Page 31 of Wisteria Winds
“Not exactly,” Danielle took in a deep breath. “Bennett and I want children. Not right away, but soon.”
For a moment, Cecilia sat there perfectly still, and then her face transformed with such joy that Danielle was stunned.
“Grandchildren,” she whispered, as if she was testing out the word against her tongue. “Oh, Danielle.”
“So you’re happy about this?”
“Darling, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” Cecilia said, clapping her hands together.
“I guess I thought you might worry about my career. Or being isolated on the island.”
“Family comes first,” Cecilia said firmly. “It always has, or at least, it always should have, even when I wasn’t good at showing it. And as for isolation, well, I’ll simply have to visit more often, won’t I? Maybe when my hair starts to go gray, I’ll get a little cottage on Wisteria Island myself. And I need to introduce the children to the finer things in life, like a proper ballet and museum exhibitions.”
Danielle laughed, trying to imagine her mother living on Wisteria Island. “You’re never going to let your hair go gray. But I’d love for you to be around. I want my kids to know their grandmother.”
“And I should know them.” Cecilia’s eyes grew distant. “Your father would have been a wonderful grandfather. Despite what happened with our marriage, he always had more patience than I did.”
As their lunch continued, Cecilia shared stories about Danielle’s father that she’d never heard—his terrible cooking attempts, his love of jazz clubs, the time he got them lost in rural France because he refused to ask for directions.
Danielle felt a new connection forming with her mother and her late father, and it felt good.
When they parted ways outside the restaurant, Cecilia hugged her daughter tightly. “I’ll see you back on the island in a few days. Can you please try to keep Morty from adding disco balls to the gazebo before I return?”
Danielle laughed. “No promises.”
Morty was in crisis mode. Complete, utter, unmitigated crisis mode.
“Oh my goodness, it’s a disaster,” he moaned, pacing Dorothy’s living room while wringing his hands dramatically. “It’s a complete and total catastrophe.”
Dorothy lounged elegantly on her chaise, removed her sunglasses, and looked at him with a pointed stare.
“Darling, unless someone has died or the island is sinking into the ocean, I suggest you dial back the theatrics. You’re giving me a migraine,” she said, rubbing her temples.
“The wedding flowers!” Morty wailed. “The supplier just called. They can’t get the exact orchid variety we ordered, the one that Cecilia was adamant about. Something about a tropical storm devastating a greenhouse,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “They’ve offered substitutions, but they simply won’t be the same!”
Dorothy sighed. “Is that all? For heaven’s sake, Morty, I thought something truly terrible had happened.”
“This is truly terrible. The cascading orchids are the centerpiece of our gazebo design. You know, Cecilia specifically only approved that particular shade of blush.”
“Cecilia is a rational, educated woman who will understand that acts of God and nature are beyond our control,” Dorothy said calmly. “Now sit down before you wear a hole in my prized Persian rug.”
Morty collapsed onto the sofa. “Everything that was going to be so perfect is gone. I’ll be the laughingstock of Wisteria Island if I can’t pull this thing off without a hitch.”
Dorothy studied her friend. “You know what your problem is, Morty? You’ve lost perspective. This wedding isn’t about the perfect flowers or certain color schemes. It’s about our Danielle and Bennett declaring their undying love for each other.”
“But…”
“No buts. They would marry in a thunderstorm wearing potato sacks if that were their only option. These details only matter to us, not to them.”
Morty’s shoulders slumped. “I just wanted everything to be perfect. They deserve it after everything they’ve done for us. They should have the most perfect day.”
“Oh, my dear, perfect doesn’t exist. Not even in Hollywood. Believe me, I’ve seen enough movie magic to know everything’s smoke and mirrors.” She stood up and sat down beside him. “But you know what does exist? Love. Community. Joy. And this wedding will have those in abundance. Orchids or no orchids.”
“I suppose,” Morty conceded.
“Besides,” Dorothy said, smiling, “I happen to know that Clara’s cousin manages the botanical garden near Charleston. It has a renowned orchid collection. One call from me could persuade him to part with a few specimens for a worthy cause.”
Morty’s head snapped toward her. “Really? You would do that?”
