With no other choice but to sit down between her mother and Miz Sophie, she took Miz Ford’s erstwhile seat. “Hi, Momma. Miz Sophie.”
“You look a picture today, Ginger. My grandmother’s pearls do complement your lovely complexion,” said her future mother-in-law, narrowing her eyes at the family heirloom that had been an engagement gift from the Woodmans. “Magnolia, I can’t keep it a secret!” She turned to Ginger. “Did Woodman tell you about the gift we’re thinkin’ about givin’ you two?”
“No, ma’am,” she said.
Miz Sophie swapped a gleeful grin with Ginger’s mother. “We’ve had Woodman’s cradle and rockin’ horse sanded down and completely repainted! They’re gleamin’ white for now, but we can add a little powder pink or robin’s-egg blue once you find out what you’re havin’! We were thinkin’ of how darlin’ they would look in the spare room at Woodman’s place. What do you think? I can have Howard bring them by tonight!”
Ginger looked down, twisting her ring uneasily as anger boiled up within her. There were so many things about this announcement that bothered her, she barely knew where to begin.
One, she didn’t like how Miz Sophie didn’t recognize that the house Woodman had purchased belonged to both of them; she always called it Woodman’s place like Ginger wasn’t his future wife.
Two, she didn’t especially like the notion of her mother-in-law decorating said house, especially when she and Woodman might like to use that extra bedroom for something else.
Three, the assumption that she and Woodman were ready to have children right away made her grind her teeth in frustration.
And four, Miz Sophie had clearly brought this up to Woodman who’d kept it to himself. Likely because he hoped the gift would be a nudge in the right direction. Still, she resented him for not warning her and letting her be blindsided.
“Ginger,” her mother prompted, kicking her lightly under the table. “what do you say?”
“I’m not expectin’.”
“Well, I should hope not,” said Miz Sophie. “Not yet, at least.”
“Umm . . .,” she stalled, looking up at Miz Sophie and hoping that her face didn’t register the anger she felt. “I’m sure we’ll need those things . . . someday.”
Miz Sophie’s excited grin faded until her lips were a grim slash of hot pink.
“I see. Well, I don’t know about you, Magnolia,” said Sophie, glancing away from Ginger with an annoyed sniff, “but I always said, the younger the mother, the happier the baby. I certainly hope your daughter’s not plannin’ to make my boy wait forever for little ones.”
Magnolia pursed her lips in shared disapproval. “Well, daughter?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, I guess that’s between me and Woodman, but there were still three months before the wedding, and she wasn’t interested in Miz Sophie playing the martyr for the duration.
“It’s a lovely gift, Miz Sophie. And you’ll be the first to know if Woodman and I have any . . . news.”
Mollified, Sophie nodded at Ginger and turned to Magnolia. “It’ll all work out like we always planned.”
Without warning, Ginger bolted up, knocking her chair back. It clattered to the floor, and the ladies gasped in surprise, looking up at her.
“I . . .,” she started, her chest so tight, she could barely breathe.
“Virginia!” her mother exclaimed, her face a strange mix of irritated and worried.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, hurrying to the powder room across the room and closing the door behind her.
Bracing her hands on the sink basin, she took a deep breath that filled her lungs and diaphragm, then exhaled slowly, opening her eyes.
Looking back at her in the mirror was such a pretty girl: blonde hair, brown eyes made up carefully with eyeliner and mascara, a little gloss on her lips and pink in the apples of her cheeks. She wore a sundress and a cardigan sweater with a double strand of pearls around her neck and large pearl studs in her ears. She looked perfect. The perfect Southern bride-to-be.
She also looked sad. So very alone. So very, very lost.
Turning on the water, she held her hands under the cold stream until they were almost numb, then she turned off the water, dried her hands, and returned to the table to apologize and help choose her wedding cake.
***
Ginger didn’t know what had come over her at the cake shop, but ironically, when she was feeling like this—freaked-out about the wedding and the future and forever—there was only one person who could truly make her feel better, so Ginger half walked, half ran to the Apple Valley Fire Department, a few blocks away, anxious to see Woodman.
“Hey, Gin!” yelled one of the guys, standing outside the firehouse with a cup of coffee, checking his phone.
“Hey, Logan. Woodman here?”
“Woodman’s always here!” he said, hooking a thumb inside.
“Lookin’ good, Ginger,” said Fred Atkins, the assistant chief, as she opened the door to the lobby.
“Thanks, Fred.”