Читать книгу Long Time Coming - Rochelle Alers - Страница 13

Tessa followed Micah as he led her around to the front entrance, and within seconds of walking into the great room with a ceiling rising upward of three stories she understood Micah’s claim that his parents were prepared to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. The size of the house and surrounding acreage confirmed that Bridget Sanborn didn’t need a room at the Waldorf or a catering hall for her reception because the Franklin Lakes house with a massive chandelier and elaborate winding staircase was the perfect setting for a formal wedding and reception.

Micah studied Tessa’s reaction to seeing the house where he’d grown up, but nothing in her expression revealed what she was thinking or feeling. “What do you think?”

Tilting her head, she flashed a warm smile. “It’s wonderful.” Opening her handbag, she took out a slim digital camera and snapped pictures of the entryway, the great room and the staircase. “Is your sister here?”

Micah shook his head. “I didn’t see her car.” He took her hand again. “Whatever happens, don’t let my mother talk your ear off.”

“I heard that, Micah Edgar Sanborn. And you know it’s not nice to gossip about your mother behind her back.”

Tessa and Micah turned around at the same time. Standing in the entryway was a petite woman with stylishly cut silver hair and laughing blue eyes. She’d come up behind them without making a sound, looking every inch the suburban housewife in a pair of khakis she’d paired with a pale blue button-down shirt, navy-blue cardigan tied over her shoulders and leather slip-ons. Attractive lines fanned out around her eyes.

Micah released Tessa’s hand and scooped up Rosalind Sanborn, kissing her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

A rush of pink suffused Rosalind’s porcelain complexion as she patted her son’s shoulder. “Don’t try to get over on me, you silver-tongued devil. I owe you a dressing-down for standing me up for dinner last week.”

Setting his mother on her feet, Micah winked at her. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turned and smiled at Tessa. “Tessa, this is my mother, Rosalind Sanborn. Mom, Miss Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals.”

Tessa slipped her camera into her purse and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Sanborn.”

Rosalind shook Tessa’s hand while rolling her eyes upward. “Please call me Rosalind. The title of Mrs. Sanborn has been reserved for my mother-in-law.”

Tessa felt an instant liking for Rosalind Sanborn. She was friendly and unpretentious, and although there was nothing in her physical appearance to substantiate that she was Micah’s biological mother, the intangible bond between mother and son was strong enough to be palpable.

“Why are we standing here talking when Tessa’s probably starving? Are you ready to eat, my dear?”

Tessa’s gaze met Rosalind’s. “Yes, ma’am.”

Taking her arm, Rosalind led Tessa across the marble floor. “You’ll get to meet everyone except Bridget. It’s not often that Edgar and I get to have all of our children together at the same time, but we take whatever we can get.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Micah a knowing look.

Tessa entered the kitchen with Micah and Rosalind and found herself bombarded by a cacophony of noise, voices and a variety of tantalizing aromas. Adults and children ranging in age from a toddler sitting on the floor banging on a pot to an adolescent sat around an oval counter in the middle of the expansive kitchen, waiting to eat. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the cooking island. He alternated flipping pancakes with checking omelets for doneness.

“Hurry up, Grandpa,” urged a young boy with a shock of unruly red curls. His identical twin brother drummed his elbows on the table as he brandished a fork like a rapier.

“Put down that fork before you put someone’s eye out,” warned a slender freckled-face woman with hair a darker shade of red.

“Hold on, champs. Grandpa is cooking as fast as he can.”

A teenage girl with a sun-browned gold complexion, waist-length curly black hair and large, slanting eyes glanced up and stared at Tessa. She’d been lip-synching to the song coming through the earbuds of her iPod Nano.

“Are you my uncle Micah’s new honey?” Snickers and giggles followed her query.

“Marisol Sanborn!” Rosalind chided, her eyebrows crinkling in a frown.

Finding herself the object of curious stares, Tessa’s gaze flitted from one face to another with a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to embarrassment to amusement. She managed a half smile as she stared at the incredibly beautiful teenager.

“No, I’m not. I’m your aunt Bridget’s wedding planner.”

Micah glared at Marisol. “Tessa, please forgive my niece’s lack of manners.” The girl hung her head, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. He moved closer to Tessa, meeting the curious gazes of his relatives. “This is Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals. Her company has earned the reputation as an A-list wedding planner, which means Bridget is very lucky to have her coordinate her wedding. Now that everyone knows you’re not my girlfriend, let me introduce you to my family.”

“What’s a honey?” asked one of the ten-year-old twins.

“Duh, baby brother. Someone you kiss on the mouth,” Marisol drawled.

Micah shot his niece a warning look. “Maybe you should make the introductions, Marisol, because, after all, you’re the factotum.”

Marisol smiled, exhibiting the colorful bands on her braces. “That’s okay, Uncle Micah. You do it.”

“Thank you, Marisol.”

She waved a hand. “Whatever.”

Taking a deep breath, Micah slowly counted to three. He loved his niece, but there were times when she truly tested his patience. “Tessa, I would like to introduce you to my father, Edgar Sanborn, aka chef and Grandpa.”

Edgar deftly slipped three pancakes off a stove-top griddle and slipped them onto a platter. He winked at Tessa, his dark eyes sparkling like polished onyx. “Welcome, Tessa. I’d shake your hand, but that would be a little risky with this wild bunch.”

She smiled at the man who bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Hollywood’s late great leading men, Clark Gable. “I understand,” she said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

Micah pointed to his redheaded sister-in-law. “This is Melinda, but everyone calls her Lindy. Standing behind her is my brother, William. Will and Lindy are the parents of my bottomless-pit nephews, Isaac and Jacob, and my niece, la princesa, Marisol.”

Marisol affected a curtsy with Micah’s compliment. Tessa acknowledged William and Lindy with a warm smile. “You have a beautiful family.” The twins looked like their mother, and Marisol had inherited her father’s rich olive-brown coloring and raven-black hair.

Bending down, Micah scooped up the toddler whose intent was to make as much noise as she could when she pounded a pot with a wooden spoon. Her sandy-brown hair, braided in cornrows, resembled orange sections, and the braids, held together with a length of red ribbon, looked like a stem.

“This future percussionist and indisputable boss of her family is Kimika.” The chubby little girl squirmed, holding her arms out to her mother, who’d affected a similar hairstyle. “Kimmie belongs to my brother Abram and my sister-in-law Ruby.”

Abram, who claimed the height and girth of a football linebacker, looped an arm around his petite wife’s waist and pressed a kiss on her braided hair. His clean-shaven dark brown head gleamed like polished teak.

Abram winked at Tessa. “I think I can speak for everyone else in the family, but I hope you have the patience of Job. Dealing with our little sister is certainly going to try your soul.”

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.