Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [76]
“Then why don’t you just e-mail him and tell him it’s over?”
“Because,” Lori said a little helplessly, “I’m just not sure it is.”
Cici considered and rejected a dozen things to say, some of them pointed, some of them not, none of them particularly helpful. Finally she simply smiled, patted her daughter’s hand, and advised, “Take a nap. I promise there will be plenty of opportunities for you to feel useful when you wake up.”
Cici found Lindsay and Bridget sitting on the floor in the big parlor they called the living room, surrounded by baskets, boxes, tissue paper, and cellophane. She sat across from them, forming the third point of a triangle, and folded her jeaned legs under her. “Lori is in love with an Italian,” she said.
“Good for her,” Lindsay said and passed her a basket. “Fill those champagne glasses with colored candy, wrap them with cellophane, tie each one with an apricot ribbon, and put one in each basket.”
Cici gave her a skeptical look. “You’re the one who said I should by no means let her go to Italy.”
“You’re only young once,” advised Bridget. She carefully cut and folded a sheet of pale green tissue paper into a triangle, and used it to line another basket.
“Also,” Cici said, pouring a measure of candy into a champagne glass, “I looked at the contract and we are screwed. They have to pay for materials, but there’s no limit on how much labor we signed up for—at no extra charge. How do these go in?” she asked, tying the ribbon around the cellophane.
Lindsay demonstrated how the champagne glasses fit against the side of the baskets, between the wedding-mix CDs and the tulle-wrapped scented candles. “Save room for the monogrammed chocolates in the middle,” she reminded them. “They’re supposed to be delivered today.”
“Catherine invited us all to the wedding,” Bridget said, trying to make that sound like a good thing. “Even Lori. Plus-ones, too.”
“What?”
“Dates. She meant dates.”
“I know what plus-one means. I just don’t know why she felt it necessary to invite us. I mean, we live here. We’re the hostesses.”
“Actually” confided Lindsay “I think she just wanted seat fillers, in case some of her fancy friends from DC can’t find their way out here. You know, like at the Academy Awards.”
“Of course,” added Bridget with a glance at Lindsay “we do have to wear those outfits. Apricot Delight or Hint of Spring green only. And Nearly Nude Shimmer & Silk stockings.”
Cici gave a snort of derision. “Maybe you do.”
“We were bulldozed,” Bridget admitted glumly, passing a tissue-lined basket to Lindsay. “We should have called you before we agreed to anything. It was stupid.”
Cici released a heavy breath, and a long silence fell. “That’s okay” she said unhappily. “I did something even stupider.”
Lindsay slipped a CD into the case, snapped it shut, and placed it in the basket. “You mean sleeping with Richard?”
Cici stared at her. “How did you know?”
“Oh, please.” Bridget cut another square of tissue. “You sleep with him every time you see him. The man is like cat-nip to you.”
Cici shifted her gaze away, poured more candy, tied more ribbon. Then, making a wry, resigned face, she said, “You’d think by now I’d know better.”
“Well,” replied Lindsay, “the good news is that neither one of you is in jail, so I guess it didn’t end in violence.”
“He’s talking about retiring,” Cici said.
“I can picture Richard in Palm Springs,” Bridget said thoughtfully. “Golf carts, swimming pools ..
“Bikinis,” added Lindsay.
“Not unless you count the ones on eighty-year-old women,” Bridget said, and the two women burst into giggles.
Cici did not laugh. “Here. He’s talking about retiring here.”
The giggles evaporated. A kind of slow