I pushed those thoughts, and the angry bitter feelings that burned my throat, down. Moving toward her, I took my turn hugging her and congratulating her. Then we listened to her story of how romantically Stephen had proposed after dating a year. A year? I pushed down more bile.
Since it would be Stephen’s first marriage, he wanted to go big. She wanted Aunt Grace to be her maid of honor with Stephen’s sisters and me as bridesmaids. Given their age, they wanted a spring wedding. The upcoming spring. The slap stung my cheeks, turning them red. Of course, no hand actually touched me. I swallowed hard.
“What do you think of May?” she asked the room with a happy glow.
I quietly got up and went to my room. Morik followed. I waited until he cleared the door to close it with a snick.
“I’m not in the mood for a quiet day. Can I call Beatriz from your house and see if they want to meet for bowling or something?”
He pulled me into his arms as an answer. I felt the temperature change immediately but stayed in his arms for a moment. He tightened his hold minutely assuring me he knew I struggled with something. That he didn’t pester me to explain it endeared him to me further.
We passed the remainder of the day at the bowling alley enjoying the company of Beatriz, her brother, and a few of Brad’s friends. When Morik returned me home, I snuck to the bathroom to get ready. Morik waited for me. We found Aunt Danielle in her chair and I asked her to help chant me to sleep. She didn’t ask why. We both heard the conversation coming from the back of the house. Excited female voices talking wedding details.
The soft murmur of her voice blended with Morik’s as they worked together. He lifted me gently into his arms, their touches knocking me out.
The day definitely did not rank in my top-ten-best-days-ever list.
I shivered awake, the cooling spot next to me explaining why.
“Morning,” Mom said as she sat claiming space in the vacant mattress real estate. “Tess, I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t think how it would sound to you.”
It sucked discussing this topic for I could even brush my teeth. “Mom, it’s fine. You’re doing exactly what I’d want you to do.” I sat up and brushed my hair back from my face. “If he makes you happy, then it sounds perfect.”
She pulled me into a hug, sniffling ominously.
I quickly pulled back telling her I had plans with Morik and needed to get ready. She felt guilty enough for yesterday she didn’t quiz me on the details, just left to let me get ready.
Once I had clothes on, I whispered his name. He popped into the room just inside the door.
I didn’t bother asking where he’d come from. Instead, I asked if the snow had stopped enough for a bike ride to the Coffee Shop. He brought us to his house with a touch and handed me my leather jacket as an answer.
Minutes later, the bell above the Coffee Shop’s door rang as we walked in. Its familiar smells greeted me. Mona called hello and hurried behind the counter to take our order. A few older men sat at tables reading various sections of the shop’s single paper.
We ordered our specialty drinks and grabbed our own table. It warmed me after the ride, but didn’t quite take care of the hungry grumble my stomach kept emitting.
When Mona moved around the tables filling cups for those who had plain old-fashioned coffee, I asked if she served anything quick for breakfast.
“I tried making muffins and a few baked things, but the oven and I aren’t on friendly terms. Things don’t come out looking like the pictures. And ordering from one of those bakers means a minimum for delivery or picking it up myself. Too much hassle for just a handful of people who’d be interested.” She changed topic abruptly, “Nice ring, Morik. Someone special give it to you?” She didn’t wait for his answer, just winked at me and moved along on her rounds.
I stared after her with a growing respect for her astuteness. Then I began contemplating her reason for not offering breakfast items.
“We could do it,” I said to Morik. “Gran and I. Well more Gran than me since I sleep so late. But she could bake it and I could bring it here for her. I think Mona’s right about the weekday needs being small, but I bet once people tasted Gran’s baking, there’d be a demand for it on the weekends.” I slugged back the rest of my cooled coffee and insisted we go back home.
Gran loved the idea when I explained it to her and started pulling out cookbooks. I sat at the table with her calculating ingredient costs, prep time, and baking to estimate costs for her favorite recipes.
The next morning, Morik and I borrowed Aunt Grace’s car, with promises to return it in an equally pristine condition, and delivered eight beautifully plastic wrapped blueberry muffins. Before we left, Gran insisted we test one of the remaining four that hadn’t made the cut. They were delicious and still just barely warm.
When I walked into the shop carrying the muffins, Mona laughed at me.