Oh, how the mighty have fallen. This entire situation was deliciously funny. I considered letting him stew a little longer, perhaps not apologizing at all. But then I remembered my daughter's folded arms and unhappiness in the car. I remembered her plea that I make peace with her fiancé's father.
"I'm sorry too," I muttered. I wasn't used to saying those words. I barely got them out.
As if he sensed my distress, the scowl on Jamison's face shifted into a faint smile. He then returned the pen to the cup on the counter.Thank God.I thought I'd have to snatch it from his hand, which wouldn't help our relationship.
"Well then, I guess we're done here?" he said.
"I guess so."
He paused. "Anything for our kids, right?"
Another moment of understanding.
"Right," I agreed.
He didn't move, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Do you think they're rushing?"
"Do you?" I countered.
Neither of us wanted to come right out and say it, but we were obviously having the same doubts.
"Blossom seems like a nice young woman. I'm just..."
"I've shared my concerns with Blossom, which is all I can do. She's an adult. Manuel is an adult."
"They're adults, but adults make mistakes too."
Was he thinking about his failed marriage?
"We can offer advice all day, but we can't make them act on the advice. All we can do is provide support if they need it," I said.
He pursed his lips, then gave a single nod of agreement. "I'll let Manuel know we talked."
"And I'll do the same with Blossom."
"All right, then. See you... whenever."
Hopefully not until the rehearsal dinner, I thought.
Chapter 8
Tallulah
More than a week had passed since Jamison came by my store, and my relationship with Blossom had improved. When I went home after my conversation with Jamison, she met me at the door and gave me a big hug, exclaiming, "Thank you, Mom!"
It took me a moment to understand why she was so happy. Apparently, before I arrived at home, Manuel had called and let her know Jamison had stopped by my store and, in her words, we were friends now.
No comment.
Today, she and I were going dress shopping, and her cousin, Keke, was meeting us at the store. We had a tight window since Blossom was getting married in less than three months, but the boutique we were going to had a reputation for performing miracles.
Blossom's father had agreed to pay for her dress and had given her a generous budget to work with. All we had to do was find the perfect gown.
Today I was driving Orange Julius, my vintage Volkswagen bus. After we finished dress shopping, I was going to drop off a few boxes I had in the back before we went to lunch. Yearsago, I'd converted it into an environmentally friendly vehicle. The original internal combustion engine had been removed and replaced with an electric motor and battery, along with a complete interior overhaul. The vehicle originally belonged to my parents, and they had taken out the back rows of seats years ago, but I'd had the front and second rows reupholstered in crisp white leather, and the dashboard and gearshift updated.
My ex-husband had thought it was a waste of money to redo the old bus, but I had a deep attachment to it and couldn't let it go. Every summer, from the age of thirteen until I graduated high school, my parents took my brother and me on the road, and we traveled the country in this beautiful orange and silver bus. Because of those road trips, I had visited all 48 contiguous United States and had fond memories of the places I had seen and the people I had met.
I pulled into the plaza where the boutique was located. "We haven't talked about what kind of dress you want to buy. Do you have an idea?" I asked Blossom.
