“Pearl has beautiful hair,” Daddy said, his head still not moving.
Mama huffed. “Not Pearl. You act like Pearl is the only sister I have. I’m talking about Meryl.”
I started for the door. “Mama, we’ll talk about my hair later. Right now, I really need to get to Elaine’s.” I flashed a smile her way to soften the moment. “I’m going to ask her to be my maid of honor.”
“Oh,” Mama said, suddenly brightening at the thought that I was doing something toward my impending nuptials. “She doesn’t know yet?”
I shook my head. “No. I wanted to tell her in person and this weekend has been so busy.” I glanced at my wristwatch. “I really need to go so I can get back before Westley arrives.”
Mama shooed me toward the back door. “If he gets here before you, I’ll make sure to cut him a slice of cake.”
I drove to my best friend’s house—a rectangular brick structure situated in the middle of a street that V’d off from downtown’s main street—in less than ten minutes. Not that in a town the size of Bynum it took much longer than that to get anywhere. Unless, of course, one traveled by bike, which Elaine and I had certainly done enough in our younger days. There wasn’t a Saturday or weekday of the summer months I could remember that hadn’t involved meeting halfway and then riding most of the day away, up one road and down another, finding our way downtown, pedaling between storefront buildings. Making our way to the local five-and-dime for a candy bar and an orange Nehi. At some point we’d find our way back to her home or mine where we’d eat a sandwich and a handful of chips. Tummies filled, we’d change into our swimsuits, then pedal to the county recreation department where we swam for hours, our bodies coated in coconut-scented lotion and the overpowering odor of chlorine.
We’d spent our youth tanned and toned and blissfully happy.
There was also nothing I didn’t know about her and little she didn’t know about me, even though her fairly recent decision to go to school and mine to stay in Bynum meant we talked less as the weeks and months slipped by. Especially as my relationship with Westley deepened.
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of reaction I’d get from Elaine; she hadn’t quite forgiven me for not going away to college together. Being dormmates. Sorority sisters and all that. I imagined that, by Elaine’s way of thinking, my marriage to Westley was nothing more than me throwing my life away on the first man to pay me the tiniest smidgen of attention.
But I hoped for better.
When I pulled into her driveway, I found her standing on the side lawn, bent over, garden hose in hand, wrapping it into a circle on the ground near the azalea bushes. She flung her hair over her shoulder as she glanced at me. “Hey, there,” she said.
“What are you doing?” I asked, crossing the grass, brown mostly but, like a balding man who refused to shave the few hairs crossing over his head, still sporting green patches.
“I washed my car earlier,” she said, now straightening. “Told Daddy I’d put everything back where I found it, so I am.” She ran her hands along her jeans to dry them, then reached to hug me.
“I’ve got news,” I told her straight up.
“Let me guess. Westley asked you to marry him.” Then she laughed. “I’m just kidding. I know you two haven’t dated long enough for that.”
“Uh—”
The color drained from Elaine’s face, leaving a sprinkling of freckles prominent across her nose. “Oh, gosh. No. Seriously? Seriously?”
I nodded. “Seriously.”
She grabbed my left hand and yanked it toward her. “I don’t see a ring.”
“I don’t want one. I mean, an engagement ring.” I laughed lightly. “Actually, we haven’t talked about a ring. I assume we’ll buy matching wedding bands or something equally as silly and romantic as that.”
Elaine pulled me toward the front door. “Come on in. Oh, my gosh. Seriously? But you haven’t dated that long and—oh, my gosh! When?”
“A few days ago …”
“No, goofball. When’s the wedding?”
“Oh. December. Seventeenth.”
We stepped into the nearly dark living room, one I knew as well as my own. Each piece of furniture. Each framed photo. Each piece of artwork hanging too high on the walls. “Mama,” Elaine called out, closing the door behind us.
I opened my mouth to quiet her, but her mother stepped into the room as though on cue before I could say a word. “Well, hey, Sugar Foot. Elaine said you were coming over.”
“Hey, Miss Rose,” I said to the woman whose name fit her, her face flowerlike, her features soft and tiny.
“Guess what,” Elaine said, still holding on to my left hand. “Guess who’s getting married.”
Miss Rose had the decency to ask, “Who?” Then, turning to me, said, “You?”
I nodded. “I came over to ask Miss Blabbermouth if she’ll be my maid of honor.” I swallowed. “I’ve asked my sister and Westley’s—Heather—I’ve asked them to be bridesmaids.”
“Well, my goodness. When is the wedding?” Miss Rose asked, guiding Elaine and me over to the sofa while she eased herself into an occasional chair covered by soft fabric that boasted peonies in varying shades of pink.
“December seventeenth,” I answered as she reached over to switch on a rose-tinted table lamp. “One week before Christmas.”
“So soon?”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Elaine asked.
“Elaine,” I said and jumped an inch.
“Really, Elaine,” Miss Rose said with a sigh. “Pay her no mind, Allison.”
My gawking eyes met Miss Rose’s. “I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work.”
“Well, I mean,” Elaine began in defense of her statement, “why so soon if you’re not pregnant?”
Heat rushed to my face. “If you must know,” I said through clenched teeth, “We are waiting until we get married and … well—well—we are getting married on the seventeenth of December.”
“Best to marry
