We'll Always Have Summer (Summer 3)

She got to the diner first—she was sitting in a booth waiting for me. “Connie,” she said, standing up and opening her arms. She looked like she’d lost weight.

“Hey, Laur,” I said, hugging her back. She felt gaunt in my arms, but she smelled the same. Laurel always had a clean, cinnamony smell.

I sat down across from her. After we ordered, pancakes and bacon for both of us, she said, “So how have you been?”

“I’ve been all right,” I said, chugging down some juice.

Holy crap. How was I supposed to broach this subject?

This wasn’t my style. It didn’t come naturally to me, the way it would for Jere. I was butting in on something that wasn’t my business. But I had to do it. For her.

I cleared my throat and said, “I called you because I wanted to talk about the wedding.”

Her face got tight, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Laur, I think you should go. I think you should be part of it. You’re her mom.”

Laurel stirred her coffee, and then she looked at me and said, “You think they should get married?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then, what do you think?”

“I think they love each other and they’re going to do it regardless of what anyone else thinks. And … I think that Belly really needs her mom right now.”

Drily, she said, “Isabel seems to be doing just fine without me. She never even called to let me know where she was. I had to hear it from Adam—who, by the way, is apparently paying for this wedding now. Classic Adam.

And now Steven’s a best man, and Belly’s dad is going to give in the way he always does. It seems I’m the only holdout.”

“Belly isn’t fine. She’s barely eating. And … I heard her crying last night. She was saying how Taylor’s mom is throwing her a wedding shower but it won’t feel right without her mom there.”

Laurel’s face softened, just a little. “Lucinda’s throwing her a shower?” Then, stirring her coffee again, she said,

“Jere hasn’t thought this through. He isn’t taking it seriously enough.”

“You’re right, he’s not a serious guy. But believe me, he’s serious about her.” I took a deep breath before I said,

“Laurel, if you don’t go, you’ll regret it.”

She looked at me directly. “Are we speaking honestly with each other here?”

“Don’t we always?”

Laurel nodded, taking a sip of coffee. “Yes, that we do.

So tell me. What’s your interest in all of this?”

I knew this was coming. This was Laurel, after all. She didn’t mess around. “I want her to be happy.”

“Ah,” she said. “Just her?”

“Jeremiah, too.”

“And that’s it?” She looked at me steadily.

I just looked back at her.

I tried to pay for breakfast since I was the one who invited her out, but Laurel wouldn’t let me. “Not gonna happen,” she said.

On the drive back, I played back our conversation. The knowing look on Laur’s face when she asked me what my interest in this was. What was I doing? Picking out vases with Belly, trying to play peacemaker with the parents.

Suddenly I was their wedding planner, and I didn’t even agree with them. I needed to disengage from the situation.

I was washing my hands of the whole mess.

Chapter Thirty-eight

“Where have you been?” I asked Conrad when he came back in the door. He’d been gone all morning.

He didn’t answer me right away. In fact he was barely looking at me. And then he said, shortly, “Just running errands.”

I gave him a weird look, but he didn’t offer up any more information. So I just asked, “Wanna keep me company while I go to the florist in Dyerstown? I have to pick out flowers for the wedding.”

“Isn’t Jere coming today? Can’t you go with him?” He sounded annoyed.

I was surprised and a little hurt. I thought we’d been getting along really well these past few weeks. “He’s not going to be here until tonight,” I said. Playfully, I added,

“Anyway, you’re the one who’s the flower-arranging expert, not Jere, remember?”

Conrad stood at the sink with his back to me. He turned on the water, filling a glass. “I don’t want to piss him off.”

I thought I heard a trace of hurt in his voice. Hurt—and something else. Fear.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen this morning?” I felt worried all of a sudden. When Conrad didn’t answer me, I went up behind him and started to put my hand on his shoulder, but then he turned around and my hand fell back to my side. “Nothing happened,” he said.

“Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

He was pretty quiet at the florist’s. Taylor and I had decided on calla lilies, but when I looked through the book of flower arrangements, I ended up picking peonies instead. When I showed them to Conrad, he said, “Those were my mom’s favorite.”

“I remember,” I said. I ordered five arrangements, one for each table, just like Denise Coletti told me to.

“What about bouquets?” the florist asked me.

“Can those be peonies too?” I asked.

“Sure, we can do that. I’ll put together something nice for you.” To Conrad, she said, “Are you and your groomsmen doing boutonnieres?”

He turned red. “I’m not the groom,” he said.

“He’s the brother of the groom,” I said, handing her Mr. Fisher’s credit card.

We left pretty soon after.

On the way back home, we passed a fruit stand on the side of the road. I wanted to stop, but I didn’t say so. I guessed Conrad could tell, because he asked, “Want to go back?”

“Nah, that’s okay, we already passed it,” I said.

He made a U-turn on the one-way street.

The fruit stand was a couple of wooden crates of peaches and a sign that said to leave the money in the container. I put in a dollar because I didn’t have change.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” I asked him, wiping off my peach on my shirt.

“Nah, I’m allergic to peaches.”

“Since when?” I demanded. “I’ve definitely seen you eat a peach before. Or peach pie, at least.”

He shrugged. “Since always. I’ve eaten them before, but they make the inside of my mouth itch.”