For some reason, Sara awoke the morning of the wedding with butterflies in her stomach. She couldn't figure it out why—it wasn't her wedding.
Wiley had taken his ushers to the hotel room his best man was staying in and let the ladies take over Sara's Place. He left the night before. Both he and Polexia were firm believes of it being bad luck to see each other before the wedding.
The only guest at Sara's Place not part of the wedding party was Grissom. He had ducked out of the house for the day. To where, Sara didn't know. However, she wished she could duck out too, and go wherever he was. She still hadn't thanked him for last night. He'd left in such a rush.
When Sara emerged from the family wing around nine, she saw Eavan and Cecilia along with all the bridesmaids plus Elizabeth, Sophie, Megan and Kirya, all gathered in the living room. It was bedlam. The room smelled of hair spray, nail polish remover and carnations.
"Sara!" Cecilia said once she spotted her. "Could you please help Kirya get dressed? And help Sophie and Megan too."
"What?" Sara was still in her pajamas. She needed to wash up and shower…and when was she supposed to eat? She tried to tell this to Cecilia, but she had already gone back to French-braiding Honore's mane of unruly dark curls. That was to be the hairstyle for all the maids.
"We can dress ourselves, Aunt Sara," Megan said. They too had just came from the family wing right behind Sara.
"You sure?"
"We're ten and twelve," Sophie rolled her eyes. "We know which way is up."
All four of Wiley's daughters were given their father's old bedroom to sleep in last night so the extra guest bedrooms would be free for the adults in the party. Last night, as Sara was reading in bed, the three older girls ambushed her with nail polish and makeup. Sara outright refused to let her nieces even come near her with the makeup but permitted a manicure and pedicure.
"Polly and Cee-Cee might have a fit and make you take it off," Elizabeth cringed as she coated Sara's toes with Midnight Blueberry.
"Well, it is Polly's wedding," Sara pointed out, Megan's hand on her knee, painting the tiny, bitten-down nails Ginger Peach.
"I like her," Sophie suggested, brandishing a bottle of Desert Rose.
Elizabeth merely grunted. Sara guessed she felt the same way about Polexia the way Wiley did about Eavan—their mothers were first and always will be.
Sara managed to wrangle Kirya into her flower girl dress and Kirya, being the pageant trooper that she was, behaved like a champ. She squirmed for a few moments, eager to return to a game of hide-and-seek she was involved in with Polexia's nephew Troy, the only other child as young as she who would be at the wedding.
"I won't get dirty, I promise!" Kirya told her aunt Sa-wa before running off to find Troy, who, according to Kirya, was hiding "very goodly."
Meanwhile, Polexia was a nervous wreck. She trembled noticeably, but refused a mild tranquilizer from her sister Crisli's husband, a doctor. She also turned down cigarettes from Maaike and coffee from her mother.
"Just some water, please, Mother," Polexia gave a weak smile.
"I don't want you to faint while going down the aisle," Georgia Woulfe fretted, wearing an ivory gown. "Put something in your stomach, for God's sake!"
Eavan offered to make her something, anything she wanted. "I can run right into the kitchen and whip something up, Polly."
"I don't want to trouble you…" Polexia softly said.
"No trouble at all," Eavan said sweetly. In her beautiful green gown she'd bought special for the occasion, Eavan swept off into the kitchen.
Cecilia, in aqua, plunked down on the couch beside Sara, who was already dressed and buckling her shoes and now awaiting her turn for hair and makeup. "There goes your mom, Suzy Homemaker."
"She likes to take care of people," Sara replied, slightly offended.
"Oh, I understand that, Sunny. I'm just jealous," Cecilia patted Sara's knee. "Turn around. Let me do your hair."
Sara obeyed and let Cecilia comb out her hair and prepared to French-braid it. It had been ages since Sara had done anything with her hair except pull it into a ponytail or bun for work. Most of the time she left it down.
"Eavan's the kind of gal Phil wanted from the very beginning, I think," Cecilia continued. "A cooker, a cleaner, warm, loving, sweet. And God, is she maternal! I was never like that, never at all. Still not. Lord knows how Wiley turned out normal!"
Eavan returned shortly with a platter of fresh vegetables and a small bowl of dip on a try. "Here, sweetie," she placed it on the coffee table in front of Polexia. "Fresh from my garden."
Cecilia nudged Sara in the back with her elbow, "A garden! See? I never had a garden."
Sara had to laugh at that. She couldn't picture Cecilia digging in the dirt on her hands and knees. She might have broken a nail.
Polexia finally calmed down enough so that she could hold a glass of water and not have anything spill.
"Better, darling?" Georgia cooed.
"Yes, Mother. I'm fine," Polexia answered stiffly.
"Are you sure you don't want cigarette?" Maaike asked gently, her accent soft. She came over to kneel beside Polexia and squeeze her shoulder a bit. "Perhaps shot of whiskey? Make you calm down, loosen up."
"My daughter will not poison her body for the sake of being calm! She is a nurse, for God's sake!" shrilled Georgia.
"Maybe she's the one who needs a cigarette and a shot of whiskey," Cecilia whispered to Sara. When she finished braiding Sara's hair minutes later and tied it off with a clear rubber band, Cecilia stood and announced, "We're getting down to the wire, ladies. I'm off to fetch the groom and his entourage."
Sara's last shred of sanity left with Cecilia, now trapped in a pink hell. She tried desperately to sink into the couch, but to no avail.
Maaike came to sit beside her, lit cigarette in hand. Her makeup was done and her hair was French-braided, with a wreath of carnations perched on top of her head. "Look like shit, no?"
"Who, Polly? Yeah, she's a wreck."
"No, I talking about us. Look like cotton candy. Puff the Magic Bridesmaid."
"You heard me say that at the cocktail party?"
"Little pitchers big ears," she ground out her cigarette in a glass ashtray engraved with Sara's Place, Happy Twentieth Anniversary, 1987.
"So, how's your daughter?" Sara asked, then wished she hadn't.
Maaike's face turned to stone. "How is this your business?"
"I'm just curious," replied Sara meekly.
"I hear from Lorelei every so often," Maaike said after a pause, examining her nails. "She doesn't like to write. She's not writer, not good with words. Not good with numbers. Lorelei is good for nothing but waiting tables and lying on her back."
"How can you say that about your own daughter?" Sara asked, a bit shocked.
"Not every child special, Sara," Maaike lowered her voice and explained hurriedly in her broken English. Sara never found out why Maaike never bothered to perfect her speech, she had been in America for over fifteen years. "Not every parent think their kid great. Lorelei is not smart. She doesn't use her head. How you think she get baby? She did not even tell me who father was! Sixteen years old, she doesn't need baby, so I told her get abortion. She said no, no. She say she want baby, think baby help her grow up. So I kick her out, take her to Prague where they have special home for girls like her. Why should I deal with pregnant daughter who wants to grow up? I'm grown up, I don't need baby to make me grow up. Not my fucking problem."
"Will Lorelei and the baby come back to America?"
"Maybe, when baby is older. Two years old now. Maybe she doesn't want to come back. Fine with me. She speak language, she comfortable there, has place to live with baby and a job. Waiting tables of course."
"Did she have a boy or a girl?"
Maaike reached underneath the couch they were sitting on and withdrew a Coach purse. She unzipped it and withdrew the matching wallet. She opened it and flipped through a collection of photos until she came what she wanted to show Sara: a beautiful teenaged girl with dark, curling hair and a heart-shaped face cradling a sleeping infant swathed in blue fleece. "Nicasio. My grandson." She let Sara hold the wallet as she lit another cigarette. "Taken when he was born."
Sara was looking more at Lorelei than at the baby. The heart-shaped face free of makeup made her look becomingly innocent. The dark hair and facial features were Maaike's. Hair tucked back revealed an ear pierced all the way around—gold, silver, rhinestones, studs, hoops. The hand on the baby's blanket was bedecked with black nail polish, stacks of rings and encircled with various bracelets. The baby, Nicasio, had dark hair like his mother and grandmother.
Sara stole a glance at Maaike. She was staring at the photograph so lovingly that Sara was convinced this woman was not as hard as she came off as. She probably loved her daughter and grandson more than life itself and for a few fleeting moments, Sara wished she could relate.
"They flew me from Los Angeles to be there when he was born," Maaike said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Looks like his mama, no?"
"He's beautiful," Sara agreed. "He's two years old now, huh?"
"Lorelei looks much like her father. Lorelei's father was my college professor," Maaike continued, ignoring Sara's question. "That is why Polly never knew who he was and Lorelei never knew either. He was handsome, so handsome. I did not care that he was older, older and my superior. I was foolish. I thought…I thought he would leave wife, marry me, we all be happy family. But no, I was a fool. Stupid foreign girl to take advantage of." Suddenly, she snatched the wallet from Sara's hands and closed it with a snap. She put her cigarette in the ashtray as she put everything away. Only when the purse was tucked safely beneath the couch did she pick it back up again. "Happy now? You get sneak peek of my life, which I share with no one. Feel special, Sara Sidle."
And, for some reason, Sara did.