Chapter 10
"Merry Christmas, everyone," Laura greeted, as she came down the open stairwell, Remington following her with a hand placed on the small of her back.
They'd been awakened shortly after seven-thirty by the squeals of six-year-old Laurie Beth, followed by shouts and whoops from Danny and Mindy. Laura showered first, then exchanged places with Remington while she dried her hair. A scant twenty-five minutes later – she clad in red silk shirt with cream slacks and he in brown tweed slacks, white dress shirt and a pair of bracers that matched her shirt – they were walking down the stairs, having become well-versed, across the years, at preparing themselves for the day quickly and efficiently.
"Merry Christmas, darling," Abigail returned, standing to plant a kiss on her daughter's cheek.
"Happy Christmas, Abigail," Remington offered, taking both of her offered hands in his and leaning in to buss her on the cheek.
"Coffee for you, Laura," Frances announced, setting the mug on a coffee table, "And tea for you, Remington."
"France, you are truly an angel of mercy," Remington extoled, most sincerely. If there was a price to be paid for their antics the night prior, it came in the form of eyes that felt like sandpaper, a sluggish brain and a body that ached in the most delightful of ways.
"Look, Aunt Laura," Laurie Beth demanded, eagerly, as she charged across the room with an armful of dolls, large and small, and a trio of stuffed animals. "Santa brought me Barbie and the Rockers, P.J. Sparkles, Pound Puppies and Teddy Ruxpin! Oh, and Colorforms, a Speak-n-Spell and a Lite Brite!"
"I got—" Mindy called from across the room as she dug through her stash, then with a glance at Laurie Beth corrected, "Santa brought me nail polish, perfume, a Make-It-And-Bake-It oven, Fashion Plates, an electronic journal, earrings and a boom box – and it's pink! See?" She held it up for all to admire. "And Mom said since… Santa… brought me the earrings I can get my ears pierced when we get home!"
"I wanna get my ears pierced, too!" Laurie Beth protested.
"You're too little!" Mindy declared with an air of superiority.
"Am not!" Laurie Beth shouted.
"Are too!"
"Laurie Beth, Mindy, is this how we behave and on Christmas of all days?" Frances scolded.
"Sorry," the two girls said in chorus, although the reprimand didn't prevent Laurie Beth from sticking her tongue out at Mindy when Frances turned her head.
"Danny, what did… Santa… bring you?" Laura inquired.
"A new baseball glove and basketball shoes, a remote control truck, an erector set and a Walkman, but none of that sissy music that Mindy likes," he answered.
"George Michael and Michael Jackson isn't sissy music, Danny!" Mindy objected.
"Uh-huh!" he shot back, then informed Laura, "I'm into Rock: U2, Guns N' Roses, Springsteen. Mindy likes that bubblegum stuff." He rolled his eyes, expressing how he felt about the genre.
"Mom!" Mindy complained, while Remington turned to Laura, his mouth hovering near her ear.
"A single suitcase?" Remington asked in an undertone. "A private charter might be more fitting." Laura smiled at him, and patted his leg, in both agreement and as a silent admonition that he might not want to announce his thoughts publicly.
"I have to admit, I don't share Danny's taste in music," Frances shared with Remington and Laura, shaking her head. "I mean all that racket and what is it with all the long hair? But that George Michael Mindy's always going on about? His music's not too bad." She gave Laura a smile that suggested a confidence shared between sisters. "And he's quite the looker."
"Ewwwwww! Mommmmmmm!" Mindy vociferously objected.
"I kind of enjoy Springsteen," Donald offered.
"Laura, what did Remington get you?" Frances wondered. In the chair nearby Laura, Abigail scooted slightly forward, in anticipation of the 'big announcement'.
"I have no idea," Laura answered, honestly. "Our gifts are upstairs. We haven't opened them yet."
"Mmm, I may something tucked away down here," Remington announced as he rose, then feigned forgetfulness. "Can't leave a thing out with Laura about, you know," he expounded, jovially "Far too curious. Can't help herself."
"She never could stand to see an unopened present with her name on it," Abigail concurred. The comment caught Remington's full attention.
"Is that so?" he asked, nudging the conversation ahead. As taciturn as Laura liked the accuse him of being, she was equally as stingy with the details of her past, and he was no less curious than she.
"That's not true!" Laura denounced.
"Why, one year she opened the end of every present under the tree to find out what was inside, just hoping no one noticed," her Mother continued at Remington's encouragement, ignoring her daughter's rebuke.
"Mother, I was eight!" Laura objected, then turned to look at Remington. "The only thing I wanted was a baseball glove and bat. And there was nothing—" she cut a hand through the air "Under that tree resembling either."
"You should have asked Santa," Laurie Beth interjected.
"I did," Laura replied, in a treacly tone while wearing a patently false, "But he didn't get my list," the last was said with an accusatory slant of her eyes toward her mother. "So, he brought me what he believed all little girls should want: Barbies and a Tiny Tears doll."
"It was such a cute doll," Abigail enthused looking from adult-to-adult in the room. "She came with a little wardrobe and cried real tears. Most little girls would have been thrilled."
"I wasn't like most little girls, Mother," Laura felt the need to point out. Abigail turned her head and looked at Remington.
"Her father went right out the next day and bought a bat and glove for her," she explained with a disapproving voice. "That man was always spoiling her. Why I remember—"
"Frances," Laura nearly shouted her sister's name at mention of her father, "What did Donald get you for Christmas?"
"Oh, my present is scheduled to be delivered the day after we get back to LA," Frances replied hesitantly, looking at Abigail to see her reaction to being interrupted then continuing when it appeared no reprimand was to follow. "You know that new washer and dryer I've been wanting?" Frances smile was radiant, while Laura mused if she were to received a washer and dryer for Christmas, Remington would be making friends with the sofa for a long, long time to come.
"How wonderful for you," she congratulated, then turned to her brother-in-law. "And Donald, may I ask what Frances got you?" His face lit up at the question.
"A real beauty of a lawn mower: Self-propelled with an easy release bag," he bragged. "It's gonna be a real back saver, that's for sure."
"How… exciting," Laura offered. The idea of giving… or wanting… appliances and lawn equipment for Christmas simply escaped her. Thank God, her Mr. Steele was anything but a practical gift giver.
"Ah, yes," the man of her thoughts heralded with relish. "Here we are." He discretely left one of the packages where it had been hidden. He'd seen Laura pale at mention of her father and thought better of pulling out a reminder that could possibly encourage Abigail to continue on in that vein. He sat back down next to her and held out held out the famous blue box with silver lettering wrapped in a white bow, "Happy Christmas, Laura." Her eyes flickered from the box to his face and back to the box again. Nervously, she rubbed her palms against her slacks and began to stand.
"Let me just go upstairs—" A hand on her arm saw her stalling when she'd risen halfway.
"Later," he insisted. Her eyes flitted from Donald, to Frances, to Abigail. All eyes were upon her – even Mindy had perked up at the sudden silence. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she sat back down.
"Alright," she drew out the word, holding out a hand when he offered her the box again. He leaned in close, appearing to be bussing her on the cheek.
"This and the coat were meant to be betrothal gifts," he whispered. Her eyes widened at the admission, and she grew absurdly more anxious. With a glance at him again, she untied the bow, opened the box and removed the jeweler's box within. Drawing in a long soft breath, she slowly opened it then silently let out her breath.
"They're beautiful," she complimented, lifting her eyes to meet his. "Thank you." She brushed her lips against his cheek, as Frances leaned forward precariously to try to get a peek.
"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Laura," she cajoled. Closing the box, Laura held it out to her sister.
"You may as well see for yourself." Frances took the offering eagerly, snapping the box open immediately.
"Oh, my," she breathed. "I've never owned a pair of diamond earrings." The solitaire drop earrings sported a radiant cut solitaire in each that were identical to the ring on her hand. Donald laughed at the suggestion.
"Where would you wear them, Frannie? In the carpool line at the kids' schools?" He held out a hand in Laura and Remington's direction. "We're not Laura and Remington, hobnobbing with society, going to the ballet, policeman's ball's and stuff."
"Oh… well… now… we don't hob—" Laura tried to step in, worried Frances would break out in hysterical sobs at any second and flee the room.
"The fanciest place we've gone to in the last three years is the dental convention," Donald continued to defend.
"Well, that is true," Frances conceded, much to Laura's shock. "Still, it would be nice…" She sighed, regretfully.
"So, I'll get you a pair for your birthday instead of a new stove," Donald promised.
"But the stove was five years old when we moved into the house, and I use the stove every day," Frances argued. "When would I ever wear diamond earrings?" Laura's jaw fell open.
"Frances, you just said—" she began, aghast, but a knock at the door of the suite stalled the conversation.
"I imagine that will be breakfast," Remington announced, standing.
"You ordered breakfast? When did you have time to order breakfast?" Laura wondered. He looked back over his shoulder at her as he walked towards the door.
"While you were in the shower. Didn't take but a minute," he replied, then swung open the door. "Come in, come in," he ushered in the two bellhops bearing carts laden with food. "I imagine the dining room should be sufficient."
"If you'll excuse me, I'm think I'll give Remington a hand," Laura informed the remaining three adults. She was halfway across the room when Frances called her back.
"Laura, don't forget your earrings." Laura doubled back.
"I imagine I should put them up before we eat," she considered aloud, as she held her hand out for the box. The living room was a whirlwind of wrapping paper and empty boxes. Should the earrings get lost amongst-
"Laura, is that what I think it is?" Frances demanded to know, her voice pitching two octaves higher. Laura cringed as Frances grabbed her hand. She hadn't planned on making any announcements until after the Christmas morning festivities were over… or maybe after lunch… or dinner. The truth was, she wasn't overly eager to subject herself to the multitude of backhanded compliments from Abigail that would sure come upon learning her youngest daughter had 'finally caught herself a good one.' Steeling herself, she straightened her shoulders.
"Yes. Yes, it is." She scrunched her face as Frances let out a shriek that Laura was quite certain could be heard in Times Square and bolted from her seat to smother Laura in a hug. Frances's joyous cry caught the attention of all in the room and brought Remington scrambling back into the living room. Grinning, as he assumed the obvious, he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way towards Laura.
"What's going on?" Donald asked, unsure why he was getting to his feet, and completely confounded by his suddenly ecstatic, and now teary-eyed wife.
"When? When did he ask?" Frances demanded to know.
"Why, on their carriage ride last night, of course, Frances, dear," Abigail answered on Laura's behalf, in a blissfully serene tone. Standing, she approached her daughters, intent on offering her youngest her congratulations. Laura reared back in Frances's embrace and stared at her mother, shocked.
"You knew?" she asked, in stunned disbelief.
"For weeks," Abigail confirmed, then turned to Remington who'd reached the group, to pat him on the cheek with a hand. "Such a nice boy. He called to ask my permission to marry you." Laura saw red at the news and pulled herself from Frances's embrace, then faced Remington, plopping her fisted hands on her fists.
"You asked permission? Did you barter for the amount of livestock you'd get in exchange—" He bestowed her with an amused smile – one she fiercely wished to wipe right off his face.
"Let's try to remember, Laura," Remington stepped in, taking her hand and patting it between his, "I'm not only European, but Daniel also spent a good portion of my life drilling proper etiquette into my head, and according to tradition, a man should ask the father – or mother, as the case may be – for the hand of the woman he intends to marry." Lips parted, prepared to dress him down fully, her mouth clamped shut. For all his faults, despite his willingness to break rules as he saw fit, the man could be shockingly traditional, a throwback to another time even. Given it was from the same place that these chivalrous ideals popped up from every now was also from where his enduring commitment to her came from, how could she possibly protest?
"Well…" One word, but he took it for the concession that it was.
"Congratulations, Remington," Donald stepped into the fray, offering his future brother-in-law a hand. "You're a lucky man." Remington shook his hand, a wide smile on his face.
"You'll hear no argument from me," he acknowledged.
"Laura." Donald embraced her and pecked her on the cheek. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," she answered, with a genuine smile on her face, exchanging the embrace.
"So when's the big day?" Frances prodded for information, then stepped away from the group to place and think aloud. "Do you know where the ceremony will be held? The reception? I imagine it will be a big wedding when you consider family, friends, clients and such. You'll need a big enough place for all those guests."Then there's the matter of the venue and the number of guests determining the size of your wedding party—"
"Aunt Laura, are you and Mr. Remington getting married? For real?" Mindy asked eagerly, as she came to stand before her aunt.
"Yes, we are," Laura confirmed, still smiling, as Remington slid around her waist and gave it a squeeze.
"Angela Sarducci was in her aunt's wedding it was all she could talk about for months! Can I be in yours? Please? Pretty please?"
"I wanna be in it, too," Laurie Beth shouted, bolting to her feet and running across the room to stand before Laura.
"Now, girls, that wasn't at all polite. We do not ask people to be in their wedding," Frances admonished. "Either we're asked, or we're not, that's just how it works."
"Nonsense," Abigail disagreed. "Naturally, as Laura's sister, you'll be her matron of honor and Laurie Beth and Mindy will be flower girls."
"Mother!" Laura snapped. "I don't even know if that's possible!" Abigail gave her youngest daughter her full attention.
"That makes no sense, Laura," she challenged. "Why wouldn't it be possible?" Laura's shoulders slumped and she turned her head to look at Remington, silently asking for help. What she received was the arch of an amused brow, that told her he knew she was trying to avoid the inevitable. With no help coming from that corner and knowing she was about to send her mother into apoplectic fits, she drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulder and tipped up her chin defiantly.
"Because, Mother, we're getting married in six days. On New Year's Eve."
Then waited for the storm to come…