previously measured Samantha and my sylphlike fellow bridesmaids, I had to sternly suppress my paranoia. I was sure their soft chattering conversation consisted mainly of unfavorable comments about my more normally female form.
I amused myself by letting my imagination run rampant about their boss, who was hovering attentively outside the curtain, occasionally exchanging rapid and unintelligible remarks with them. I would definitely have to interrogate Mother about him. But discreetly. If she and the rest of the family deduced that I was interested in him, half of them would probably disapprove and make clumsy and embarrassing attempts to interfere. The other half would rejoice and indulge in even clumsier and more embarrassing attempts to throw us together. Matchmaking was a competitive sport in Yorktown, and my family's enthusiasm for it was one of the reasons I had chosen to relocate several hours away.
I would have been tempted to hang about and talk to Michael the Gorgeous, but I knew I should be getting back to keep up with my schedule for addressing the envelopes for Eileen's invitations. Besides, another neighbor had arrived with the twin six-year-old nieces who were going to be flowergirls in her daughter's wedding, and she obviously expected Michael's full attention. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have plenty of future opportunities to see him.
As maid of honor, my presence at all future fittings of any member of the three wedding parties could be taken for granted. It would be very considerate to find out when their least busy times were, so I could schedule fittings that wouldn't be interrupted by other customers. Why, choosing Eileen's gown alone would probably occupy several mornings or afternoons next week. I magnanimously forgave Eileen for having lied to me.
I was in very good spirits when I arrived back at the house. I found Mother lounging elegantly on the living room sofa with a box of chocolates and the latest issue of Bride magazine.
I hate it when they read the bridal magazines. Every issue is good for at least a dozen new items on my to-do list.
'Well, I went down to the dress shop today, had my measurements taken, and found out that Eileen has not decided on her dresses yet,' I announced, throwing myself into a nearby armchair.
'You really ought not to have let her wait this long, dear,' Mother said. 'She could have a very hard time getting anything on such short notice.'
'I didn't let her wait this long, Mother. I nagged her to go in and order something; I sent her down here to do it under the threat that I'd pick something myself if she didn't, and two days later she came back and told me she'd ordered something. She lied to me!'
'She's under a great deal of strain, dear. Be tactful with her. Mrs. Waterston will manage somehow.' Bingo! My opening to pry without seeming to.
'By the way, Mother, you told me to ask for Mrs. Waterston, but apparently she's in Florida, recuperating from a broken leg.'
'Oh, yes, dear, didn't I mention that?' Mother said. 'Her son has come down to run the shop while she's gone.'
'Yes, I met him.'
'Such a nice boy. I understand he teaches theater at a college somewhere up your way,' Mother said, as she poked through the chocolates to see if perhaps there were any left that she liked. 'Such a pity, really.'
'What's a pity?'
'That he's ... well, you know. Like that.'
'Like what, Mother?' I asked, but had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer. Mother, mistress of pregnant pauses and vague euphemisms, had come just about as close as she ever would to telling me that drop- dead-gorgeous Michael was gay.
'I feel so sorry for his mother sometimes,' Mother went on, inspecting a chocolate critically. 'She's told several people that she's in no hurry for Michael to settle down because she was a child bride and doesn't want to be a young grandmother. She puts on a brave front. But of course since he came down everyone knows exactly how unlikely it is that she'll ever be a grandmother, especially since he's an only child.' She nibbled a corner of the chocolate and made a delicate face. 'Here, darling, you finish this one; I don't like coconut.'
'Neither do I, Mother.'
'Oh? Then we'll save it for Eric,' she said, putting the candy carefully back in one corner of the box.
'Feed the grandkids the spitbacks?' I snapped. 'That's efficient, Mother.'
She looked at me in surprise.
'Are you all right, dear? Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down for a bit; you've been so busy and perhaps the heat is making you just a little out of sorts. So hard to believe it's still May.'
Feeling guilty for taking my disappointment out on her, I pleaded a small headache and fled up to my room. Actually I was depressed and wanted to mope by myself. Like Cinderella's golden carriage turning back into a pumpkin, all those impending trips to Be-Stitched to be fitted now turned from golden opportunities back into drab chores. I was already on the verge of tears when the sight of the huge stack of Eileen's envelopes on my dresser sent me over the edge. How symbolic of my summer. Me doing an endless series of chores while other people found happiness.
Obviously I was overreacting to the situation, but damn! My antennae were usually better than this. How could I be so mistaken? Perhaps it was wishful thinking. In the five months since breaking up with Jeffrey, I hadn't really met anyone else interesting. Not that I had much time for meeting people, between wedding arrangements and the extra time I'd been spending at the forge to build up enough inventory so I could take the summer off. The few dates I'd had were with men pushed at me by matchmaking friends, and most of them had been awful. I had pretty much resigned myself to putting my own social life on hold until this summer's weddings were out of the way. Obviously my hormones were objecting to this idea by reacting violently to the first attractive male in sight, without stopping to consider whether he was a suitable target. Or was it possible that Mother could, for once, be wrong?
That hope was dashed rather thoroughly when the Brewsters joined our family for a welcome-home-Meg dinner.
'Imagine,' I heard Mother say to Mrs. Brewster, 'when Meg went in today to be measured, she found Eileen had not ordered her dresses after all. And she told Meg she had done it months ago.'
'I should have demanded an affidavit.' I shrugged. 'Well, we're behind the eight ball, but I'm going to drag her down to Be-Stitched the minute she gets here and force her to make a decision.'
'So, you've been down to Be-Stitched already,' Samantha said. 'What did you think of Michael What-a- Waste?'
'Samantha, really,' her mother said, but by her tone I could tell she was rather proud of her daughter's wit.
'What-a-Waste?' Mr. Brewster said, as if he had no idea what she was implying.
'Or the last of the Waterstons, if you like,' Samantha said. 'I mean, you did notice that he's not exactly much of an addition to the town's list of eligible bachelors.'
'He seems very nice,' I said, noncommittally. I didn't want to get into an argument with Samantha, but didn't see how I could avoid it if she kept on this way. I glanced at Mother. Surely this violated her ironclad rule against discussing sex, politics, or religion at the table? Surely these days one should add genteel bigotry to the list of forbidden topics?
'I do so like what you've done with your hair,' Mother remarked to Mrs. Brewster.
'Oh, he's positively charming,' Samantha said, relentlessly, 'at least if you happen to be a fag hag.'
'That's a perfectly hateful thing to say,' I began, and then jumped as Mother kicked me under the table.
'Now, Meg,' Mother said. As if I were the one at fault.
'He's a very charming conversationalist,' Mrs. Brewster said. 'Very chivalrous.'
'Well, that's a dead giveaway, isn't it,' Samantha said. 'I mean, how many straight men do you know who have decent manners and can talk about anything other than football and beer?'
Your fiance and your future father-in-law, for starters, I felt like saying, but Mother was glaring daggers at me, so I counted to three and then said, as calmly as I could, 'You all seem to know rather a lot about the private life of someone who's only been here, what, a couple of weeks?'
'Well, it's a proven fact. I mean, several of the bridesmaids who were in being measured have tried to get
