Page 50 of Wisteria Winds
They’d invited their closest friends for dinner—Clara, Dorothy, Morty, and Cecilia, who was visiting from New York for the weekend. Her mother’s health issues before the wedding had led to some significant life changes. She addressed her hypertension and exhaustion, and then Cecilia shocked everyone by cutting back on her academic schedule to establish a telehealth consultancy focused on rural healthcare access. Even more surprising was her decision to split her time between Manhattan and Wisteria Island. She maintained a cottage just down the path from Danielle and Bennett’s home.
“So did you tell anybody why we’re hosting this dinner?” Bennett asked.
“Just that we want to celebrate our six-month anniversary? No one suspects a thing.”
Bennett turned her to face him. “I still can’t believe it. We’re going to be parents. You’re going to be a mom, and I’m going to be a dad, and all these people on the island will be grandparents.”
“Are you terrified?” she asked with a smile.
“Absolutely,” he said, “but happier than I’ve ever been.”
They could hear the sound of animated conversation on the front porch, including Morty’s distinctive boisterous laugh and Dorothy’s smoky voice as they made their way up the path.
“Showtime,” Bennett said, quickly kissing her before opening the front door.
Morty walked in in his typical fashion, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a brightly wrapped package in the other. He wore a vibrant purple and green sweater that somehow complemented his orange bow tie without causing visual distress.
“Happy semi-anniversary to the most beautiful couple on Wisteria Island,” he said, thrusting the bottle in Bennett’s direction. “Six months of wedded bliss deserves proper celebration.”
Dorothy walked in, elegant as always, wearing a silk tunic and wide-legged pants.
“Oh my goodness, he’s been planning this celebration for weeks,” she said to Danielle, rolling her eyes. “Apparently, half-year anniversaries are now mandatory occasions.”
“Well, any reason for a party,” Danielle said, hugging them both.
Clara arrived next and brought a platter of delicate pastries.
“I brought these from Esther,” she said. “She sent her regrets, but couldn’t leave because of the dinner rush.”
“And here comes the distinguished Dr. Wright,” Bennett said as Cecilia walked up the cottage stairs, looking stylish in her pink cashmere sweater and tailored slacks.
Danielle was getting used to seeing her mother in more casual attire. The health scare before the wedding had changed more than just Cecilia’s work schedule. It had softened some of her sharp edges.
“Am I late?” she asked, kissing Danielle’s cheek.
“Right on time,” Bennett said. “We’re just about to open some wine.”
“Oh, none for me, thank you,” Danielle said. “I’m still recovering from a little stomach bug.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t say anything and took her own glass.
Dinner was a lively affair with Morty telling them tales of the island’s latest talent show and talking about how they might want to close down that little section of nude beach. Some people had been traumatized by seeing old Mr. Wisely without his clothes on.
Clara shared news of the spring concert series she was planning for the Whitman Gazebo. And of course, Dorothy gave colorful commentary about recent film club selections that she’d organized for the residents.
“You know, I still think that introducing octogenarians to Fellini was an educational choice,” she said when Morty accused her of traumatizing the film club.
“Gladys had nightmares for a week,” he said. “Next time, maybe we stick with Audrey Hepburn.”
“Coward,” Dorothy said, rolling her eyes.
Cecilia had been quietly observing Danielle throughout the meal.
“You’ve barely touched your food, darling. Is that stomach bug still bothering you?” She put emphasis on the words stomach bug.
All eyes turned to Danielle, who exchanged a quick glance with Bennett. They had hoped to wait until dessert, but her mother had sharp medical instincts. Bennett reached for her hand under the table and gave it a supportive squeeze.
“Actually,” Danielle said, feeling flutters in her stomach that had nothing to do with a baby, “it’s not exactly a bug.” She smiled. “We’re pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”
