The Christmas Wedding - James Patterson [15]
Tom was in faded jeans, a long-sleeved gray Henley (he always said “It’s just my winter undershirt”), a bright green-and-yellow flannel shirt. A few days of blond stubble topped off the look.
Then there was her brother-in-law, Marty. Gaby always saw the tiniest trace of Peter in Marty’s face. They were clearly brothers. Peter had been older and thinner and shorter, but not that much older and thinner and shorter. Then there was the voice. That New England r—a sound that always came out as ah.
And finally, Jacob. Her sweet, kind, mildly neurotic Jacob. He had his black suit on, a wrinkled white shirt with the top button open. Very hip, actually, very downtown Boston or New York. His jacket collar was casually flipped up on his neck, his beard trimmed neatly with just that little tuft under the lower lip.
“Well, I do appreciate you all taking the time to stop by. That a man would leave the side of a pregnant pig to help plan my wedding truly touches me,” Gaby said to Kurt, and she put her hand to her heart.
“You know,” said Kurt with a grin, “I’ve been thinking, Gaby, of maybe asking you—”
“Don’t you dare!” Gaby said with a laugh.
“Right, right. My wife would probably object…Maybe not.”
“So,” Gaby continued, “it’s Christmas and it’s a wedding, on the same day. I’ve already thought of all the predictable ideas, and I’ve already rejected them. That means no wedding cake in the shape of a Christmas tree. And definitely no Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus on top of the cake.”
Silence.
Tom, Marty, and Jacob looked straight ahead. Then they looked down at the old table. Then they looked at one another. They looked everywhere but at Gaby.
“Ideas?” Stacey Lee said.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Tom said. “This is nuts, Gaby.”
“My getting married is nuts?” asked Gaby with a tilt of her head.
“No. It’s great that you’re getting married,” Marty broke in. He got to his feet, pushed back his chair, and knocked it over in the process.
“Though it would be nice if you told us who you were marrying,” Jacob said.
“Yeah, that would be a good twist,” added Marty. “Surprise everybody in the middle of the story.”
“But that’s not what we’re talking about,” said Jacob. “Why would you get the three of us here to help you plan a wedding?”
Gaby stood up. “Why? I can give you the answer to that one. Because you’re my friends. All of you—and Stacey Lee—are my buddies. I know that’s a little unusual. But that’s the way it happened, and I don’t know about you, but I love it. Like that saying—I love you guys!”
“We love you, Gaby!” they all said, pretty much in unison. “And Stacey Lee too.”
“Otherwise, we wouldn’t put up with this goofy shit,” said Marty with a grin.
“Not for a minute!” said Jacob.
The laughter continued, and Gaby went to the refrigerator and removed two bottles of Dom Pérignon champagne. She filled plastic glasses with the good stuff, and then they all held their glasses high.
“To our beloved bride,” Marty shouted, “and God knows, she is beloved.”
“And to my friends,” Gaby said, “the best friends anywhere.”
“And to our groom,” Stacey Lee said. “Whoever the hell that might be.”
Chapter 18
LIZZIE, MIKE, AND TALLULAH
FIRST CAME MIKE’S headaches. Lizzie had said, “Oh, Mike, it’s probably just one of your sinus infections.” A week later, when the headaches hadn’t stopped, she told him that his store, Housatonic Hardware and Bait, could do without him for two hours while he went to see the doctor.
Mike put off making a doctor’s appointment, of course. He stopped complaining too. Then one night while he was changing a ceiling bulb in the kitchen he got dizzy and fell off a stepladder.
A week later, Mike reported, “Dr. Sassoon says my ears are fine. Says my pressure is on the low side. Maybe that’s why I’m getting the dizzy spells. He wants me to go to Pittsfield and get an RMI.”
Lizzie corrected him. “MRI,” she said. “It’s not an RMI, Mike. It’s called an MRI.”
Mike didn’t say anything more. He smiled at her.