Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

I
KNEW
I
should have listened to my gut and figured out a way to get out of the bridal shower. I was tired and stressed out beyond belief, but God had insisted if I wanted to be a good friend to Alice, I should dutifully show up. When I got to the VFW Hall where the impromptu party was being held, I got an instant headache. Zeke had taken Armani’s advice and bought every single white wedding decoration sold in the state. Which wouldn’t have been too bad if he hadn’t draped every table in the place with the most hideous salmon-colored tablecloths.

Even that probably wouldn’t have given me a headache if I hadn’t heard the witches cackling in the midst of the virginal fishiness.

They hadn’t seen me, and I actually backed up two steps to make my escape, but then a hand snaked around my waist from behind and lips were pressed against my ear. “Na-ah, I’ve been stuck here with them for an hour, you’re not getting away that easily,” Zeke whispered in my ear.

Pulling away from him, I spun around and glared at his smug expression. “I wasn’t going anywhere. I just forgot something in my car.”

“You always were a terrible liar, Maggie.” He reached out and stroked a finger down my suddenly burning cheek.

I swatted his finger away.

He grinned, winked at me, and then had the audacity to boom, “There you are, Maggie!”

“Jerk,” I growled under my breath as his overly loud greeting had its desired effect and my aunts descended upon me like flies to a picnic.

I heard him chuckling as he walked away.

“You’re here!” Aunt Loretta trilled, smothering me with air kisses.

“You’re early.” Aunt Leslie made it sound like I’d never been on time to anything in my life.

I clamped my jaw shut to keep from countering with
You’re not high.

“We’re making a flock of doves,” Loretta said excitedly. “Come help.”

I allowed them to lead me to a table in the center of the room. Aunt Susan sat there, surrounded by dozens of puffy, paper doves. She looked about as thrilled as I felt.

“Zeke has done a marvelous job,” Loretta said, sitting down in a chair and opening yet another package of paper birds.

“Of course he has,” I muttered, wondering where he’d managed to escape to.

“Alice is lucky to have him,” Leslie said. “Especially since you’re no one’s idea of Maid of Honor of the Year.”

I wasn’t sure why she’d decided that I was one to be her personal punching bag, but I wasn’t about to take any more shots without swinging back. “I liked you better when you were drugged out of your mind,” I snapped.

“Margaret.” Loretta gasped, appalled.

Leslie burst into tears and ran off.

“Look what you’ve done.” Loretta tottered off after her twin, the rat-tat-tat of her stilettos echoing in the hall.

I frowned at Aunt Susan, daring her to say anything to me.

She extended a dove and a sad smile. “Your mother had paper doves at her shower. Not as many as this, but a lot of them. Of course they didn’t come prepackaged then. The twins and I had to cut them all by hand.”

Her melancholy reminiscing deflated my righteous anger. I sank into the chair beside her.

“The twins were so excited. They’d fallen for Archie’s charms and thought that your mother was going to live some fairy-tale life.”

“But you didn’t.” I didn’t even bother to make it a question.

Susan put down the dove she was working on so that she could pat my hand, which lay limply in my lap. “Would it surprise you to know that I don’t think your father is a bad man, Margaret?”

“It’d shock the shit out of me.”

She winced. “Language.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t think Archie’s a bad man. I think he has terrible judgment and that he makes horrible choices, but I don’t think he’s mean or malicious.”

“You don’t? I always thought you hated him.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. I thought he was the wrong person for Mary and a not-so-great father to you girls, but he could have been worse. He genuinely loves your mother and he never hurt or harmed you kids.”

“That’s debatable,” I muttered.

She looked over at where Zeke stood on the other side of the room setting up a ladder. “Your father never beat you, Margaret,” she said pointedly.

I nodded slowly. That was true.

“And you were never the victim of the kinds of things Alice endured. What your father did to that man . . .” She paused, remembering how Dad had beaten Alice’s perverted stepfather to within an inch of his life. “ . . . that was a good thing. Not a smart thing. Maybe not the right thing in the eyes of the law, but a good thing. That’s who your father is, someone driven by desires and passions the rest of us can’t understand. He does things that are at best questionable and at worst simply wrong, but he does them for the right reasons.”

I swallowed hard, realizing that the same description could be applied to me.

“But I look at all these stupid paper doves and all I can think of is how they didn’t bring your mother peace and happiness. They were the beginning of her downfall.”

I flinched as she ripped the head off a bird to illustrate her point. I didn’t know what to say to make her feel better so we sat there, each of us lost in our own thoughts for a couple of minutes, watching as Zeke hung salmon-colored streamers.

“Is your dress really that color?” Susan finally asked.

“I dunno. I thought it was pink, but Zeke insisted it’s salmon.”

“Has he seen it?”

“No, but I get the impression he’s hanging on every word Alice says. No doubt she told him it’s salmon. Leslie’s right. Alice is lucky to have him.” I sighed, feeling like I was failing my friend. “I guess I should go apologize to her.”

“You could,” Aunt Susan said, “but personally I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“You don’t?” That was the second shocking thing she’d said.

“She’s been a real bitch to you.”

“Language, Aunt Susan!” I teased.

She smiled. “Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother.”

“Because I’m a bitch?”

“Because of your warped sense of humor.” Her smile faded. “Leslie’s not going to stay clean, you know.”

“We can hope she will.”

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t. When she falls off the wagon, she’s going to blame you. That’s why she’s giving you such a hard time now. She’s constructing this story in her head about how you’ve wronged her, how you’ve upset her, how you’ve pushed her over the edge.”

She spoke with such conviction and authority that I believed her.

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve talked about it with my therapist.”

Third shock!

“You see a therapist?”

“How do you think I stay relatively sane in this crazy family? It might not be a bad idea for you to do the same.”

“I think I’m beyond help,” I murmured, knowing that she had no idea what crazy things I’d done and what I was planning on doing.

“Everyone needs help, Margaret. The trick is recognizing those who genuinely want to help you and being grateful for it.”

“A little help over here?” Zeke shouted from across the room, startling both Susan and me.

She chuckled. “And sometimes you need to know when others need help. Go. I’ll finish these.”

Jumping up, I hurried over to where Zeke was trying to untangle the strings of a wedding bell mobile.

“Here.” He thrust it at me. “This thing is driving me crazy.”

Looking at the tangled mess, I suggested, “We could put it straight into the trash.”

“Or . . .” he said testily, “you could at least say thank you to the man who spent way too much time and money in a party supply store.” Before I could respond, he pointed at a rented helium tank leaning in the corner. “Or you could tell me you know how to use that thing.”

“I do.”

“That’s the bride’s line,” he teased, his snit fit evaporating into thin air.

“And I am grateful,” I told him. “For all of this . . . even the doves.”

“What’s wrong with the doves?”

“Long story. Let’s leave the bells for later. With any luck Aunt Leslie will come back. When I was a kid she was the one who could always get my shoelaces unknotted and my kite string untangled.”

“You really know how to do the balloon thing?”

“It’s not rocket science. Aunt Loretta’s been married so many times, under so many balloon arches, that I could practically do this in my sleep.”

“I hate balloon arches. They make me break out in hives.”

“Are you allergic to latex?”

“No. I’m allergic to sudden, loud noises. I hate popping balloons.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I have a friend who feels the same way. So why did you get them?”

“Alice mentioned something about loving rooms filled with balloons. I figured that was a subtle hint.”

“You got them despite the fact you hate them?”

He frowned. “Why do you have such a low opinion of me? Why would you think I wouldn’t do everything in my power to make my friend happy?”

“I don’t.” I snatched up a pack of balloons, ripped one open, and positioned it at the valve of the tank. “I just figured you could have used balloon-free decorations.”

“Like what?”

I filled the balloon, taking care not to overfill it. I didn’t want it to pop and spook Zeke after all he’d done. “Flowers?”

“They do flowers at these things?”

I nodded.

“Armani didn’t tell me that. You didn’t tell me that. Nobody told me that.”

“But they do balloons too,” I soothed quickly, knotting the balloon and grabbing a piece of ribbon to tie on. “Everyone probably figured you’d been to a bunch of these before. That’s why we didn’t think to mention it.”

“To a shower? Why would you think I’ve been to a bridal shower?”

Releasing the balloon, I watched it float up to the ceiling and dance along the tiles. “Because you’re gay.”

Rocking back on his heels, Zeke stared at me, eyes bulging, mouth hanging open, looking thoroughly appalled.

“I’m sorry,” I said reaching out to pat his arm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I waved my hand to encompass the room. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Because I’m gay?” Usually Zeke was all smooth talking and charm, but at the moment he sounded like he was on the verge of coming unhinged.

“Well . . . not
just
because you’re gay.”

Disbelief and something close to anger warred in his gaze.

“Look, I’m sorry.” I raised my hands in supplication. It was bad enough I’d insulted Aunt Leslie, I really didn’t want to alienate Zeke too. “I said the wrong thing. I always say the wrong thing. Ask anyone. A couple of minutes ago I reduced my aunt to tears. I’m an equal opportunity foot-in-mouth-er.”

“How long?”

“My whole life?”

“How long have you known I’m gay?”

“Since senior year.”

“Since senior year?” his voice cracked.

I hung my head, feeling guiltily awful.

Had he thought it was a secret all this time? Even if Aunt Loretta hadn’t told me, I would have figured it out myself when he rebuffed Alice’s advances. No straight guy had ever turned down my leggy, blonde, Amazonian friend.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “Everyone’s cool with it.”

“Everyone?”

I nodded.

“Even you?” He stared at me intently.

Despite the fact we were discussing the fact that he was gay, my heartbeat sped up a little as his blue eyes searched mine. I swallowed hard, quelling the desire to tell him I thought it was monumentally unfair. “Especially me.” I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“What a mess,” he muttered. Pulling free of my grasp, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving me to finish the balloons all by myself.

Not that I needed any help.

By the time I finished the balloons, Aunt Susan had finished the doves, Zeke was done hanging all his streamers, and Aunts Leslie and Loretta returned. Zeke, Leslie, and Loretta all refused to speak to, or even make eye contact with me for the entire party. Not that I really minded, since I made a point of running myself ragged, trying to be the best maid of honor ever.

I served food. (I didn’t get a chance to actually eat any myself, but I heard it was outstanding.) I mingled with guests, mostly Alice’s friends from all of her do-gooder adventures over the years and I dutifully carried each and every gift for her to open while her friend Preppy Priscilla, the girl our high school class had voted Most Likely to Kiss Up, wrote down a list of who gave Alice what.

Zeke meanwhile stayed in the back of the room, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a permanent frown etched on his face.

It wasn’t until Lamont had shown up, and all the gifts had been packed into his car and those of my aunts, that Zeke and I interacted.

With everyone else gone, I told him, “You did all the prep work. I can do the cleanup. Go home.” I didn’t relish the idea of spending the next few hours doing all the work, but the alternative was to spend them with him mad at me. My nerves were frayed, and I feared the continuing tension might just about kill me.

Zeke surveyed the mess, calculating how much time and effort it would take to clean up.

“Really,” I said, all but shooing him out the door. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re right,” he said, turning away.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is all the stuff of landfills.” He grabbed a garbage can, hauled it over to the nearest table, and began cleaning it off.

“You don’t have to—”

He shot me a look, effectively silencing my protest.

“Thank you,” I said weakly.

“Alice wants you to pick up your dress.”

“I told her I’d do it tomorrow. I’ve got something to do tonight.”

“Hot date?” he asked.

I had an appointment to kill a man. “No, just something I’ve got to take care of.”

“She wants me to go with you to make sure you get the dress tomorrow.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.” I considered popping a balloon to illustrate my point, but thought better of it. After all, he was helping me clean up.

Ignoring me, he said, “I told her I would.”

“Awesome,” I said sarcastically.