Long Time Coming

скачать книгу бесплатно


Edgar, using a pair of tongs to remove strips of crisp bacon from the heated griddle, shot his youngest son a warning look. “Watch it, son. You’re talking about my princess.”

“Dad, you know your princess is spoiled rotten.”

“And you’re not, mama’s boy?” Edgar teased.

“Edgar, please,” Rosalind said softly, blushing. “We have company.” Her husband had accused her of spoiling Abram, while she’d blamed him for indulging their only daughter’s every whim.

Micah’s hand cradled the small of Tessa’s back. “Let me show you where you can wash up before we sit down to eat.”

Tessa stood in an all-white bathroom with pale blue accents, next to Micah at twin blue-veined pedestal sinks, washing her hands. She met his amused gaze in the mirror. He’d taken off his cap and placed it on a table with a half dozen others bearing the logos of baseball and football teams.

“What’s so funny, Micah?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Go ahead and say it.”

She smiled. “Say what?”

“That my family is a little off the chain.”

“They appear quite normal to me.”

“Didn’t you notice something that was just a bit unconventional?”

“By unconventional do you mean that the Sanborns are a multiracial family?”

Reaching for a towel on a stack on a low table, Micah handed it to Tessa. “Yes.”

“Your family is anything but unconventional, Micah. I’ve interacted with families with two mommies or two daddies, transgender, families where the bride and groom are visually-or hearing-impaired and I’m forced to bring in someone fluent in Braille or American Sign Language. That’s what I’d consider unconventional. My focus will be on the bride, the groom and the mother of the bride. And if Bridget and Seth want a traditional interfaith ceremony wedding, then there are certain customs and traditions they have to follow.”

Micah dried his hands as he watched Tessa’s reflection in the mirror. The more sedate hairstyle displayed her features to their best advantage, but he much preferred seeing her hair loose and framing her face in sensual disarray.

“When my brothers got married, all I had to do was put on a tuxedo and show up.”

“You’ve never been a best man?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been a witness a few times but never a best man. What about you, Tessa? Have you ever been a bride?”

She met his steady gaze in the glass. “No.”

“Have you come close?”

“No. What about you, Micah?” she asked, shifting the focus from herself to him. “Were you ever married?

“No, and I’ve never come close.”

“Do you like women?”

Her query must have startled him, because he went completely still. The frown lines that appeared between his eyes were replaced with a knowing smile. Resting a thigh against the pedestal sink, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You think because we slept together and I didn’t touch you that I’m not into women?”

Tessa blushed, the color temporarily concealing the spray of freckles across her velvety cheeks. “This is not about me.”

His smile widened. “Isn’t it, Tessa?”

“No. It’s about you, Micah.”

“What about me?”

“I’ve come into contact with together sisters every time I coordinate a wedding. Bridesmaids and maids of honor looking for a together brother like you. But when they do marry, it is to settle because they don’t want to be alone and they don’t want to become just a baby mama.”

Micah angled his head. “By settle you mean they marry brothers who don’t come correct?”

“Yes. The men they marry don’t measure up, will never measure and have no intention of ever measuring up. Instead of becoming a partner, she’s thrust into the role of working overtime emotionally to make her marriage a success.”

Micah had lost track of the number of times he’d overheard black women complain about not being able to find a “good black man.” He’d worked and gone to school with good black men. His brothers were good black men, loving husbands and protective fathers.

“Thank you for the backhanded compliment, Tessa. But, unlike Will and Bram, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“You don’t believe in marriage?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in marriage. In fact, I believe it’s a very important societal institution necessary for creating and preserving families. However, marriage is just not for me.”

Tessa’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “I admire your honesty. Most men would be reluctant to admit that. But I’m glad you’re not in the majority or I’d be out of business.”

“Sorry about interrupting, Uncle Micah, but Grandma is waiting for you before we say grace.”

Micah turned to find Marisol lounging in the doorway. “Tell her we’re coming.”

Tessa walked out of the bathroom with Micah. His statement, Marriage is just not for me, lingered with her during the brunch she shared with the Sanborns, and nagged at her when she sat down with Rosalind to discuss what they needed for Bridget’s upcoming wedding.

Tessa sat at a lace-covered table in Rosalind Sanborn’s sun parlor. The room was an exquisite retreat. The near-white furnishings and accessories and bright autumn sunlight filtering through white-on-white awning-striped voile drapes at the many-mullioned windows brought the outdoors inside.

She handed Rosalind a bridal information guide. “It looks more daunting than it actually is. You can read it at your leisure. However, I’m going to give you a brief overview so you’ll know what I’ll need to start the process of planning Bridget’s wedding. Please stop me anytime you need to ask me something.”

Rosalind gave Tessa a direct stare. “Even before you begin, I’d like to know whether it’s humanly possible to plan a formal wedding in ten weeks.”

Tessa saw doubt and fear in the blue eyes peering at her over a pair of half-glasses. She smiled. “Signature Bridals has been known to perform minor miracles given less time than what Bridget is giving us.”

Rosalind, pressing her palms together, exhaled audibly and whispered a silent prayer. “Edgar doesn’t like to hear it, but Bram’s right when he says that Bridget’s spoiled. Unfortunately, I’ve spoiled all of my children,” she said in a voice that seemed to come a long way off.

“Isn’t that what parents are suppose to do?”

Rosalind observed Tessa through lowered lids. “Are you speaking from experience, Tessa?”

“No, I’m not. I don’t have any children.”

There was a pregnant silence as the two women regarded each other. Tessa cleared her throat. She knew she had to steer the focus back to Bridget’s wedding.

“I’d like to cover the different elements that make up a wedding. I’ll begin with the breakdown of roles and responsibilities of the members of the wedding party, the ceremony, the reception and, last but certainly not least, is money and who pays for what. I believe it’s better when the bride and groom stick to tradition, given the time frame, but if they want to break the rules, then it can’t be something catastrophic.”

Rosalind’s expression brightened. “We don’t have to discuss money because Edgar and I will pay for the invitations, Bridget’s dress and accessories, flowers, music, the reception, including food and drink, the cake, photographer, accommodations for out-of-town guests and, of course, your fee.”

“Have you compiled a mailing list for your guests?”

“Yes. I’ll get it for you.”

“Please don’t get up,” Tessa said when Rosalind pushed back her chair. “You can give it to me before I leave.”

The two women spent over an hour going over the wording for the wedding stationery—the invitations, the place and reply cards. “Keep in mind,” Tessa suggested, “that with formal invitations guests’ names are handwritten in the top left corner or in the space provided within the wording of the invitation, and full titles are used. It’s going to be time-consuming, so Bridget will have to decide whether she wants to use them.”

Rosalind jotted notes on a legal pad. “What’s the latest we can send out invitations?”

“They should be sent out two or three months before the day, and certainly no later than six weeks before. I recommend including the preprinted reply cards and addressed envelopes with the invitations because they encourage guests to reply promptly. And the fact that Bridget and Seth are marrying New Year’s Eve may be to their advantage, because those who haven’t made plans for the holiday will have the perfect excuse to celebrate it at a black-tie affair.”

“So the invitations have to go out before the end of the month,” Rosalind mumbled under her breath.

“Realistically they should,” Tessa confirmed. “You’ll be given the choice between engraving, letterpress, offset lithography and thermography. Paper can be made of many different materials and come in all sorts of textures, finishes and weight. It’s the same with shapes. If Bridget and Seth want an unusual-shaped invitation, then they must keep in mind that it will call for custom-made envelopes. I always tell my clients that wedding stationery should be printed at the same time. Would you like a printed menu?”

“Yes. That’s something you can take with you along with the guest list. I—” A soft tapping on the door preempted her words. Turning, she glanced over her shoulder at Edgar. “Yes, dear?”

He walked into the room. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and running shoes. The faded logo of Princeton University was barely legible. “Are you almost finished?”

Rosalind looked at Tessa, who nodded. “Give us a few more minutes.”

Edgar nodded, smiling. “Tessa, I hope you’re going to join us.”

“Join you for what?”

“Micah didn’t tell you?”

Tessa shifted her gaze from Edgar to Rosalind, her expression mirroring confusion. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rosalind rested a hand on Tessa’s shoulder. “On Sundays the family gets together after brunch to play touch football.”

Tessa’s jaw dropped as she opened her mouth but no words came out. She couldn’t believe Micah had asked her to dress casually just so that someone could tackle her. If he’d mentioned football, then she would’ve told him that she didn’t do grass and dirt.

“I—I’m afraid I’m not dressed to play football,” she stammered.

Rosalind waved her hand. “Don’t worry about ruining your lovely twinset. You’re about the same size as Bridget. I’ll find something in her closet that’s certain to fit you.”

Seething and cursing Micah inwardly, Tessa forced a smile when she felt like grimacing. She’d come to New Jersey to coordinate a wedding, not play football.

Chapter 6

Tessa, wearing sweatpants and a Smith College sweatshirt and running shoes belonging to Bridget, studied the framed photograph of the woman whose clothes she wore. Rosalind had given her a new bra-and-bikini-panty ensemble to change into after the football game. The older woman appeared embarrassed when she disclosed her daughter’s obsession with frilly, delicate undergarments. The six-drawer lingerie chest was filled with bras, panties and camisoles in every fabric and color, many with the sales tags still attached.

Tessa discovered she and Bridget were almost the same size. She had an inch or two on her client in the hips, but Bridget was a cup larger in bra size.

She smiled. Now Tessa had a face to go along with the name. Smiling and staring directly at the photographer, dark-haired, green-eyed Bridget Sanborn radiated a youthful exuberance that enhanced her delicate beauty.

There was something else she’d discovered when Rosalind had directed her to her daughter’s bedroom suite: Bridget was feminine and romantic. Tessa felt as if she were on the set of a Merchant Ivory film. The furnishings and decor were unabashedly Victorian. A nest of gossamer pillows piled doubly high on a lace-trimmed counterpane graced a mahogany bed with a carved headboard and posts. Embroidered sheers at the windows filtered the afternoon light into a space with stark white walls. A collection of pale straw hats hung from pegs along one wall.

Photographs of Bridget, chronicling her life from infant to womanhood, along with photos of her brothers, parents, sisters-in-law, nephews and nieces, crowded the fireplace mantel. She stared at one of a younger Micah in his regulation NYPD uniform; her gaze shifted to an updated photograph of him with Edgar and Rosalind in front of Brooklyn Law School. There was no mistaking Rosalind’s pride when she smiled up at her son resplendent in a gown, hood and velvet tam.

Cognizant that the Sanborns were waiting for her, she left the bedroom and made her way down the long hallway to the staircase. She’d just placed her foot on the first stair when she saw Micah standing at the bottom, waiting for her. A sweatshirt had replaced his sweater, and as she came closer she saw Columbia University stamped across the front.

She stopped on a stair that brought her head level with his. Eyes narrowing, she glared at him. “I owe you one for tricking me,” she threatened softly.

He stared, unblinking. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t tell me that I’d become a participant in a football game.”

He flashed a smile, his eyelids lowering slightly, and she held her breath for several seconds. The expression was sensual enough to be X-rated.