“They’ll be here in two days for wedding festivities. I’ll tell them in person. Go forth and squeeze in whatever canoodling you can manage.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. “Canoodling. You sound like Ari.”
“Fitting since she’s going to be mine.” Pru felt another flutter in her belly. That would stop being scary at some point, right?
“Touché. Love you, Pru.”
“Love you back.”
When she was gone, Pru took their tea—now cold—and dumped it out. She popped her own into the microwave, then carried the mug back to her room. Formerly her mother’s room. She’d moved in formally after she and her sisters had converted the old Victorian into a bed and breakfast to save the family estate. It was a long way from profitable yet, but they’d had steady bookings since they opened Memorial Day weekend and plenty more that stretched out well into the fall.
Sinking down into the overstuffed chair, she tugged open the drawer and pulled out the photo album with “My Kids” embossed across the front. She’d found it in the course of cleaning out. This book contained photos of every single child her mother had fostered over the years. There were so many.
Had her mother felt this bone deep panic at the beginning? Wondering whether she could do this? Whether she’d irrevocably mess these kids up? Or had she always been the unflappable, down-to-earth woman Pru remembered? With the weight of the decision she’d just made pressing down, she needed her mother’s comfort. So, tea in hand, she opened the cover and slid into memory.
~*~
“What’s the status update on the wedding?”
“For God’s sake, Maggie, we’ve been here all of five minutes. Can’t you wait to try to run things until we’ve had some time to breathe?” Athena complained.
Maggie shot her a cool look. “The wedding is in five days. There’s no time to relax.”
And my sisters are officially home, Pru thought.
“We hired a wedding planner. And Pru’s here. Shit’s being handled. Right?” Athena looked to Pru for confirmation.
Her lips twitched. “Shit is, indeed, being handled.” That her sisters trusted her to do exactly that was both flattering and maddening.
“See there? Now relax, woman.” Athena flopped down on the overstuffed sofa.
“Might I remind you that there are little ears present, so perhaps tone things down from the language you use in your restaurant kitchen?” Pru suggested.
Ari and Athena both rolled their eyes.
“Gordon Ramsey is worse,” Ari said. When Pru arched a brow, she just shrugged. “What? I really like Kitchen Nightmares.”
There was no need to ask who got her hooked on that.
“Oh, did you see that episode with that poser in Ohio?” Athena asked.
“‘I can cook, Joe,’” Ari said, in a passable parody of the celebrity chef.
“That was brutal,” Athena agreed.
“Well deserved,” Ari pronounced.
Deciding she was just grateful the two were bonding, Pru turned her attention to Maggie. “To answer your question, everything is going fine. Our bridesmaid dresses are ready and waiting. You and Athena have your final fitting tomorrow. The photographer is lined up, and Mrs. Lowrey, from church, is making the cake.”
“You’re not doing the cake?” Ari asked Athena.
“I’m a chef, not a baker. I can bake. I choose not to.”
“Plus, Mrs. Lowrey makes the best red velvet cake in the state,” Kennedy announced, sailing into the room with a tray of drinks from the kitchen. “She has a blue ribbon from the state fair that says so.”
“What about music?” Maggie asked.
“My friend, Flynn, will be playing.”