Smart Girls Think Twice (10 page)

The first few times someone told her she was the “spinster sister now,” Emma laughed politely and took the personal jabs like a big girl. But by the time the twentieth person said it, she was no longer even pretending to be amused. Instead she had her academic face on.

Not that anyone noticed.

So she delivered a stern lecture to herself. She was good at lectures.
This is your sisters’

day. A celebration. You’re supposed to be having a good time. And if you can’t manage
that, you’re supposed to look like you’re having a good time. That’s your job as part of the
bridal party. That and wearing whatever stupid dress the bride picks for you. You’re not
supposed to complain about it.

You’re not supposed to wish you were somewhere else.

She could be a team player. She
would
be, no more excuses. No whining. Even to herself.

After delivering that final stern self-reprimand, Emma returned her attention to the bridal shower. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, without any major faux pas. No sign of naked firemen or naked males of any sort. The party was actually quite nice.

The conversation thankfully slowed while everyone sat down to eat their luncheon, which was served buffet style.

“Isn’t this a lovely shower?” her mom, who was seated beside her and wearing a flowing pink gown, leaned over to say.

Emma nodded.

“Unlike that hovel you’re living in.”

“It’s not a hovel. It’s a studio apartment. Didn’t Dad tell you he checked it out for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Mom, I know you sent Dad over.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Are you saying you didn’t send him?” Emma countered.

“I’m your mother. It’s only natural that I worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t. You’ve got enough on your plate with the weddings.”

“The weddings and the—” Her mom made a motion with her hand that Emma translated as

“the fact that both your sisters are pregnant before they walk down the aisle.”

Emma quickly put her hand over her mom’s to indicate that she got the message and there was no need to speak the words aloud. “All good news. An abundance of good news.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid that Sue Ellen’s . . . abundance . . . may be showing.”

Emma frowned. “Why? Has anyone said anything to you?”

“They don’t have to. I can read their minds.”

Emma doubted that. Her mom didn’t have a very good track record in that department. The most recent example had come just yesterday when Maxie read the mind of the clerk at Gas4Less and thought she knew the winning lottery numbers for that day.

“And before you say anything,” Maxie continued, “my only mistake yesterday was in thinking the clerk knew the winning numbers. Had I been thinking straight, I’d have realized she couldn’t have that information. See, I just read your mind, right?” Maxie paused only long enough to take a quick breath before barreling on. “Honey, I wish you’d let your sisters give you a makeover.

They could make you look prettier than you are. Face it, you’ve only got a few good years left.

Once you reach a certain age your chances of getting married are slim to none.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get married.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you want to get married.”

“Isn’t it about time to start opening the gifts?” Emma looked around for an escape route.

“And frowning like that is just going to give you wrinkles.”

Her mother was going to give her wrinkles—and an ulcer. Emma took another bite of her tiramisu dessert.

“If you eat too much, you’re not going to fit into your bridesmaid dresses,” Maxie said.

Which would be a blessing in disguise as far as Emma was concerned. She vehemently speared the dainty tiramisu, her fork hitting the dish so loudly that it seemed to echo around the lobby.

“If you don’t want your sisters doing your hair, I could do it for you.”

Maxie had experimented on all her daughters while they were growing up—giving them permanents, highlights, lowlights, haircuts. It was amazing that any of them had any hair left after all the chemicals their mom had poured on their heads.

Her mother’s favorite customers when she’d been a hair-stylist had been the over-fifty-five crowd.

She’d once tried to bring in a younger crowd by giving Emma a mohawk the summer she turned eleven.

“I don’t need you doing my hair, thank you very much,” Emma said.

“But it’s so flat.”

Emma didn’t even realize she’d raised her fork into a defensive move until her mom eyed it uneasily.

“Okay, okay.” Maxie lifted her hands in the universal sign of surrender. “You don’t want me making you beautiful. I can take a hint. I just thought you might want to look good for that handsome man escorting you to the weddings.”

“I’m sure it must be time to open presents by now.” Emma jumped from her chair and headed for

the two brides-to-be. “We’re opening presents now.”

“Great idea.” Sue Ellen practically clapped in anticipation.

“You have the lists?” Leena asked Emma.

“In my purse.” Emma retrieved them. Leena, being the uberorganized one in the family, had done up a list of guests for both herself and Sue Ellen. All Emma had to do was enter the gift beside the name so her sisters could send thank-you notes stating what they’d received and personalizing their comments.

“Open mine first,” Maxie shouted. “They’re right in front on the gift table. The two beautifully wrapped ones with the pink bows. Wait. Before you do that, I want to propose a quick toast.” She lifted her glass of wine. “To my daughters—may happiness slap you across the face and may all your tears be those of joy.”

Sue Ellen looked as though she was on the verge of tears as she drank her sparkling grape juice, so Emma distracted her by shoving a large present in her lap. “Here. This is from Mom and Dad.”

Emma handed a matching present to Leena. “Ditto.”

Their parents had gotten them each a nifty food processor as well as a tiered cupcake stand.

Emma handed her sisters another pair of presents. They eagerly ripped open the wrapping paper to find . . . a deviled-egg serving dish with ugly red chickens painted on them.

Emma made the notation beside the proper name.

And next came . . . another deviled-egg dish and more ugly chickens.

Leena smiled and beckoned Emma closer to whisper, “I registered online with Macy’s bridal registry and there were no deviled-egg dishes on my list.”

“I saw these at the dollar store,” Sue Ellen leaned close to whisper.

“Who buys shower gifts at a dollar store?” Leena muttered.

Emma consulted her list. “Aunt Martha and Cousin Addie apparently.”

“What did you get?” Maxie called out.

“Another deviled-egg dish,” Emma replied.

“You can never have too many deviled-egg dishes,” Aunt Martha said.

Which made Emma wonder how many more were hidden on the gift table. By the time all the presents were opened, they ended up with four sets each. All from family members.

Maxie was not pleased.

“Your father’s side of the family.” Maxie sniffed in disapproval. “My sister in Minneapolis sent you each the deluxe cappuccino machine from your lists, and she wasn’t even coming to the bridal shower. And Cole and Donny’s family all got you nice things as well. Those penny-pinching Rileys. Did I ever tell you what they got me for my bridal shower?”

“Many times,” Emma and her sisters said in unison.

That didn’t stop Maxie from continuing. “A Veg-O-Matic and a pair of rooster salt and pepper shakers. It wasn’t even a real as-seen-on-TV Veg-O-Matic. It was a knockoff.”

“Ladies, if I could have your attention please,” Skye called out. “The entertainment has finally arrived.”

She opened the door to the theater seating area to reveal two bare-chested men wearing firemen helmets and pants.

“Oh my stars!” Aunt Martha said. “Where’s the fire?”

Chapter Seven

“
Is
it just me or is it hot in here?” Skye said with a wicked grin.

Rip.
Off came the firefighter pants, revealing black skintight bicycle shorts.

“Let’s get this party started! Enjoy the show!” Skye stepped aside.

“Holy Toledo!” Aunt Martha pumped her fist in the air. “Take it all off, fellas!”

Emma took one look at her mother’s astonished face before turning to see Leena’s dismayed expression. Then Emma was distracted by the nearly naked fireman who stood right in front of her and shimmied his hips.

“Hey, bring those six-pack abs over here,” Sue Ellen shouted. “I’m the bride-to-be, not her.”

Emma gulped with relief as the guy obligingly turned his attentions to Sue Ellen. Then Emma’s academic side came out. She’d never actually seen a male stripper before. He had a very nice body.

Both men did. And they were good dancers, moving to the sound of Justin Timberlake’s

“SexyBack.” But they were overly muscular in a beefcake sort of way that didn’t really appeal to her on a personal or sexual level. Not like Jake’s body.

They didn’t make her feel the way Jake made her feel. Emma could admire the guys the way she’d admire a Greek statue, but they didn’t ignite her inner fire. Until she imagined Jake standing before her, thrusting his hips at her. Whoa! Emma’s response was instantaneous and intense. The aching yearning within her vagina had her crossing her legs tightly.

She had to get out of there before she had an orgasm or something. But her knees were too weak to support her just yet. By the time the men yanked off their cycling shorts, revealing a tiny thong, Emma was ready to douse herself with an entire pitcher of ice water. And all because of Jake, who wasn’t even in the building.

Emma made her escape after their performance was over, slipping away from the lobby into the theater itself where she heard the muffled sound of someone crying. Once Emma got closer, she recognized Lulu Malick, one of her sister’s bridesmaids. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?”

She looked like a mom’s worst nightmare. Her thick mascara was obviously not waterproof since it ran down her cheeks and neck to the leather dog collar around her throat. Her dyed black hair was tumbling out of one of her pigtails, and a pair of silver skeleton earrings dangled as she scrubbed the tears away, further messing up her makeup. An intricate cobweb tattoo was visible above the collar of her white shirt, tucked into a plaid skirt atop white leggings. She wore a pair of biker boots with chains. Emma had seen similar attire on a few of her more edgy students.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Emma turned to leave.

“No, stay.” Lulu yanked her into the empty red velvet theater seat beside her. “You’re the smart sister, right?”

“I, uh . . .” Emma stuttered. She should be glad Lulu wasn’t calling her the spinster sister.

“Don’t be modest. You’re some kind of professor, right? A psychologist?”

“A sociologist.”

“Close enough. What would you think about a mother who abandoned her kid and then years later shows up out of the blue?”

“Is that what happened to you?”

Lulu nodded. “She showed up at my grandfather’s trailer two weeks ago. No warning, nothing.

My grandfather raised me. He lives in the Broken Creek Trailer Park. His name is Jerry.

You might have seen him around town. He has a lot of tats, tattoos. Rides a Harley.”

Emma nodded. She had seen him.

“I’m living in Skye’s old apartment above the theater here,” Lulu said. “I’ve turned one of the bedrooms into a studio for my work. I’m creating a graphic novel. Not that that has anything to do with my mother. I shouldn’t even call her that. She hasn’t been a mother to me. I don’t even know why she bothered coming back here after all this time.”

“Did you ask her?”

“No. I don’t want to know.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know.” Lulu scrubbed away a fresh set of tears.

“Have you talked to Skye about this?”

“No. Skye would just tell me to kick some butt.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “She would?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to say anything and ruin the bridal shower for everyone. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I don’t do crying,” she said fiercely. “Ask anyone.

They’ll tell you that I don’t do crying. Ever. Do I look like someone who cries?”

“No.”

“Damn right.” Lulu wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Crying is for wimps.”

“Not necessarily. Crying can be a release for a build up of stress. It’s the body’s way of coping.”

“Did they teach you that in medical school?”

“I didn’t go to medical school. I’m a sociologist.”

“Well, I never went to college, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Right.”

“You’re just saying that to be polite. You look like the type to be polite. Like Skye’s polite librarian sister, Julia. You’re a lot like her.”

“Is she here at the shower?”

“No, she and Luke are on vacation with their daughter. Julia is a good mom. Unlike mine.

My grandfather is the best, though. He used to be an electrician before he retired. He’s always been there for me. He was my real parent, not her. And that’s the bottom line here.

It doesn’t matter why she came back. Facts are facts. And the fact is that my grandfather is the one who deserves my loyalty and love. Not her. I don’t owe her anything. It’s so clear to me now. Thank you so much.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

Lulu laughed. “Now you’re being modest. You probably learned that listening technique in college, huh? Letting me figure things out for myself. That was wicked awesome. I’m totally impressed.”

“No, really I didn’t do anything.”

“Understood. That’s what you’re supposed to say. Got it. No worries. I’m not really into hugs, but if I was, I’d give you one.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’ve got to go put my warrior face back on. I’m not one of those emos who are always crying. I just want to make that clear.”

“Understood.” Emma’s experience on the small campus where she taught hadn’t put her into contact with many emos, but she’d heard the term before, referring to a life-style revolving around a certain type of music, clothes, and hairstyles.