'Til Grits Do Us Part (36 page)

“I'm so sorry.” She looked up at me with sympathetic eyes. “You don't deserve all this. It's your weddin'! You oughtta be havin' fun.”

“I am having fun.” I hugged her. “And I'm not giving up yet. But I thought you should know.”

“Well then.” She managed a grin. “Let's shop.”

We sorted through racks of lace and satin, nodding and shaking our heads. Then Becky herded me over to the fitting area, arms full of snazzy gowns with a million buttons, bows, layers, and frills I'd never wear—thanks to the minimal Japanese “less-is-more” mentality that had warped me forever. Pamela helped Becky hang all the gowns on a shiny rack and unlocked an enormous mirrored fitting room for me then left us in polite privacy.

“You're going to have to help me,” I warned, looking at the complicated buttons on the first dress. Even the hook-and-eye undergarments and fluffy crinoline slip freaked me out a little. “And I'm not coming out of here looking like a Las Vegas showgirl.” I glared at a sequin-studded number.

“Well, of course I'm gonna help ya. Shoot, I couldn't even bend over an' put on my own shoes in mine!”

Becky kept her back politely turned while I put on the undergarments and slip. She hooked up the back and helped me wiggle into the first dress—a traditional thing with big, puffy sleeves and lace appliqué. An intricate lace train that would probably reach from the dress shop to The Green Tree restaurant.

“I don't like it,” I said as Becky started on the first of about half a million tiny buttons up the back. “You'd need to tease my hair because I look like I'm on some cheesy daytime soap.”

Becky grinned. “Actually, ya kinda do.” She yanked me back in place. “Now hold still. 'Cause it ain't done yet.”

I made a face and turned back to the mirror and caught a startling glimpse of myself in a
wedding dress
. My dark brown hair, my multicolored hazel eyes, and a cloud of white. Becky's face behind me, serious with concentration.

“Ya got a honeymoon place picked out?” She glanced up at me with a knowing smile.

I heard two other girls in the fitting rooms next to us, so I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Kind of.”

“What's kind of?”

“Well, Adam's looking at a cabin in the mountains.” We hadn't discussed it with anyone, but I trusted Becky with every detail of my life. “I'm not a nature girl, but he said it's really nice. A fireplace and whirlpool bath and a loft. We wanted to stay a week, but…” I broke off, picking at a seam on the skirt.

“But what?”

“I think we'll downgrade to two or three nights.”

“Money?”

“Yeah. But it's okay. It'll be nice anyway.” I shook my finger at her. “And don't give us any more, hear me? I found that check you left in my car.”

“Aw, that. Shucks.” Becky looked embarrassed. “Ain't nothin'. Wish it could be more.” She fluffed the skirt. “There. Whaddaya think?”

I raised an eyebrow, turning sideways in the mirror. “I don't think so. Sorry.”

Becky studied my reflection a minute. “Yeah. Mebbe you're right. It's kinda bulky on ya, anyhow. G'won an' take it off, and I'll git the next one.”

I waited for Becky to release me from button prison and stepped carefully out of the dress. I helped Becky drape it on the hanger then waited obediently while she grabbed the next one.

“You're kidding. That?” I balked, foot halfway into the opening. “It's got stripes across it.”

“Yeah. They're real fashionable. Y'oughtta know that, Yankee!”

“It looks like surgical gauze. And fashion is a complicated thing.” I let Becky zip me up and straighten the skirt. “So where did you and Tim go on your honeymoon?”

“Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Stayed in a cabin part a the time an' in a nice hotel the rest. Mom 'n' Pop helped out a bunch, so it was way nicer than we coulda done on our own. Went ta Dollywood, all that stuff.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows, hitching up the back of my strapless bodice. “But we didn't do as much shoppin' as I'd thought!”

I coughed and tried to change the subject.

“A good honeymoon's real special, Shah-loh,” she said, as if letting me in on a secret. “One a the best mem'ries of yer life.”

I gulped. “I'm sure it is.”

“My friend got some cheap deal package on the coast, but it turned out to be a dump. Dirty, nasty. Full a roaches an' further away from the beach than Kansas! Had a horrible time.”

My eyes bugged out, remembering the pages I'd printed off on the Internet. “What was the deal called?”

“I don't know. Somethin' Sun Package at Virginia Beach. Big rip-off.”

“Morning Sun?”

“Yeah, that sounds right. Somethin' ya gotta sign up for real quick. The pics on the Internet look snazzy, but they found somebody's hairs in the bed 'n' toenails on the bathroom floor.”

The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, imagining what else the “morning sun” might have turned up if I'd had my way.

“But at least Tim's and mine was fine. I'm jest thankful to God for that, 'cause I'd been plannin' my honeymoon since I was a kid.” Becky poked me in the back, making my ticklish nerves contort.

“Really.” I shook my head at the dress in the mirror, hoping Becky would change the subject. “I think Ashley's right. I don't look so good in strapless.”

Becky twisted her mouth to the side. “Mebbe she's right. Your shoulders are kinda small and so are…yeah. Spaghetti straps might suit ya better.” She sighed, flipping through the rack. “But jest about all of 'em's strapless. Guess that's what people wear.”

“People who have shoulders.”

“Well. Yeah. And a little more…hmm.” Becky pulled at the zipper. “Don't worry. We'll find somethin' jest right for ya. Anyway, like we was talkin' about before. It's always a plus to marry a man who's a real romantic—and a real good kisser.” She laughed and hung up the dress. “So whaddaya think?”

“About the dress? Definitely no. I felt like The Mummy's Bride.”

“About Adam.” Becky rolled her eyes. “Is he a perty good kisser? 'Cause Tim sure is. Gracious!”

I smoothed the puffy skirt of the next dress, which shimmered with layers of soft ruffles and tiny crystals. And tried not to think of mullet-ed Tim kissing anybody—or the burping contests he held with Todd. I felt heat rising not just to my cheeks, but creeping up all the way to my hairline.

“It's awfully hot in here.” I reached suddenly for the doorknob.

“Hold yer horses, woman! Unless ya wanna go prancin' out there in your undies.” She gave me a smug smile in the mirror. “An' ya still ain't answered me about Adam.”

I looped my arms through the lacy straps and pretended I hadn't heard.

“Well, it's all right,” said Becky gently, fluffing out billowy tulle. “Those things take time, ya know. It don't all happen overnight like they show in the movies. I mean kissin' and…well, other stuff, too, once you're married.”

“I don't know if he's a good kisser or not,” I finally managed, seeing the conversation creep off in an unexpected direction.

“What'd ya say? Speak up.”

I tried again, but Becky scrunched up her nose as she turned me around. Pulling at the ribbon lacing in the back. “Huh? Did you say you haven't kissed yet?”

“Yes!” I whispered in humiliation, covering my face with my hands.

“Yes you have, or yes you haven't?”

Becky could be exasperating sometimes. I flung my arms out. “We haven't kissed yet, okay? Adam and me. So I don't really know if he's a good kisser or not!”

Becky's hands stopped on the lacing. “Are you serious? Y'all haven't kissed yet? Even once?”

“Why don't you say it loud enough for everybody else to hear?”

I snapped, but Becky ignored me.

“I mean, yer engaged! Why would ya not…” She saw my crossed arms in the mirror. “Sorry, Shah-loh. Ain't none a my business.”

“Well, it's a little late now,” I huffed, glaring. “Now you know. And so does everybody else around here.”

“Aww, I'm sorry.” Becky hung her head meekly. “I didn't mean anything by it. I'm jest…surprised, is all. I was thinkin' how you don't have no mama to talk about this stuff, so I thought… I'm sorry. Fergive me.”

Becky looked so repentant that I dropped my scowl and looked away. “It's okay. I'm just…a little embarrassed, I guess. I mean, most people would've kissed a long time ago.”

“Well, yeah, but it ain't like a rule or nothin'. Ya do things however's most comf'terble for the both of ya. I mean, there are some things that are off-limits 'til ya tie the knot, but…ya know what I mean.”

“Adam isn't ready to kiss yet.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe, but it's not that simple. He doesn't…want to yet.”

She shrugged. “So? He's differ'nt. He's careful. It's nice.”

“At
all
,” I emphasized, catching Becky's eye. “Not until the wedding.”

This time her propriety came undone. “What?” she squealed. “Adam said that?”

“Yeah. We talked about it the other day.” I covered my flaming cheeks with cool palms. “I know it's strange, but it's what he said he wanted to do. Or
not
do, rather.”

“Until the doggone weddin' ceremony? Are you pullin' my leg, Shah-loh?”

I cringed as Becky's voice rang off the sides of the dressing room. “I'm serious,” I whispered, shushing her. “He's thought like that a long time. You know, wanting to save everything…and I mean
everything
.” I crossed my arms stiffly. “So that's it. That's how we're doing things. Now you know, okay?”

Becky forgot about the back of my dress and turned me to face her, ignoring the last sarcastic words I'd flung at her.

“Doggone it all!” She laughed and wiped her eyes, digging in her purse for a tissue. “That's gotta be one a the sweetest things I ever heard! I mean, I knowed Adam was differ'nt from way back, but I didn't know… Shucks, you're a real lucky woman.” She blew her nose. “My oughtta-be-brother done made me proud! And you, too, Yankee—'cause the wrong woman would ruin him always tryin' ta change him.”

“Well, it's not the only way to do things,” I said before she got any ideas that I was Mother Teresa. “It's just an idea.”

She stuck the wrinkled tissue in her pocket and tugged on the laces again, turning me around. “Good thing, 'cause I hafta tell ya me an' Tim kissed an awful lot before we got married, Shah-loh. An
awful
lot! We weren't no saintly Adam Carter. Why, when we was on our second date we…”

I covered my ears and sang loudly to shut out the details. I could hear her laughing even with my ears plugged.

“But that's it!” she said, yanking my hands off my ears. “We stopped there, for the record. Although it was mighty hard! Sometimes I wonder if mebbe we'd a been better off ta do like Adam, but…” She grinned mischievously. “We were young fools!”

Becky beamed at me, red-eyed. “Y'all are a match made in heaven, ya know?”

I gazed back at her reflection, remembering the drunk outside the Dairy Queen who'd called us the “perfect couple.” Wondering if Becky was equally insane—or if they'd both noticed something I hadn't.

“I can't tell you how happy I am an' proud of ya both. Mercy! Ain't life the best?”

“Don't tell anybody,” I warned quickly. “It's not supposed to be a big deal. Just something he decided with me.”

“Done.” She pretended to zip her lips closed.

Becky sniffled and finished lacing up the back, fluffing the skirt out. “But I'm tellin' you, Shah-loh Jacobs, waitin' for love's the best thing ever! Don't let nobody tell you differ'nt! Why would you wanna tear the wrapping off the package before it's your birthday? You gotta wait, an' God'll honor yer waitin'.”

She smoothed my hair to one side and straightened the straps. “Don't mean ev'rything's gonna be smooth sailin'. Life's rough. Marriage is rough. But you'll be
blessed
.”

Her last word rang through the dressing room like spangles of light from the crystals on the dress.

“I used to think all that waiting stuff for Christians was silly,” I said, avoiding Becky's eyes in the mirror. “I thought a lot of things were silly. But now…well, I look at things a bit differently.” I shook out the skirt and watched it fluff down, crystals sparkling.

Carlos's chiseled face flashed briefly through my mind while Becky tried unsuccessfully to pull the lacing through the next loop. In a cold instant I replayed Carlos's honeyed words. Other guys I'd dated. Other kisses. Other things I wasn't proud of.

“I just wish I'd had more sense before this.” I picked at a hem.

“Ain't none of us perfect,” said Becky gently. “On Judgment Day we're all the same—sinners in need a His grace.”

I felt tears in my eyes as I ruffled the long, billowy skirt. It fell in light layers, cloud-like. When I twirled, it swished. A soft rustling sound like gentle rain.

In the mirror I saw Becky's face sober. “You know, it's sorta like them flowers I showed ya at the wholesale shop. The cut ones.”

“What about them?” I scrubbed a hand over my cheek.

“You gotta die.”

“Die?” Visions of red roses and ugly letters flung themselves into my brain.

“To yerself. To yer flesh. Deny yourself and take up yer cross. That's what Jesus said.” Becky picked at the errant hem. “That's why we wait for what seems good, even if it's just a kiss. Or whatever God puts on our mind to keep holy.”

I looked up, surprised to hear Becky Donaldson wax spiritual and use the word “holy.” The last time I'd stopped by her house, she was slathered in a dark blue facial mask, screaming at Dale Earnhardt Jr. on the TV screen—a half-eaten MoonPie in one hand and a cow-shaped baby rattle in the other.