Page 88 of Storm in a Teacup
“What about it? Aye, I know. Youdowant me to break out the tartan. I warned you, the kilt may be a little short. Though, since this will be the welcome dinner and not the wedding, that may be warranted.”
The image of him in a kilt flashes across my mind. Me kneeling before him, dipping my head under to—
“Huh? No, no kilt. Uh, I just wanted to say that you don’t have to come. I just need you at the wedding, really.”
He sighs into the phone. I know why. We’ve had this conversation before. And every time he tells me no, he’s happy to come as long as I want him there. Of course, I want him there. It’s just, his end of the deal carries so much more weightthan mine. All he needs me for is a meal with his friends every now and then. To show up at a pub or get a coffee from his café. I’m requiring him to attend all these huge wedding events that scream commitment.
“I’d like to go. Oh, may I please, please go to your cousin’s rehearsal dinner?”
“That makes it sound like you don’t want to go,” I grumble into the phone. I greet the woman behind the counter. “Hi, I have a pickup for Jenkins?”
The woman pivots around to retrieve my order.
“What are you picking up?” Ben asks in my ear.
“Some dessert for tonight. Mel is obsessed with this bakery right off of Princes Street. They don’t do wedding cakes, so her compromise was to have them make something for the rehearsal dinner. The restaurant let the dessert be outsourced, and they agreed to keep it in their kitchen for tonight, so I’m getting it now, taking it over to the restaurant, then heading to the church for the rehearsal part of the rehearsal.”
“Do you want me to meet you at the church or at the restaurant?” Ben asks, but I don’t respond because the bakery worker comes back out, carrying two large boxes of mini carrot cakes.
I carefully take the boxes from her and say, “The bill has been settled already?”
“Huh?” Ben asks.
I ignore him as the woman says, “Yes. You’re all sorted.”
“Thanks!” I call as I push my way out the door using my back, tripping only a little on the slight drop down.
“You’re welcome,” Ben says. “Church or restaurant?”
“What?” I adjust the boxes so I am better balancing them.
He chuckles in my ear. “My god, woman, you are unable to multitask. Shall I meet you at the church after the rehearsalso we can head to the restaurant together, or just at the restaurant?”
“Oh.” If I’m being honest, the church, but if I’m being realistic: “The restaurant is fine.”
“Okay. What color are you wearing?”
I pause at a crosswalk, glancing both ways multiple times before I cross, my dad in my head telling me,Always look twice.
“Purple.”
“Dark or light?”
“Dark. Plum.” I turn the corner, arms already tired. Jeez, I need to work out more, don’t I?
“Ah, yes. I have the perfect tie. See you tonight?”
“Yeah. Later, Benny.”
Ben hangs up, so the music I had playing before resumes in my ears. It’s too loud, distracting me, but I don’t have a hand to grab my phone to turn the volume down. At the next crosswalk, I stop, balancing the desserts in a precarious way that Mel would murder me for, to remove one of the headphones and slip it into my purse. Now, with only one playing music, I feel like I can see again.
I get to the restaurant and ring the bell because the door is locked in anticipation of the private event tonight. A man in a black and white uniform opens the door and says, “You must be the lass with the pudding.”
“I am indeed,” I say, stepping into the restaurant through the door he holds open for me.
I take small, cautious steps, blinking a few times as my eyes take their time adjusting to the change in light level.
“I’ll take these,” the man says, lifting the desserts from my arms. “We’re to keep them in the fridge?”
