Heavens to Betsy (35 page)

I try to ignore the stab of disappointment in my midsection. Probably a lot of guys have help buying their girlfriend an engagement ring. I just wish David’s ring consultant hadn’t been a twenty-year-old administrative assistant who thinks pink ice is the height of fashion.

“Please thank Veronica for me,” I say to Angela, but what I really mean is, “A pox upon her and her unborn children.”

Okay, that’s probably a bit harsh, but I’m a little too overwhelmed at the moment to be a model of graciousness. I was expecting dinner for two, not a party of forty.

I see nothing of David for the next hour. Well, that’s not strictly true. Since he’s quite tall, I can see his head across the room. I’d hoped to spend a good portion of the evening in his arms. Instead, I’m spending it in the arms of the parishioners from his church (St. Helga’s Lutheran) and mine (Church of the Shepherd). I had hoped to spend the evening enveloped in the combined scent of David’s cologne and shrimp enchiladas. Instead, I’m surrounded by the smells of talcum powder (elderly church ladies) and Opium (David’s mother, who buys it in bulk to save money). The closest I get to shrimp enchiladas are a few tortilla chips with some green tomatilla sauce. By the time I’ve received everyone’s well wishes, I’m famished, my feet hurt, and my mother’s driving me up a tree.

“A June wedding will be pushing it,” my mom says to Angela, “but I believe it can be done.”

“Look, Mom, this is all fairly sudden—”

“It’s March, but I don’t think it’s hopeless,” my mom continues, undaunted. “Betsy should have a little pull when it comes to booking the church.” For the first time since I announced my intention to become a minister, my mother seems pleased with my decision. At long last, my profession has its use.

“Maybe we should all take a deep breath—” I don’t get any further with that appeal than I did with the one before.

“Definitely June,” Angela says. “My copy for the feature article will be due July 1, so we’ll still be cutting it close. But that’s the only way to make it into the December issue.”

December issue? “Won’t a summer wedding look strange in a winter issue of the magazine?”

Angela looks at me as if I’ve sprouted two heads. “Oh no, dear. It will be a Christmas wedding. We already have the theme: ‘Low-Cost Winter Wonderland.’” She flashes her enormous smile—which is rather scary because of the gleaming porcelain veneers on her two front teeth—and brays a long laugh. “Isn’t that great?”

“Great,” I lie through my teeth and frantically look around for David. This is his mother;
he can
be the one to get us out of this mess.

But David’s having his ear bent, twisted, and mangled by Obadiah Grant, the resident curmudgeon in his congregation. Obadiah doesn’t look as if he’s going to let up anytime soon. David’s church is in the process of rebuilding the sanctuary after last year’s tornado, and Obadiah has been making David’s life miserable with his demands. Across the room of party-goers, our eyes meet, and I instantly feel calmer. Of course, he’s not going to let his mother hijack our wedding, just as I’m not going to let mine use it as an occasion for vigorous
social climbing. After all, we’re the bride and groom. We’re in charge. Everyone will calm down once the newness of our engagement has worn off.

“Regular trips to Goodwill,” Angela is advising me, I discover, when I tune her back in. “Twice a week at least.”

“Goodwill?” I echo, confused.

“Of course. You have to be in the right place at the right time. Because somewhere out there right now is a bride who’s about to be jilted. She’ll want to get rid of the dress. You have to be ready to pounce.”

Ready to pounce? Doubtful. Ready to flee into the night? Absolutely.

In my wildest dreams, I’d never have dreamed my first date with David would turn into a wedding nightmare.

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