasn’t kidding.

  I peek toward the front window. Malcolm and Sherée are standing just outside. She has her arms folded under her breasts and seems to be doing all the talking while he bobs his head and rubs her belly with one hand. When he finally speaks, Sherée laughs and drops her arms to wrap them around him. Their brief hug is followed by a kiss. And another kiss. And…oh my, they’re really going for it. Watching them makes me feel like a voyeur, so I pry my eyes away and hope no parents pass by with little kids.

  The pair come back inside a few minutes later, both of them flushed from the chilly air and likely from their quick round of tonsil hockey. Sherée veers off toward the bathrooms while Malcolm returns to the table, sitting in his wife’s former seat next to Jasper.

  “I’m sorry,” Jasper says quickly. “I know I’ve been overstepping and I didn’t mean—”

  Malcolm holds up a hand to cut him off. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know it’s been nine months and the baby is nearly due, but part of me is still in shock. I’m about to become a father, which is so surreal. I’ve been missing Mom and Dad lately, and wishing they were here for the birth of their first grandchild. Wishing they were here because they always knew the exact right thing to say.”

  Emotion clogs my throat. I feel even more like a voyeur now than I did a few moments ago watching Malcolm and Sherée. Catching Gwen’s attention, I tilt my head toward the counter and quietly slip away. I’m refilling the bakery case a few minutes later when a loud thumping sound draws my attention back to the Perrys’ table.

  Malcolm and Jasper are embracing; Malcolm is holding on tight while Jasper’s arms loosely encircle his brother. Malcolm laughs and gives Jasper another thump on the back. “We’ve been over this. I’m expressing my love for you, not trying to extract one of your kidneys with a teaspoon. Hug me back properly.”

  I can’t see Jasper’s face, but I hear his soft laugh. Some ridiculous, irrational part of my brain wants to run over to see his expression. My heart turns to warm, melty goo as he wraps his arms around Malcolm tighter and the two of them hug for a long moment, speaking quietly to each other.

  My gaze shifts around the table and locks on Gwen’s. She’s watching me instead of the two brothers. Her smile is small and knowing, and it makes me want to slink down behind the counter where she can’t see me. Even if I did, I’m afraid there’d be no escaping this spark of interest toward Jasper that’s lit itself inside me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next Wednesday, I get a text from my mom inviting me for dinner. We’ve only managed to snag a few minutes here and there to talk since my impromptu visit last Friday night. I’m hoping she’ll have good news about her relationship with Emilio, which is part of the reason I accept her invitation, despite being exhausted from pulling double shifts the last three days. I’ll be taking Saturday off for the kick-off of Gwen and Evan’s pre-wedding festivities and, since that means needing to pay extra people to cover for me, I’m working as much as possible this week.

  The sun is low in the sky by the time I pull into Mom’s driveway. Today is the first day of autumn, and the weather has been perfect—blue ski
es, mild temperatures, and a hint of a nip in the air. The autumnal decor around the café has multiplied over the last few days, and Cravings has been tagged in more social media posts this week than we have in the last month. The decorations have been as much of a hit as all of our new pumpkin-flavored offerings, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

  After snapping an especially good picture of the nearly-full café in all its decorated glory, I was tempted to send it to Jasper and wish him a happy official autumn equinox. I ultimately decided against it, thinking it might be too weird. I did post the photo on our Instagram page, though, wishing all our patrons and followers a blessed harvest season.

  Mom is all smiles when she opens the door. She fusses over me as she draws me in for a tight hug, telling me how pretty I look in my red sweater and how much she loves my ‘swirly updo’—a loose bun that sits on the crown of my head. She ushers me inside, flitting around and chattering non-stop as I remove my shoes. As I’m straightening, she zooms off toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that she has a bottle of wine already open and waiting for us.

  “You’re a ball of energy,” I say as she pours two generous glasses of white wine. I’m used to seeing her on the go—it’s pretty much her natural state of being—but I’m getting a nervous vibe from her. It makes me wonder if her date with Emilio last week didn’t go as planned and she’s trying to cover her disappointment by being extra bubbly and bright.

  “I was on a cooking and cleaning spree before you came over, so I’m feeling energized.” She inclines her glass toward me before taking a sip. She makes a little humming noise and her next sip leads to a gulp. Half her wine is gone before I even taste mine. Something is definitely up.

  Before I figure out a gentle way to ask what’s going on, she says, “Since you love autumn, tonight’s menu is seasonal in your honor. I’ve made a butternut squash, apple, and sweet potato soup with homemade bread, and an apple crisp for dessert.”

  My mouth waters at the mere mention of dinner. I’m accustomed to being surrounded by food smells, so I didn’t even notice the scent of apples and cinnamon perfuming the air until she told me what she’d made. “Sounds perfect. I was thinking I should add a seasonal soup to our lunch selection, and that sounds like it’d be a hit.”

  “I’d offer to give you the recipe, but I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out everything in it once you’ve tasted it.” Mom sends me a wink as she heads for the stove, where she stirs a giant dutch oven full of yellow-orange soup simmering on low heat.

  I hate dancing around a subject, but her frenetic energy is making me twitchy and uncertain. Rather than coming out and asking directly about Emilio, I aim for casual. “Any hot dates planned for this week?”

  Her hand pauses mid-stir. She’s completely still for a moment, as if someone hit a pause button. Finally, she sets the spoon on the fox spoon holder I got her last Christmas and turns to me. Relief floods through me when I see the dazzling smile on her face.

  “Emilio told me he wants to be exclusive.” The words spill out of her, quick and breathy. “He said he’s tired of being in the dating game and there’s no point carrying on seeing other people when you’ve found someone you care about anyway.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said I completely agree. All the dating was fun at first—it made me feel young and beautiful, and it was exciting getting out there and meeting people. I didn’t take it seriously because I wasn’t interested in something serious. It all began to seem kind of pointless after a while, though. I enjoy my own company and even living on my own, but sometimes I’d wonder what it’d be like to share my life with someone. To go deeper than just the snippets of my life I was sharing with someone I may or may not see again.”

  I lean against the kitchen island and rest my chin in my hand. “Can I be you when I grow up?”

  Mom’s burst of laughter sounds both surprised and delighted. “I didn’t think you were interested in dating or even relationships.”

  “I’m…not? Not really, at least right now. I just love how you own your independence and you’re so self-aware. You’re a total boss who’s been through so much, and yet you’re still open to love and big changes in your life.” At the words ‘open to love’, Mom’s eyes soften, taking on a hint of sadness. She leans on the other side of the island so we’re face to face. I don’t want this to become about me and my failed attempts at love, so I quickly add, “I hope Emilio realizes how lucky he is to have you.”

  Mom’s megawatt smile returns. “I think he does. He said all the right things the other night, and I believed him. I don’t know what the future will hold for us, but I’ve promised myself to be hopeful and open.”

  “Hopeful and open. I like that.” I push up on my toes and wriggle my upper body across the counter so I can kiss her cheek. “I’m happy for you, Mama.” She lightly grips my face and kisses both my cheeks before I slide back to my side of the island.

  Mom sets me to work slicing and buttering bread while she dishes up the soup and pours more wine. I watch her from the corner of my eye; she’s still moving like a video that’s been set on fast-forward. When we’re settled at the kitchen table, she immediately jumps in with questions and comments that put the focus on me—asking about work, telling me she’s loving Cravings’ Instagram posts lately, inquiring about Marisol and Gwen.

  The minute I finish my soup, she hops up to refill my bowl. She brings the bottle of wine with her and, when I tell her I’ll switch to water since I’m driving, she empties the bottle into her own glass. She’s finally stopped chattering incessantly, so as soon as she sits again, I seize the opportunity to question her.

  “Is everything okay? You seemed almost nervous before telling me about Emilio. Were you afraid I wouldn’t be happy for you?”

  Mom’s eyes widen. “No! No, that’s not it at all.”

  “Okay…” I say slowly, studying her face closely. Her behavior has all kinds of strange and scary thoughts flooding my mind. “If that’s not ‘it’ then there is something, right?”

  She sighs so heavily it causes her whole body to slump forward. Her hand darts out for her wine glass, then stops, settling on the table to toy with her soup spoon instead. “I always forget you know me better than anyone. I don’t know why I even bother trying to keep things from you.” At my frown, she drops her spoon and reaches across the table to cover my hand with hers. “Emilio wants me to go away with him for Thanksgiving weekend.”

  “Oh. Oh!” For the second time since arriving tonight, relief washes over me. I’m going to be a basket case by the time I leave. “That’s great, isn’t it? Seems like he was serious about being in a committed relationship. What’s the problem? Too much, too fast? Are you worried it’s too soon to go away together?”

  She picks up my hand and squeezes my fingers. “I’m not worried it’s too soon. I know it’s not ladylike to kiss and tell, but Emilio and I slept together on our second date. Going away with him doesn’t worry me.”

  I love that Mom is worried about being ‘ladylike’ rather than the possibility of traumatizing her only child with sex talk. Maybe I should have had that third glass of wine after all and made her pay for a taxi home. “What’s the problem then?”

  “I can’t go away and leave you all alone on Thanksgiving!” she says. “When I pointed that out to Emilio, he was quick to rescind the offer and suggest the three of us spend the holiday together. He and I can go away together some other time.”

  “Or you could go away together for Thanksgiving like he wanted to.”

  She cocks her head to the side, eyeing me closely. I can tell she wants to argue, even though she hasn’t said anything else yet. Part of me wonders if she wants me to convince her, which I’m happy to do. Mom has always put me first and now it’s time for her to focus on the happiness she so richly deserves.

  “Thanksgiving has never been that big of a deal for us anyway,” I point out. After she and my dad split, it was always just the two
of us, and she made elaborate meals all the time, so we didn’t need a holiday for that. When I hit my teens, we started attending a yearly Friendsgiving gathering hosted by friends of Mom’s, which is always a highly entertaining food- and-boozed-filled event. “I can still go to Sally and Tina’s for Friendsgiving. Or I could just veg for three glorious days since the café will be closed that whole weekend, and I haven’t had much proper time off since Cravings opened. Thank god Canadian Thanksgiving is in October rather than November so I have a built-in reason for a long weekend soon.”

  If the way she’s gnawing on her bottom lip is any indication, she’s still uncertain. There’s a hopeful light in her eyes, though, so it’s that hope I appeal to. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mom. While I appreciate you not wanting me to spend the holiday alone, I don’t want you to miss out on anything because of me. You know I wouldn’t say I was fine if it wasn’t true. Remember the time you dropped me off at that overnight camp you knew I was dreading? When we got there, I said I was okay, but when you pressed me on it, I admitted I didn’t want to stay. I was willing to because you’d already paid and I figured it’d be good for me to tough it out. You said it was completely up to me and I could stay or go, and then you brought me back home, no questions asked. If I’d ever had any doubts about being able to be completely open and honest with you, that cleared them.”

  Tears shimmer in her eyes. Her fingers have tightened on mine to the point she’s now clutching my hand.

  “I’m fine with you spending Thanksgiving with Emilio,” I tell her. “You deserve to be whisked away and have a romantic weekend with your new boyfriend.” I emphasize the word boyfriend and wiggle my eyebrows, drawing a watery laugh from her. “I just have two requests.”

  She releases my hand and lifts her napkin from her lap, using it to dab at her eyes. “Anything.”

  “The three of us need to have dinner soon because I want to get to know Emilio better.” I pause and she nods vigorously. “And we still spend Christmas together.”