Gilda Joyce: The Bones of the Holy (5 page)

“My sentiments exactly. Anyway, part of the reason I called is that I just came up with a brilliant solution.”

“Which is?”

“Your parents could adopt me.”

“That's definitely one of the worst ideas you've ever had.”

“Why? My mom could give your parents some money for the extra expenses.”

“They'd never go for it. For one thing, they're already disappointed with the ‘disobedient' kids they have. And they'd probably lock you in your bedroom until you got straight A's or at least straight B-pluses.”

“Maybe I could focus on helpful stuff like babysitting your little brother and assisting your mom at the nail salon. See, between the
two
of us, they'd finally have the perfect daughter.”

Wendy let out a derisive laugh that was more of a snort. “So how does Stephen feel about all of this?”

“He feels dumb.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“He doesn't even know it's happening. When I tried to explain the whole situation to him, he didn't even believe me at first. Then he told me that he doesn't even care if it's true.”

“Huh. By the way, I was thinking of asking Stephen to the Sadie Hawkins Dance,” said Wendy, changing the subject. “Do you think he'd go with me?”

“No, I don't.” Gilda felt annoyed at Wendy's nonchalant topic switch.

“Why not?”

“Because Stephen told me before that he only likes you ‘as a friend.' I mean, he thinks you're smart and nice and everything, but I doubt he'll go on a date with you.”

“It doesn't have to be like a big serious date. We could just hang out and have fun at the dance.”

“Have you ever seen Stephen dance?”

“No.”

“Exactly. By definition:
not
a fun date. And by the way, I really appreciate how you're helping me solve the problem I called you about.”

Wendy sighed. “But there's nothing I can do about it!”

“I already told you my idea.”

“Hey—instead of you moving in with me, how about me moving down to Florida with you and your mom? I would love to live on the beach. Omigod, think of the cute guys.”

“Okay.” Gilda felt a wave of sadness, knowing that this would never happen. Her life seemed to be heading in a direction completely separate from Wendy's much sooner than either of them had ever expected. “When the time comes for us to move, I'll just tell Mom, ‘We're adopting Wendy Choy as part of the deal.'”

“Good plan,” said Wendy.

Both girls felt a sense of foreboding as they hung up the phone.

To: WENDY CHOY

From: GILDA JOYCE

RE: COUNTDOWN TO HALLOWEEN NUPTIALS IN ST. AUGUSTINE

 

Hey Wendy!

I promised you hourly updates during the countdown to my mom's Halloween wedding, and I plan to deliver on my promise. (Well, at least daily updates.)

So right now I'm sitting next to Mom on the airplane. I
was
wearing my plumed Southern belle hat, but the lady next to me asked me to take it off because she's allergic to feathers. I know you're wondering where Stephen is, what he's wearing, and what he's thinking, so I'll tell you right away that he isn't even with us.
Why
, you ask? He had to finish a special group presentation for his advanced-placement English class, so he convinced Mom to let him fly down on Halloween—just a day before the wedding. (Like I told you before, “What Stephen wants, Stephen gets.”) And no, I don't think Stephen might need your help to make his morning coffee and butter his toast while his mom is out of town, so stop asking.

I thought Mom and I should use the time on the plane to educate ourselves about life in the South, so I brought a few books along, such as
Becoming a Southern Belle: A Guide for the Northerner
and
Southern Weddings
. Mom definitely needs help in both of these departments because she doesn't look or act like a Southern bride-to-be. If you can believe it,
she doesn't even know what she's going to wear at her own wedding! SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW SHE'S GOING TO STYLE HER HAIR!!

If we're going all the way down to Florida for Mom's spur-of-the-moment wedding, I'd at least like to avoid becoming the laughingstock of the St. Augustine community. Clearly, Mom needs my help with this wedding!

 

ME: Wearing white will be out of the question, of course.

MOM: Gilda, lots of people getting married for the second time wear a white wedding dress if they want to.

ME: But it's kind of pushing things in the case of a
shotgun
wedding like this one.

MOM: This is not a “shotgun” wedding. You really are something, Gilda. Anyway, the wedding ceremony is going to be very small and simple—just a few friends and family. Nothing fancy.

I helped Mom by creating a helpful list of all the tasks we'd need to complete in just a few days.

 

I showed Mom some pictures of Southern weddings from my books. I explained how “big hair is best!” and how the bridesmaids' shoes should be dyed to match their dresses and the color of the punch bowl. I showed her down-home recipes for flaky biscuits, fried chicken, and Jell-O with floating marshmallows (something I plan to make as soon as possible).

She only laughed.

ME: Mom, you have to realize that the South is full of these old, cherished traditions. We're coming in as outsiders from the Motor City up north, so people are going to be suspicious of us and our alien ways. We might have a tough time fitting in down there. (To be honest, Wendy, now that I've read these books, I'm worried. What in the world will my life be like if we actually move there for good?)

MOM: I think those books are exaggerating, Gilda. St. Augustine has a deep local history, but it's also a college town where people come from all over. They've actually
seen
people from Michigan before.

 

Nevertheless, Mom said she might take me up on my offer to be the official wedding planner, as long as I cut a few items from the to-do list.

WHY would I want to be the wedding planner, you ask? Because I figure this will give me a lot of opportunities to snoop around and dig up some local gossip about Mr. Pook! Besides, you know how I love the theater, and let's face it—a wedding is like a big show followed by a cast party. Of course, the bride and groom have to stay together for the rest of their lives after everyone else goes home to recover from the big day. (That's the serious part.)

On impulse, I asked my mom a very personal question.

ME: Can I ask you a personal question, Mom?

MOM: That depends.

ME: Do you
love
Mr. Pook?

Wendy, remember how we watched that soap opera during the last week of summer vacation and the characters were always asking each other, “Do you love him?” or “Do you love her?” and we kept laughing because it always sounded so cheesy? Well, I now know that it
feels
even cheesier to say it aloud, especially when the name “Mr. Pook” is in the same sentence. In fact, I think any actor who can deliver that line without bursting into laughter should be handed an Oscar.

Still, there's just ONE answer to that question that makes sense for someone who's planning to get married in a matter of days, and MY MOM DIDN'T SAY IT. (The answer is “yes,” just in case you're clueless.)

Mom pressed her hands against her cheeks. She was actually blushing like a schoolgirl.

“He's a very interesting man,” my mom said. “And he believes we're meant for each other.”

Okay, Wendy, you better not be thinking that sounded “so romantic,” or this is going to be my last letter.

 

STATION BREAK: Time to pause for an airplane snack of cheese sandwiches wrapped in cellophane.