Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [28]
Cici said, “Not really, you know. Did you know that last year alone, more people met their significant others online than any other way?”
“Oh, yeah? Where did you read that?”
“Online.”
Noah mounted the steps, head down, hands in pockets. Bridget held out the platter to him. “Cookie?”
“Homework,” he muttered, without looking up, and the screen door banged behind him.
Cici watched him go. “I wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“He hardly said a word at dinner.”
“Teenage boys,” observed Bridget sagely. “Believe me, you don’t want to know what’s going on in their heads. But you can’t afford not to.”
Lindsay sighed. “Some girl at school, I guess.”
“It usually is.”
Bridget reached into her back pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper, passing it to Lindsay. “Here’s the menu.”
“The final menu,” queried Cici, “or the latest menu?”
“Final,” Bridget said firmly.
Lindsay unfolded the paper and held it at arm’s length, squinting in the dim light. “Wow. I didn’t know they made print this small.”
Cici snatched the paper from her and flipped down her glasses, which were nestled in her hair. She read out loud, “Brie en croute with Midori crème fraiche, chèvre and roasted pepper tarts, fried green tomatoes with bacon and bleu cheese crumbles, herbed-roasted pork with peppered peach chutney, fresh mozzarella with sliced vine-ripened tomatoes and olive oil, charred beef tenderloin with horseradish mayonnaise, honey-glazed fried chicken bites...” She looked up, leaning forward to stare at Bridget. “Are you serious? This sounds like the entire à la carte menu from the Waldorf Astoria.”
“It’s just for the tasting,” Bridget said wearily. “They’ll pick two meats and six accompaniments for the buffet.”
“It sounds incredible. But not exactly something you can whip up in your spare time. How many are coming to the tasting?”
“Just the bride, the wedding planner, and the mothers. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know, Bridge.” Cici looked worried. “Are you sure you still want to do this? That’s a pretty complicated menu and...” She cast a quick glance toward the house and lowered her voice. “It’s not exactly as though you have a lot of help. Is it worth it?”
Bridget grimly stuffed the menu back into her pocket. “For thirty-five dollars a head it is.”
“You go, girl,” said Lindsay, sipping her wine. “And Paul would say add a fifty percent premium for fresh, local, and prepared on-site.”
“Forty-five dollars a head,” replied Bridget determinedly. “Besides, Ida Mae can follow a recipe, and Lori will be here to help with the actual wedding.”
“Things must be desperate, if you’re actually looking forward to having Lori in the kitchen.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Bridget said uncomfortably. “But there are plenty of things she can do outside the kitchen.”
Lindsay said sourly “They want me to design escort cards.”
Cici said, “Escort cards? But I thought this was a buffet.”
“It is,” Bridget assured her.
“That’s what I told them,” Lindsay said. “Escort cards are for sit-down dinners.”
“And?”
“And Traci’s matron of honor had escort cards with diamond chips in the corner. Traci has to have something better.”
They watched red streaks appear across the sky, and the apple blossoms soaked up the bright pink color. A bluebird visited the feeder that was hung under the eaves, gave the women a quick, bright look, and darted away.
Bridget smiled a little into the twilight. “Do you remember your own wedding?”
Lindsay nodded reminiscently. “The Fellowship Hall of El Camino Baptist Church in El Paso, Texas. We were just out of college, didn’t have two cents to rub together. Our parents flew in, and Mama bought me a wedding cake at the local bakery. It was awful.” She smiled. “I wore a white lace dress I bought in Mexico for twenty-five dollars, and twined baby’s breath in my hair. He wore a blue suit. They wouldn’t let us have champagne in the Fellowship Hall, so we had the reception in the park across the street, and danced to Cajun music until we were all too drunk