The bridesmaids’ breakfast was a celebration of Jordan’s closest friendships. She’d known Lauren the longest, but she’d asked Amy Boulet to be her maid of honor. The choice had surprised Camille, even though Jordan couldn’t be expected to select Lauren after Lauren had chosen her college roommate over Jordan. Camille had assumed that Amy was Jordan’s tit for tat. Jordan had been the educational aide in Amy’s third-grade class for two years, and she loved her job. Amy was the first to acknowledge that they worked like a team of teachers rather than teacher and aide, and her mention that Jordan had signed up for a program in which she could earn class credits on the job was the first Camille had heard of a renewed college effort.
“I just got into it after school started,” Jordan explained over the soft-boiled egg course. “It’s a new program. Amy was the one who found out that I could get into it.”
Jordan had chosen a mentor over a girlfriend, Camille realized. A mentor who had quietly succeeded in getting Jordan back into school had received the “honor” nod. This was interesting. This was maybe a little exasperating? Amy had succeeded where Mother had failed?
“All I did was collect the literature,” Amy said. “We were both looking for classes that would really improve our skills. Some ed classes are a complete waste. They’ve finally started giving people credit for experience and hands-on learning, and Jordan is a natural.”
In other words, Jordan was succeeding in finding her own way. Camille listened to the giggles of girls following Rosemary’s instructions for handling soft-boiled eggs in old-fashioned eggcups. She watched them ooh and aah over the vintage handkerchiefs Rosemary had collected for them in her online auctions—white with a variety of purple and lavender crochet trim for the bridesmaids, all white for the bride. She watched Jordan savor the bridal spotlight and wondered at all the steps she was taking and the many women who were sharing in them.
Martha would say this was a good thing. Camille would have to agree.
From the time Jordan had taken her first step from Daddy’s knee to Mom’s waiting hands, Camille had urged her on to the next and the next. But Jordan had to take those steps in her own way and her own time. A mother couldn’t help calling for them, and once they were taken, ever deeper into the community of women, she couldn’t call them back.
But sometimes, just for an instant, she desperately wanted to.
After she’d served the fruit soup and garden salad, Camille slipped into her bedroom to retrieve the bridesmaids’ gifts. Once they’d gotten into the spirit of Grandma’s hobby, she and Jordan had pulled up their chairs behind Rosemary, the expert bidder, and cheered her to victory in the final seconds of several of the auctions for vintage jewelry to suit the style of the bridesmaids’ outfits. Jordan wanted four different pieces—a clip for Lauren’s beautiful hair, a whimsical pair of earrings for Beth, a brooch in the shape of an inkwell and plume for Amy, and a bracelet for Kelly’s slender wrist. They whooped it up when Rosemary beat a particularly persistent bidder for the brooch, but they didn’t get a bracelet until the third try. They cursed those faceless, sneaky bidders who’d been hiding in the cyber brush, waiting to pounce on Grandma’s bid in the very last second.
For the hundredth time in the last few weeks, Camille tasted bittersweet tears—the kind that tingled but didn’t escape.
“Mom?” Jordan peeked around the door and noticed the gifts lined up on Camille’s dresser. “Oh, you wrapped them. Thank you. I meant to, but I didn’t get to it.” She closed the door behind her. “Grandma was right about the breakfast. I’m glad we did this at home instead of going out. We can just kick back and enjoy.”
“The girls are going to love these.”
“We saved the description for them, too, so they know the history. Amy will love that. She’s a history buff.” Jordan’s party cheer faded into an apologetic glance. “I was going to tell you about the college program. We just found out about it, and it looks like something I can stick with, you know? Because I’ll be working at the same time, and it’ll make more sense to me.”
Camille shook off her silly feeling of being slighted somehow. “I’m just glad the opportunity came up and you’re taking advantage of it.”
“I know you were a good teacher, and now that I’ve tried it, I know I can be good, too.” Jordan glanced away. “I wanted to surprise you and Dad with the news at the same time.”
“He’ll be happy for you.”
“Bridget didn’t say much, except she wanted to know where the degree would come from. I suppose it sounds more like a training program than real college.”
“It sounds good. It all sounds very good, honey.”
“Is it a good thing?” Jordan teased. She laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean for this wedding to be so much work for you, Mom. I really appreciate all you’ve done.”
“It’s been as much work as I made it. I didn’t know I was going to enjoy it so much.” Camille arranged the wrapped gifts in two stacks of two. “I appreciate your putting up with all my homemade touches.”
“Handmade,” Jordan corrected as she stretched her hand out beside her mother’s for comparison. “Maybe I’ll try my hand at some handiwork once we get settled into a home. Do you think I have your hands or maybe Grandma’s hands? If I bit my nails and soaked them until they pruned up, they’d be Grandma’s hands, wouldn’t they?” Jordan tilted her hand, triggering a glitter demonstration from her diamond. “She said her mother used to tell her a story about some warriors in the Philippines who bit their fingernails down to the quick as part of the preparation for going into battle. She told me she was doing battle with those seed pearls.” Jordan chuckled. “Grandma says you have hands like your father, but pretty and feminine.”
“She said that?” Camille smiled. It was a loving comparison, coming from Mama. “I think you have your own hands, a little like hers, a little like mine.”
“I love you, Mom.” Jordan’s quick embrace caught Camille by surprise. “I’m telling you now because I don’t want us getting our mascara running on the big day.”
“Good idea.” Slow on the uptake, Camille squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed her daughter’s slim waist. “I love you, and I’m very proud to be the mother of the bride.” With a quick press of cheeks, Camille knocked back the tears and snatched up the gifts. “You take these. Did I tell you how much I admire the way you picked these out especially for each girl? Each woman.”
“No, but…” Jordan smiled at her mother’s furious blinking. “You know, I’m not going far away, Mom. We can save a little mush for later.”
“Great idea.” Camille grabbed a shopping bag off the floor and gestured for a return to the party. “Grandma has a game planned. Whatever it is, humor her.”
“No problem.”
The gifts were a huge hit. The bridesmaids were fascinated by the history of their jewelry, and everyone wanted to know more about Internet auctions.
“I was hoping we’d be able to style your outfits with the accessories today,” Camille said. “That was part of the breakfast plan. How much work still has to be done on them?”
“The shoulders on my jacket are huge,” Beth Praeger said happily. Oversized clothing was a rare worry for Beth.
“Isn’t that the style?”
“It’s not padded huge. It’s drooping-over-my-shoulders huge. Valerie says they might not be able to take it in without taking it all apart.”
“Mine’s built for Dolly Parton in front,” said Kelly Vaughn of the slender wrists. “Not that she isn’t a beautiful woman, but I could fit both my boobs in one of Dolly’s cups and still have room for my boyfriend’s hand.” Kelly shrugged. “If I had a boyfriend.”
“What happened to Carl?” Amy asked.
“Carl was weeks ago,” Jordan said with a laugh.
“Carl is like twentieth-century history,” Kelly said. “That is so over.”
“So he’s not coming to the wedding?” Camille wondered.
“Oh, God, no,” Kelly said. “But don’t change the head count. I’ll have somebody else to go with by then.”
“Back to the dresses,” Bridget said. “Didn’t any of them fit right?”
“I don’t think they did anything to mine after the first fitting,” Lauren said in disgust as she nibbled at the corner of a raisin-toast point. “It’s still shaped like a cereal box.”
“But Valerie says they’ve never failed to pull it together by the wedding day,” Jordan said, coming to her service provider’s defense. “And they’ve been in the wedding business for nine years.”
“Are you saying we don’t have to worry?” Bridget asked.
“I’m not worried. Valerie has everything under control. I told her I want everyone fitted by Wednesday, and she gave me her word.”
“What’s the mother of the bride wearing?” Amy asked.
“Not telling. I want to make a splash, too.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d found something, Mom. What’s it like?”
“It’ll be a surprise. All you need to know is that it’s in keeping with the color palette.”
“Long or short?”
Camille closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not telling.”
Rosemary followed Camille into the kitchen with a trayful of eggcups and toast plate covers. “You haven’t found anything, have you?”
“Mama, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’ve gained another five pounds.” She took the tray. “Okay, more like seven.” Rosemary was still giving her the mother’s eye. “Eight, then. I bought new bras the other day. I had to buy a D-cup. Mama, I’ve never worn a D. I don’t want to pay three hundred dollars for a dress in the size I am now.”
“Pay five hundred and it’ll be a smaller size.”
“Five hundred!”
“Well, you’re gonna have to wear something.” Rosemary eyed Camille’s hips as though she were trying to account for the eight pounds. “Funny. You used to lose weight when you were under stress.”
“Don’t remind me. And I don’t see anything funny about it.”
“You were laughing at the Dolly Parton crisis and the disposable boyfriends,” Rosemary reminded her. “It’s always something, you know. Every change takes some time to adjust to.”
Turning to set the tray on the counter, Camille measured the wisdom of asking, of discovering indirectly, as was their current routine, what she ought to be able to discern but might not want to know.
“Will you help me find a dress?”
Rosemary laid a slight hand on her daughter’s back. “I’m trying to save up my energy now, like socking away pennies in ol’ Rosie the pig. Remember Rosie?”
Camille worked up a smile and turned to Rosemary with it. “I was saving up for a powder blue mohair sweater and a purse with a shoulder strap.”
“But you have to have a dress, and somebody’s got to go with you. Otherwise, you’ll buy something just because it’s on sale. Tomorrow.” Rosemary wagged her bony, nail-bitten finger. “Or tomorrow night. I’ll ask Jordie what she’s got going.”
“She’s got so much on her mind. Ellie’s taste is no better than mine, and Bridget doesn’t look at price tags.”
“How about Creed? He’s always had an eye for what looks good on you.”
Camille hooted. “You think I want him seeing what size I’m looking at on the racks?”
“For Pete’s sake, Cammy, you look fine.” Rosemary folded her arms. “That man still loves you. You do know that.”
“In his way, maybe. Whatever that is.”
“Well, whatever it is, you might want to bring it to bear on picking out the right dress for this occasion.”
She might want to, but she definitely wasn’t going to.
“I think I’ll see if Ellie’s free tomorrow,” Camille decided. “Ellie and Bridget. Between the two of them, and you if you feel up to it…”
Rosemary shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘We’ll get it done.’”
“We’ll get it done,” Rosemary recited dutifully as she plucked the shopping bag off the kitchen table. “Let’s have some fun with these girls. Did you get a look at these treasures I found on eBay? We girls are going to play a game of ‘What Did They Do with That?’”
“Did you find the game on eBay?”
“Heck, no. I made it up. Sort of.”
Rosemary’s game consisted of guessing at the uses of women’s tools from days gone by. As the items were passed around the table, each woman took a guess. The correct guess earned the guesser the object as a prize. There were buttonhooks and corset lacers, a hair-curling tong, a hip pad—which evoked peals of laughter—a shoe saver, a needle case, all kinds of odd kitchen tools and laundry items, and trappings of the toilette.
Camille didn’t expect to have as much fun shopping for the mother-of-the-bride dress as she had playing breakfast games, but the excursion on the following day yielded a surprising find—a chic suit that magically took off all eight new pounds and then some. As soon as she admitted that the moderately priced shops were simply not stocked for youthful mothers of the bride and allowed Bridget to show her where to shop, Camille’s prospects started looking up. She chose a stunning ivory suit with gold trim.
“It’s the cut that makes the difference,” Bridget insisted.
“It’s the price,” Camille said. “It’s just like in the old days, when only rich people were allowed to wear purple. Only now it’s the rich who get the clothes with the flattering cut. They like to keep the common folk looking frumpy.”
“Well, you get what you pay for.”
“So I’ve heard,” Camille said as she whipped out her credit card. “And for this occasion I’m paying for the queen’s tailor.”
Jordan hadn’t been able to get away for her mother’s dress shopping, not that she’d tried very hard to rearrange her schedule. When she’d heard that Ellie and Bridget were going with Camille, Jordan decided that she would be of more use at a gas station attendants’ convention than serving as the fourth wheel on that particular shopping cart. A best friend’s opinion always seemed to be more valid than a daughter’s, and she couldn’t remember the last time her mother had made a fashion statement or sought her daughter’s advice in putting one together. Her mother was an artist. She created style. She didn’t have to follow it.
Jordan was certain that her father had been born with style. Trends didn’t matter to him. How he looked mattered to him and he didn’t care what people thought—unless it somehow affected his family’s image. Jordan understood why Camille had warned her against suggesting that she wanted something that might be beyond his means. And she’d been careful, which was why it surprised her when he came looking for her on her last workday before the wedding.
At first he said he wanted to see her in action in her classroom, which was the reason he’d stopped by before the children were dismissed. She introduced him as her father and said that he was a singer. He obliged them when they asked him to perform, but he said that Jordan would have to accompany him, since he didn’t have his guitar. They sang some of the songs he’d taught her, like “The Bear Went Over the Mountain,” and “The Rainbow Connection,” which she’d taught him.
“Jordie, I want you to help me out,” he confided when Amy offered to take the children to the bus. “Grandma says your mom found a nice dress for the wedding. Have you seen it?”
“I have, Daddy. It’s beautiful. Wait till you see.”
“That’s what she said about your dress. I have a feeling I’m gonna be one weak-in-the-knees cowboy on Saturday.” He looked the part when he shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I want to surprise her with some pretty jewelry to go with it, and I need your help picking it out. Can you spare your dad a couple of hours for a little shopping?”
“You’ll have to tell me straight out what you want to spend, okay?”
“It’s payday, honey. I wanna shoot the whole wad.”
“Just how much is a wad?”
“It’s a pocketful of green.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and ushered her down the suddenly quiet school corridor. “We’re gonna turn it into something that sparkles.”
He followed her in his pickup to the mall, and she met him at the appointed jewelry counter in the store she’d suggested. The store was not busy, and neither of the two clerks had much to do. But they stood back and watched while the Indian cowboy and his daughter browsed the glass cases.
“What Mom needs with her outfit is some great earrings,” Jordan mused. She wished the price tags hadn’t all been carefully turned under the items.
Her father pointed to a flashy pair in a velvet box. “Are those real?”
“They’re real rhinestones. They’re very chichi.”
“I want something real.” He moved along, perusing the displays beneath the glass. Jordan felt as though she were protecting his back while the salesclerk moved in, keeping his distance, wiping fingerprints off the glass with a gray polishing cloth.
“What do you think of these?” Creed pointed to a glittering pair of pavé-set diamond earrings.
“They’re real, all right,” Jordan said. “Those would be beautiful with that dress.”
Wordlessly the salesman brought the earrings out on a velvet-covered stand and made a production of turning over the tiny price tag.
Creed whistled. “They’re real real.”
“You may have noticed that we’re running a sale on diamonds, but these are never marked down. These are from our designer collection. The combination of black and white diamonds is really very popular.” The salesman slipped the earrings back under glass, closed and locked the sliding door. “Maybe you’d like something a little smaller.”
“I’d like something that’ll show up.”
“You know, you can get very flamboyant costume jewelry in, say, cubic zirconia. We don’t carry it here, and we only carry rhinestones in a few estate pieces. But you can get CZs in the store just two doors down.”
“I don’t think that’s what we’re looking for,” Jordan said, shooting the man a cool glance.
“What’s cubic zirconia?” Creed asked.
“They’re man-made and far less expensive than diamonds. But they look fine in a decent setting.”
“I’m not looking for fake jewelry.” He nodded toward the earrings the man had taken away. “I’ll take the ones you just showed me.”
“How will you be paying, sir? We’ll need identification with anything other than—”
Creed pulled a clip of bills from his pocket. “Will cash work for you?”
“Dad, wait.” Jordan pointed to a smaller pair of diamond-studded earrings. “This is Mom. They’re called love knots, and those are real diamonds. Very elegant. She would get more use out of these.”
“You’re right, Jordie. Those designer jobs are kinda gaudy. Your mother isn’t like that.” He joined his daughter and asked to see the earrings she had suggested. “Love knots, huh?”
“May I see that slide?” Jordan asked. The clerk waited until Creed handed the earrings back. He put them away, and then showed Jordan the other piece. “Dad, she has an Omega necklace that would take this slide perfectly. You could get the earrings and the slide for less than half the price of that gaudy stuff.”
“You’re your mother’s daughter, all right.”
“I’m not being cheap, Dad.”
“Did I say ‘cheap’? You’re using good financial judgment. I appreciate that, and your husband will, too.” He told the clerk to wrap the jewelry, and then he smiled as though he had a surprise under his hat for Jordan. “Now there’s one more thing we need to find, and that’s a crown for my princess.”
“Oh, Daddy. That’s so sweet. But we decided to use a little floral—”
“I’ve already consulted with your grandma, who told me what you really want and where to get it. She says you’re wearing her pearl necklace.”
Jordan nodded. The pearls hadn’t been her choice, but she’d made her peace with them. “They were her mother’s, actually. This will be their third wedding.”
“She says you need pearls and crystals to go with the pearls and beads on your dress. We want you to pick it out.” He was fairly beaming with the prospect of one last round of playing Santa Claus. “You’ll have the ring from your husband and the crown from your dad. Does that make you a fairytale bride?”
She put her arm around his waist and walked with him to the cash register. “It makes me feel like a very special woman.”