The Fortune Cafe (13 page)

This would be so much nicer if Blake’s parents hadn’t come. Guilt churned her stomach for a second. The Seftons had decided to fly in for the venue walkthrough when they heard Lucy parents were driving up from LA. It was good they were taking an active interest, even if Lucy’s dad looked like he wanted to choke Calvin Sefton every time he voiced an opinion. And Calvin had a lot of them, from how liberals were killing America, to how the sky was the wrong shade of blue in Seashell Beach. Seriously.

It’s just wedding stress,
she reminded herself. The Seftons would be different when the wedding was done. They all just had to get through it, and they’d settle down to a good groove with each other. Right now, the best policy was overlooking their... quirks and surviving the weekend without any drama. She smiled at the server, faking enough of her famous perkiness to set the waitress at ease. “No problem. Accidents happen.”

The other girl’s expression relaxed a fraction. “Let me get you guys to a table.” She scooped up an armful of menus and led them to a table with an ocean view. Lucy thought she heard Blake’s mom, Deborah, say something about “low rent” places, but Lucy took a deep breath and kept walking, glad her parents weren’t close enough to hear the unfair comment.

The Fortune Café wasn’t a Michelin-starred bistro with menu items she couldn’t pronounce, much less pick out of a lineup. But the café wasn’t trying to be that kind of restaurant. It was a sweet little place with an eclectic blend of beach chic and clean Asian lines that appealed to her need for order. The reviews had been outstanding, and she didn’t feel like letting Deborah’s snobbery ruin it for her.

Her stomach churned again. More guilt. Deborah was used to a high standard of living and always getting her way, but she’d had to make a lot of compromises for this wedding, namely not having any control over it. If Deborah indulged in some passive-aggressive remarks here and there— or even about every single thing they’d done so far that morning— Lucy would overlook it.

Blake had begged Lucy to let his mom do more, but as much as Lucy wanted to please her future mother-in-law, she couldn’t let go of the reins of the most important event in her life. She spent all her time making other peoples’ visions a reality in the opulent ballrooms of the San Francisco Duchess hotel as their staff event planner; there was no way she could give up control of her own wedding day and trust someone else to make her dream come true.

The waitress set their menus on the table. “My name is Emma, and I’ll be right back with some ice water and hot tea while you look over our wine selection. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

The Seftons ignored Emma, but Lucy’s parents assured her that water and tea would be fine.

Two minutes of quiet followed as everyone looked at the drink menu or their phones and tried to avoid conversation. So few of them had gone well today that Lucy couldn’t blame them, but it was a loud silence. She rubbed her lucky jade pendant, hoping for some miracle that would allow her parents and her future in laws to find common ground. If they didn’t, the next couple decades could get sticky. Crap.

She wished she could go back out and breathe the ocean air for a minute. Apparently, fresh air for her was wherever everyone else was not.

Emma returned with a tray of ice waters and a hot kettle. The shuffle of everyone moving tableware around to accommodate the water glasses made the silence less painful. Deborah didn’t even complain that the tea wasn’t whatever brand she normally overpaid for at Teavana. Lucy patted the jade.

Emma rattled off the day’s specials— both local fish— describing them so well Lucy had no idea how she was going to decide.

“This all looks good,” Lucy’s mom said when Emma left with a promise to return soon for their orders. Lucy appreciated the effort since her mom preferred Mexican food to Chinese.

“How does the song go? Try some of column A, try all of column B,” her dad joked.

“Do they really have columns?” Deborah asked. Her mouth pinched as if she’d already tasted something bad as she picked up the menu to investigate.

“No, not really,” her dad said, and it sounded an awful lot like he’d ground the words out through gritted teeth.

“I wish they did,” Blake said. If only he’d interrupted to smooth the waters. But no. “This is all that pretentious fusion crap that you can’t get away from in San Francisco.”

“Damn straight,” Calvin Sefton added. “None of these new ‘chefs’ are much more than cooks with ADD, and no one to tell them when an idea is bad. No one trains in the classic French tradition anymore. This place needs a Hubert Keller.”

Lucy refrained from pointing out that a French chef doing Chinese food would definitely be considered fusion.

“I don’t think that’s what they’re going for,” her mom said, keeping her tone conversational. “And I see all my favorites here— mu shu, cashew chicken, beef, and broccoli.”

None of those were her favorites, but Lucy appreciated her mother’s efforts to calm the Seftons. Blake didn’t.

“If you’re going to make beef and broccoli, just make it. Why do you have to tell me it’s actually handpicked broccolini harvested by little Enrique in the exotic fields of Santa Maria, who raised it from a seedling and cried when he plucked it from Mother Earth?”

Calvin barked out a laugh and slapped his son on the back. There was a flash of the humor that had drawn Lucy to Blake when he’d attended one of the swanky events hosted by his firm at the Duchess. But she didn’t like the edge in his voice now. His sarcasm had outweighed his real jokes more and more lately.

She drew a deep breath. “It’s got great word of mouth. I’m sure the lunch will be fine, and then we can spend the afternoon tackling the flower situation while the men golf.”

The look on her dad’s face almost made her laugh. It’s how Yancey, her parents’ beagle, might have looked when he had to get past Fluffers, the family cat, to reach his favorite chew toy. Her dad loved to golf, but the price of Calvin’s company might be too high to pay for the opportunity.

The instinct to laugh faded. She’d wanted this weekend to be perfect since perfection was her niche, and she was having a hard time adjusting to the potholes they kept hitting.

It had started the moment the Seftons had climbed out of their huge Mercedes under the portico at the Mariposa Hotel. Blake had called to let them know they were pulling in, and she’d rushed down to meet the car, excited to begin showing them around. She’d been so sure Deborah would overcome some of her misgivings about the location once she saw it. She was wrong.

Lucy had dreamed about her perfect wedding since she was little, but Deborah had been dreaming even longer about the perfect wedding for Blake. And Deborah wanted a glamorous wine country setting, not a quiet, out of the way beach.

The complaints had started the second her foot had touched the concrete, always phrased so passive-aggressively that it was almost an art form. “Good morning, Lucy. Well, I’m sure your guests won’t mind that there’s no valet service here.”

A valet hovered in the background, in fact. But Lucy had been so anxious to welcome them that she’d rushed forward to open Deborah’s door herself. That was only the beginning. When they’d walked down to the small cove where the ceremony would be held, Deborah had kept her Tory Burch pumps on even after Lucy had offered to wait while she switched to sandals. Calvin had snorted, like the idea of owning sandals was ridiculous, and Lucy bit her tongue as she thought of her father’s well-worn flip-flop collection.

Down on the beach when Deborah finally had to sit on a rock to dump the sand out, she’d watched it trickle out in a thin stream and said, “Sand has its own... charm.”

Her mom had tried to run interference for Lucy all day. After the sand comment, she’d squeezed Lucy and turned her to face the ocean. “This is spectacular, and the only thing that could be more breathtaking is you standing in front of it in your wedding gown.”

Even her mom was worn down by now. Lucy hoped the food would come quickly because it would be a miracle if a fight didn’t break out over the ordering. “Blake, sweetie? Did you see the mu shu pork? Maybe they could put that in lettuce, and it will be like those lettuce wraps you like at the one place in Chinatown.”

He set his menu down to stare at her, disbelief on his face. “Nothing in this place is going to be like anything in Chinatown.”

“Which is fine,” Her dad said, his voice daring anyone to argue. “Is there anything you think you can tolerate on this menu, Blake? Maybe you should spend some quiet time studying it until you find it.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Calvin said, for once picking up on the mood.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Blake said, looking down at the menu. His tone was even, but the skin along his cheekbones had reddened, and Lucy’s stomach clenched. Navigating this whole lunch was like steering the
Titanic,
knowing full well there was no way to get the ship off the iceberg that’s sinking it.

Emma reappeared, and Lucy wanted to kiss her for the distraction. “You guys ready to order?”

“I suppose,” Deborah said with zero enthusiasm.

“I’ll have the lemongrass chicken,” Lucy said. “It sounds good.”

“It is,” Emma said, her smile looking slightly forced in the face of Deborah’s coolness. “It’s a twist on the fried and breaded dish you’ll find in most Chinese restaurants.”

“Is this even a Chinese restaurant?” Blake asked.

“Fortune Café is... it is what it wants to be, I guess. And that’s mostly Chinese food and whatever else sounds good,” Emma said, her real smile back.

The rest of the table ordered without incident, although the Seftons sounded like they were requesting root canals.

Lucy wanted to keep Emma there forever so everyone would behave. The unofficial truce at the table was a bubble in her hand, ready to burst with one wrong move. But Emma left despite Lucy’s telepathic begging, and she caught a look of relief on the waitress’s face as she fled for the kitchen. Lucy couldn’t blame her. She was surrounded by people she either loved or was supposed to love, and she couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong.

She’d been drawing on her deepest reserves— the ones she had to rely on when she faced particularly difficult corporate customers at the Duchess— to navigate all the wedding logistics with her in-laws. It was hard enough pretending not to recognize Deborah’s passive-aggressive comments, but Blake’s mood had deteriorated as the day wore on. Instead of feeling like they were a team, Lucy had to spend more and more energy managing him.

And they still had a meal dinner to get through. She’d expected wedding planning to be stressful, yes, but wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of underlying joy?

“Excuse me. I left something in the car. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, glad she’d insisted on driving separately from the Seftons. She didn’t even care that it was an excuse as thin as a mu shu pancake; she needed a couple of minutes to compose herself before dealing anymore with Deborah’s lemon face.

She reached her car and leaned against it, trying to sort out her head. She felt swampy, just a glob of sticky, unpleasant feelings, mainly toward Blake. This would have been a rough enough day if it was his first time acting like this, but it wasn’t. Over the last couple of months this surly version of him showed up way more than the high-energy funny guy she’d fallen in love with the year before.

She’d seen this happen with some of her friends: wedding stress put everyone on edge, then the big day happened, it was beautiful, and everything settled back to normal. But she didn’t remember any of her friends’ fiancés staying in a permanent bad mood the way Blake was. Several times she’d gotten so tired of it she’d had to fight the urge to get up and walk out of whatever space they were sharing— his space or her space. The restaurant table with their parents, apparently. Shame she’d lost that fight.

She took a few deep breaths and focused on the objective for the rest of the afternoon: ignore Deborah’s barbs, be patient with Blake’s mood, and keep her dad from blowing up.

She rested her head on her arms on top of the car, glad she couldn’t be seen from their table inside. She stayed that way for a minute or two, surprised that it helped to be still and quiet. The soft scuff of shoes on concrete sounded, and she looked up at her mom approaching, the worry her mom had been trying to hide all day written all over her face.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” she asked, once again resting her hand on Lucy’s back.

“I am,” Lucy said. “I promise.”

“This is not how you act when you’re doing okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lucy sighed and turned to face her mother. “I’m sorry they’re being kind of rotten. Deborah’s still not over the location, and Calvin is... Calvin.”

“And Blake?” Her mom said it carefully, the way someone might offer a breath mint to someone who needs it while trying not offend them.

“Blake,” Lucy repeated, sagging against the car. “Blake is overwhelmed.”

Her mom stepped closer and rubbed Lucy’s upper arms like she had when Lucy had needed comforting after some kid trauma. “Is it the wedding planning? Or the wedding?”

Lucy shut her eyes as the words bounced around her head.
Is it the wedding? Is it the wedding? Is it the wedding?
Her mom had given voice to a fear that had been dogging Lucy for almost a month. What if this didn’t get better after the wedding? And even scarier, why was it stressing him out so much? She was handling all of the details, so why was he getting more wound up the closer it got? She couldn’t run away from the question with her mother asking it to her face.

“He’s not like this, Mom. You saw how he was last summer.” They’d been dating almost six months when Blake had told her he thought it was time for them to meet each other’s families. They’d spent the Fourth of July with her parents in LA, oohing and aahing as the fireworks exploded over their neighborhood park and laughing around nightly meals of grilled carne asada from their favorite
carniceria
.

“Honey, I don’t want you to think we don’t like Blake. We do. I’m not comfortable with what we’re seeing today, but we trust you. If this is what you want, I have no doubt you’re making the right decision. I guess I’m just asking if you’re sure.”