Daphne, Wedding Hostess in Training
Daphne’s first morning working for Muriel Sterling went faster than a plate of chocolate chip cookies at a family picnic. She got overheated organizing Muriel’s messy supply closet (thank you, hot flash) and then, since she still had time left, dealt with a backlog of emails from readers who’d been inspired by Muriel’s latest book.
“I hate not replying personally,” Muriel had said, “but I tend to get bogged down when I’m writing back, and then I don’t get any work done on my new book.”
So she’d delegated, giving Daphne a series of stock phrases she could use. “Thank you for taking time to write me.”…“So glad you found the book helpful.”…“Remember, new beginnings can be difficult but they can be made.”
Daphne caught herself reciting that last line whenever an image of Mitchell’s handsome, smiling face came to mind. She’d thought they’d be together for the rest of their lives. The rest of their lives had lasted only six years.
It was oddly comforting to read the emails from readers who one moment had been riding high and the next found themselves in life’s recycle bin, having to create something new out of what had become garbage.
I lost my job, but after reading your book I know another door is going to open, wrote one reader. My husband died. Reading about how you coped after losing yours was so comforting, wrote another.
Still another emailed, I thought life couldn’t get any worse when I got breast cancer, but then my husband couldn’t deal with it and left me halfway through my chemotherapy. That was when I didn’t want to live anymore. Thank God a good friend gave me your book. After reading it, I decided no way was I going to let all the bad stuff define who I am as a woman. I got a wig and I’ve been taking piano lessons. I already feel better about my life and hopeful for my future.
Wow, and I thought I had it bad, Daphne mused. She began her reply using one of Muriel’s stock phrases, but then her fingers insisted on typing more. Your hair will come back lovelier than ever, I’m sure of it. Congratulations on all the positive things you’re doing.
She was suddenly aware of Muriel reading over her shoulder and she gave a start. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“Don’t be sorry. That’s exactly what I would’ve told her,” Muriel said. “I knew you were the right woman to work for me.”
The right woman, Daphne thought with a smile as she walked home from Muriel’s cottage. Yes, things were looking up. From now on, her life would be better. Manless and better.
She went to the bank and opened a new account, then picked up the groceries her mother had requested. And because it was past lunchtime and, after all, a girl had to eat, she went by Gingerbread Haus to treat herself to a latte and a gingerbread boy.
Cass Wilkes, an old-time acquaintance, was still there and happy to wait on Daphne.
“Is business as good as usual?” Daphne asked as Cass rang up her order.
“Sure is. But I’m putting in fewer hours these days, hiring more help. Life’s too short to work yourself to death. The kids are growing up fast, and I want to be able to spend more time with them. Did your mom tell you Dani’s expecting her first in September?”
“No. Congratulations.” Daphne would love to become a grandma, but that was waiting in the future, since her daughter was currently too busy with her career to think about babies.
“How about you? I hear you’re about to join the ranks of the single. Are you doing okay?”
“I am. Who needs men, anyway, right?”
“These guys are your safest bet,” Cass joked, handing over a gingerbread boy.
Daphne pretended he was Mitchell and bit off his head. Very satisfying.
“If you ever want to go to Zelda’s for a huckleberry martini, let me know,” Cass suggested.
Daphne was both touched and encouraged by her kindness. Who said you couldn’t go home again? “Thanks. I will.”
She returned to Primrose Haus to find a metallic-blue truck filled with lawn care equipment parked outside, the words Hawkins Landscaping Service emblazoned on the side of the cab. Mother’s lawn guy was here. Daphne had seen him only once, when she’d come up to visit the year before, but she remembered him as a brawny man with a great smile. Not that she was interested. She didn’t care how brawny he was.
Anyway, who had time for a man? She was going to be much too busy rebuilding her life to bother with the opposite sex. Tonight she’d read more of Muriel’s book.
But first she had to make dinner. Like her mother, Daphne enjoyed cooking. She loved trying new recipes, experimenting with different herbs and food combinations and seeing what she could come up with. Mostly, she liked the fact that she could control what happened in the kitchen, and these days, that was more than she could say for the rest of her life. Her mother wasn’t always easy to cook for, especially as she got older. Daphne had heard everything from “It’s a little too salty for my taste” to “I can’t eat garlic anymore. It gives me heartburn.” For the most part, though, Mother actually liked what she made and complimented her on it. And cooking was one way she could do her share in the household and not feel like a burden.
Mother had complained about her bunions hurting that morning, so Daphne had offered to make tonight’s dinner. Three-cheese stuffed chicken (light on the garlic) was on the menu, along with fresh asparagus and rosemary bread.
Mother was taking a break with a cup of tea and a book by Vanessa Valentine, her favorite author. She looked up from the book when Daphne entered the parlor, grocery bag in hand, and seemed almost startled to see her. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”
“Oh?” She was working only part-time. Had Mother been hoping she’d stay away until five?
Before she could ask what, exactly, that meant, her mother had moved on. “How was work?”
The job Daphne wasn’t going to be able to earn a living at? Okay, let it go. Things had been a little strained the past couple of days. They didn’t need to continue in that vein. She certainly didn’t want them to.
“Great,” she said and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I like working for Muriel.” Muriel was positive and encouraging. She probably never found fault with any of her daughters.
“I’m glad. She’s lucky to have you.”
In light of her earlier reaction to Daphne’s new job, it was the proverbial olive branch. Daphne had no problem taking it. “Thanks.”
She went to the kitchen and put away the groceries, then started out the back door to get some rosemary.
“Where are you going?” Mother called. She sounded almost panicked. What was that about?
“Just getting some rosemary for my bread. I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t need to bother with that. Plain bread will be fine.”
“No bother,” Daphne said and slipped out the door. Her mother loved rosemary bread. What had gotten into her?
Daphne stepped onto the back porch just as Hank Hawkins came around the corner. In addition to his oh-so-manly build, he had brown, curly hair with a few wisps of gray hanging over a craggy brow, deep-set brown eyes and a superhero-size chin, square and…manly. His arms were like mini tree trunks. If he’d been a firefighter he would surely have been chosen to pose for a calendar. Mr. July Hot. Whew. She could feel the waves of testosterone coming at her.
“Hi,” he said. “Daphne, right?”
She nodded. Gosh, he was…manly.
“Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Hank.” He pulled off a leather garden glove and held out a huge hand.
“I remember.” She held out her own hand and his swallowed it. His hand was warm and slightly rough, and she was suddenly sizzling in spite of the chill in the air.
Great. Of all the times to have a hot flash. That was all this was, she informed herself. Nothing more. Except she was hot where she didn’t normally get hot…
Cooling down would’ve been a lot easier if he wasn’t looking at Daphne as if she was a bottle of cold beer waiting for him in the desert. She knew that look. She’d gotten it often enough over the years.
And right now he looked to her like the last chocolate chip cookie on earth. Stop that! You are done with men. Even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t take up with this specimen. He was probably still in his forties. And if fifty was the new forty, then forty was the new thirty, and that made him too young for her. Boy toy, boy toy, chanted her hormones. She told them to shut up.
“How long are you here?” he asked.
“I’m here to stay. I’m getting divorced.” Now the heat on her face was pure embarrassment.
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It happens.” To me. A lot.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I’ve started working for Muriel Sterling, and I plan to help out with my mother’s business.”
That sounded good, and at least her mother was willing to give it a try, but Daphne knew Roberta still didn’t trust her not to screw up. Daphne supposed she had reason. While she’d been perfectly competent at her job in Seattle, there was something about being under her mother’s watchful eye that made her performance level sink like the Titanic.
Hank, ignorant of the mother-daughter dynamic, nodded. “She could use it. Roberta’s a firecracker, but she’s starting to slow down. Even so, she can still run circles around most of us.” He’d probably said that to be polite. Big and strong as he looked, Daphne suspected Hank had plenty of staying power. Staying power…sex. Don’t go there! Too late. She’d gone. With Hank. Well, just pull yourself back, fool.
“Are you settling in okay?” he asked.
“Yes. This is an easy town to settle into.”
“It is. I imagine you know everyone here.”
“I know a lot of people,” Daphne agreed.
“So, how full is your calendar?”
Oh, boy. He wasn’t wasting any time. The hot flash got hotter and she peeled off her jacket. “Pretty full.”
“Too soon, huh?”
“You could say that. Or you could say I’m through with men,” Daphne added. Might as well stop this plane before it takes off. And parts of her were ready for takeoff.
He nodded, absorbing that information. “Guess I can’t blame you. I’ve got an ex. I understand the feeling.”
“I’ve got two. This will make number three.”
His eyes popped wide. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa.” How pathetic. She bent over to break some needles off the gigantic rosemary bush by the back porch, hoping he hadn’t noticed the five-alarm fire on her face.
“Sometimes it takes a while to find the right person,” he said in a chivalrous effort to put an optimistic spin on her failures.
“And sometimes you never do.” She stripped a small branch and stood up. “I’ve decided to become a lesbian.”
Now his eyes were as big as golf balls.
“Nice talking to you, Hank,” she said and went back inside the kitchen. She almost ran into her mother, who was hovering by the door.
“Were you talking to Hank just now?”
It was the same tone of voice Mother had used when she was a little girl. “Were you in the cookies?” Come to think of it, she’d used that tone of voice plenty of times when Daphne was an adult. “Are you seriously thinking of marrying that man?”
“Just visiting,” Daphne said, depositing the rosemary on the kitchen counter.
“He’s divorced, you know.”
It was hard to imagine any woman wanting to get rid of a man like that. Uh-oh. Here came the heat again, fast as a gas-stove burner. Daphne blotted her forehead and got busy digging around in the cupboard for yeast.
“The last thing you need is another man in your life,” Mother said. “You don’t have good luck with men.”
As if she needed it pointed out to her? “I’m aware of that,” Daphne said stiffly.
“I just don’t want you to make another mistake.” Mother ran a hand over Daphne’s hair, pulling it away from her face, the same motherly gesture Daphne had often used on her own daughter when they were having a serious conversation.
“I know,” Daphne said, trying to erase the irritation from her voice. “I’m not planning on it.”
“Sometimes things happen that a woman doesn’t plan on,” Mother said. “You’re better off not even talking to him.”
“I’m not going to be rude.” What was she supposed to do, hide in the house when he came over? If you had any sense you would.
“Daphne,” Mother said sternly.
“Mother, I think I can decide for myself who I will and won’t speak to.”
“I’m just cautioning you,” Mother snapped.
“Thank you. Now I’ve been cautioned.” Daphne took out a pan to scald her milk and slammed it on the stove. That put an end to the conversation.
There wasn’t much conversation at dinner, either. A compliment on the bread, which was obviously supposed to mollify her. A prediction that they might get some rain tomorrow. The chicken could use some salt—this from the woman who was trying to cut down on her salt intake. Oh, and Daphne wasn’t going to leave the kitchen in a mess, was she?
After they’d finished eating and Daphne had cleaned every pot and pan, Mother announced that she intended to watch a rerun of The Rockford Files on her favorite classic-TV channel and invited Daphne to join her.
She passed on the invitation. Cozy mother-daughter evenings were highly overrated. She went for an evening walk instead and found herself at Zelda’s. Maybe she’d visit with Charley Masters, the owner, ask her how her relationship with her mother was. Heck, maybe she’d go around the restaurant, take a survey, get some tips on how to be the ideal daughter.
Daphne settled in a booth and ordered a piece of huckleberry pie and a Chocolate Kiss martini. She drank the martini and pushed the pie around her plate.
She was playing with a chunk of crust when Charley stopped by to say hello. “Daphne, I heard you were in town.”
“Is there anyone who hasn’t?” Daphne frowned and pushed away her plate.
“Small town.”
Where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Daphne had heard Charley’s story, as well, and realized she’d been down the same hurt-strewn road. Her first husband had cheated on her with one of their restaurant employees. If anyone could empathize, it was her.
Charley slipped into the booth opposite her. “I’m sorry. It sucks being betrayed like that, even when it’s by a loser.”
“Thanks,” Daphne murmured. “My mother thinks I’m a failure.” Oh, no. Had she said that out loud? One Chocolate Kiss and she had the loosest lips in town.
Her horror must have registered on her face because Charley smiled and said, “Moms always expect more from you. It’s in the job description.”
Daphne moved her empty glass away. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“You probably needed to. And you know what else you probably need? Another Chocolate Kiss. I’ll get you one.”
True to her word, Charley fetched it herself and gave Daphne a free shrink session. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she concluded. “You trusted the guy. You believed in him. That’s what we’re supposed to do. It’s what we all want to do. Nothing wrong with that. And, you know, things have a way of working out. I’m living proof. I’ve got the best guy in the world now.”
“Well, if you’ve got the best, there’s no point in my looking,” Daphne said, managing a smile. “Anyway, I’m done with men.” She could hardly count the number of times she’d said that—to herself and others.
Charley rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard those words before. Hey, I said them.” She slid out of the booth. “Stay for an hour or two. It’s karaoke night in the bar, always good for a laugh.”
“I could use a laugh.”
She could also use a life, so she hung around the bar for a while, watching the locals warble to their favorite pop songs. Then, when she knew her mother would be asleep, she returned to the house and took Muriel’s book to bed.
One of the best things about starting over is that the possibilities are endless. Don’t worry about where you’ve been. It’s where you’re going that counts. The slate is clean. What gets written on it is up to you.
Daphne smiled. Her future wasn’t dark and hopeless. It was filled with possibilities. And she was going to take advantage of every one of them. She was going to write a new story on that clean slate.
* * *
Muriel’s inspiring words and Daphne’s determination to do well combined to give her a very good week. The days she worked with Muriel, she came home energized and pleased with herself. She cooked dinner every night and her mother not only complimented her, but had second helpings of everything from mushroom lasagna to salmon loaf, an old classic Roberta had taught her to make when she was a teenager.
“I swear, Daphne, I’ve gained five pounds,” she said and took another bite of caramel cream pie. “This is incredible. Darling, you could have your own restaurant.”
“Not here,” Daphne said. “Too much competition.”
Mother frowned at her pie. “Really, Daphne, sometimes you give up before you even start.”
“I didn’t know I was starting anything,” Daphne retorted. It was more a case of her mother, as usual, concocting some grand scheme for her and then expecting her to follow through. Rather ironic, considering that Daphne practically had to beg to be allowed to help with weddings. Owning a restaurant would be twice as challenging as assisting with receptions.
Her response produced a long-suffering sigh. “I worry about you, Daphne. I don’t know what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”
Obviously not partner with her mother in the wedding business. “I don’t, either,” Daphne said, “but I’m going to figure it out. Let me get my ducks in a row first.”
Mother sighed again and nodded, and they left the discussion there, with the ducks swimming about, trying to line up.
* * *
A wedding was scheduled for Saturday, and Daphne was on hand to assist with the setup. She’d enjoyed doing this for her daughter’s wedding five years earlier. It had been such a lovely affair, and she’d had so much fun helping. Granted, she’d messed up on the invitations, but in addition to work, she’d been taking a neighbor to chemo and preparing meals for the woman’s family. Plus Mitchell had been starting a new job and that had put them under a lot of stress. Still, the invitations had finally gone out and the wedding had been well attended.
Now she was ready to shoulder part of her mother’s load and, yes, enjoy the vicarious thrill of a happy event.
“Thank you, dear,” Mother said after everything was arranged and ready to go. “You’ve been a huge help.”
Music to Daphne’s ears.
“Would you like to serve during the reception? It’s only appetizers.”
This was like getting invited to sit at King Arthur’s Round Table. “Sure,” Daphne said.
And so she did, passing through the crowd of wedding revelers with a platter of hot wings the bride was particularly fond of. Why on earth anyone would pick something with barbecue sauce for a wedding was beyond her. It was so messy, and the guests were going through napkins as though there was no tomorrow.
Daphne wished Lila had given her the shrimp platter instead as she nervously made her way between revelers. She gave the mother of the bride an especially wide berth, since the woman was wearing a pale blue dress that would not go well with barbecue sauce.
The father of the bride waylaid her and helped himself to several. Eat ’em all, she felt like saying. Then I can get rid of this ticking time bomb. She’d barely finished that thought when two kids darted at her from out of nowhere. They were on a collision course and Daphne took a step away to avoid them, which had her backing into the bride’s grandmother.
“Pardon me,” Daphne murmured and turned to avoid getting her with the deadly wings. Sadly, just as she turned, the bride passed by in all her wedding-gown glory. This might not have been a problem except that the bride had been indulging in a lot of champagne and was now weaving like a passenger on the deck of a storm-tossed ship.
Daphne tried to dodge her, but then an equally tipsy bridesmaid laughed at something one of the groomsmen was telling her and took a step back, bumping into Daphne, nudging her right into the bride. There was an “Oomph” and an “Eek,” followed by a wail and a “Look what you’ve done!” and an “I’m so sorry.” And then there were tears. Loud, copious tears. And then…there was Mother.
“Oh, dear,” she said.
“My dress is ruined!” screeched the bride.
“Let’s go to the powder room and see if we can fix this little spot,” Mother suggested.
“Spot” was an understatement. It was more like a stream. No, make that a river, a river of sauce wending its way down the bride’s front.
“I’m so sorry,” Daphne repeated.
“You should be!” spat the bride.
And now here was Mom’s assistant, Lila, with a rag and a small plastic bin, silently cleaning up the mess that had fallen on the floor. Lovely. How many women did it take to clean up a Daphne mess?
“We can fix this,” Mother said again. “We have a wonderful dry cleaner here in town, and of course we’ll pay for the cleaning.”
“That won’t help me now.” The bride looked down at her stained dress and burst into a fresh chorus of wails.
“No, but baking soda will,” Mother said, taking the hysterical bride by the elbow. “Daphne, fetch the bottle of white vinegar and the baking soda,” she commanded and led the bride to the powder room.
Daphne hurried to the kitchen, trying not to cry, Muriel Sterling’s words mocking her with every step. The slate is clean. What gets written on it is up to you. She was a disaster, the backward mirror image of King Midas. Nothing she touched turned to gold. It all turned to poop.
She got the baking soda and the vinegar and a dishcloth and dashed out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with Lila, who was coming in.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Lila said.
“Yeah, well, tell that to my mother.”
“I will,” Lila said firmly.
As if it would do any good.
The bride was still hysterical and threatening to sue when Daphne arrived at the powder room. The mother of the bride was hovering outside, begging her daughter to calm down. Too late for that.
Daphne squeezed inside (three was definitely a crowd in a powder room, especially when one of them was wearing a voluminous gown) and then stood by like a surgical nurse assisting in a delicate operation, handing over cleaning supplies. All the while the patient kept up a tipsy tirade, but Mother had nerves of steel and continued to work.
Finally she said, “I think we’ve got it.” The operation was a success. “Daphne, run upstairs and fetch me the hair dryer.”
Daphne dutifully fetched the hair dryer and watched as her mother blew away most of the stain.
“You did it,” the mother of the bride gushed happily when her daughter finally emerged, and all the guests who’d been hovering nearby applauded.
Roberta Gilbert to the rescue. How embarrassing that the mess had been caused by her very own daughter.
“It could happen to anyone,” she said to Daphne later that night as she and Daphne and Lila unloaded trays of champagne glasses onto the kitchen counter.
“It wasn’t Daphne’s fault,” Lila put in. “The woman ran right into her.”
“I know,” Mother said, patting Daphne’s shoulder. “I saw.”
Vindicated. She wasn’t done writing on that slate, after all.
There was another wedding scheduled for the following weekend, and her mother was actually giving her a second chance and allowing her to help with it. Maybe they could work together. Then someday, when Mother was tired of all this, Daphne could take over. Weddings could become a family tradition. Perhaps that would make up for the fact that a successful marriage didn’t seem to be.
No, she corrected herself, Marnie was breaking that pattern. She was happily married. Marnie was, simply, Daphne’s magnum opus.
* * *
The next Saturday dawned bright and sunny, with blue skies and fat, fleecy clouds floating over the snow-tipped Cascades. A perfect day for a wedding. And this was going to be quite the affair. Not as big a deal as the upcoming wedding for the mayor’s daughter, which would take place in May, but a big one nonetheless. In addition to a cake worthy of a Food Network TV show, the bride had ordered swan-shaped cream puffs from Gingerbread Haus and a full-course dinner that was to be catered by Schwangau, the priciest restaurant in town. She’d spent a fortune on flowers at Lupine Floral and had ordered enough wine and champagne to get the entire town of Icicle Falls snockered. Not content with a DJ, she’d hired a five-piece band. Guests were all receiving small gift boxes of Sweet Dreams chocolates. Everyone was setting up when Cass Wilkes from the bakery arrived with the cake still in layers.
“We don’t have the table quite ready yet,” Daphne told her.
Cass checked the time on her cell phone. “I’ve got to get back to the bakery pretty quick. We’re shorthanded today.”
“Tell you what. Let’s unload it in the kitchen, and Lila and I can put it together,” Daphne said.
Cass looked frankly worried by this suggestion. “I’d better wait.”
“We can manage,” Daphne assured her. She’d seen enough cakes put together in her time, and she’d seen the picture of this particular model. Very traditional, with layers held up by vintage champagne flutes. She and Lila could handle it.
Cass gnawed a corner of her lip. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll be okay,” Daphne promised her. “Anyway, it’s our fault things aren’t ready for you.”
Cass yielded. “All right. Thanks, Daphne.”
“No problem.” And it wouldn’t have been a problem if the lace on Daphne’s tennis shoe hadn’t come undone. Or if she’d even seen that it had come undone. Or if Lila had seen it. But the sneaky lace worked its way loose and dangled under her feet as she bore the top layer of the cake, walking behind Lila, who had the middle layer. They’d already set up the bottom one on the cake table. When they were done, it would rise like a fondant tower from a bower of roses and orchids. It was going to be lovely. They were almost at the table when the wicked shoelace played its joke, tripping Daphne, making her lurch forward. She tried desperately to keep the cake from going down with her, but only succeeded in bumping into Lila. For a moment they did a little dance, both balancing their cakes in the air. The Dance of the Wedding Cake, tra-la, tra-la. And then the dance was over, and the dancers were down on the floor, one of them with her face in the frosting. Filled with horror, Daphne sat up, parting the sea of frosting on her face. The sea parted and there came her mother.
And that blank slate had fresh writing on it. It said You’re toast.