drop off the cake.”
“Can I go?” This could be the perfect opportunity to check out the menu at someone else’s shower. Do a little research.
“Sure. I could actually really use your help.”
Good. We would both get something out of my going. “What time do we have to leave?”
“In an hour or so,” Mom replied.
I freshened up in the bathroom, and when I was through, I found Dad in the kitchen with Mom. He was home from work, where he does something I’ve never really understood—investments or investing or something like that.
“Hey, Dad.” I smiled when I spotted the spoonful of icing in his hand. Like father, like daughter.
“Hi, Bellie. Will you be around for family home evening tonight?”
“Aren’t I always, Dad?” Since the first Monday after I graduated college and moved back to Monterey, I have had family home evening with my parents. Usually, I go to the one at singles ward and then go to my parents’ house afterwards.
Dad smiled. “Yes, but you have a boyfriend now. I thought maybe you’d just go to singles ward and then spend some time with him.”
“What?! Dad, Isaac isn’t my boyfriend!” Although I did kind of like the sound of that. “You can’t go around calling him that, okay?”
“Okay,” Dad said, raising his hands in acquiescence.
Mom looked up from her cake and smiled at the two of us.
“Plus, the singles ward isn’t having FHE tonight,” I explained.
“Annabelle is going to come with me to Bev Stapleton’s house to drop off the cake,” Mom said. “We’ll be back at about eight o’clock. I know it’s a little late, but they asked me to do this cake at the last minute. I didn’t have time to plan as well as I would have liked.”
“It’s a beautiful cake, Marjorie.” Dad kissed Mom gently on the top of her brown curls.
Mom put the finishing touches on the cake and declared it finished. She asked me to put some frozen stew into the microwave for dinner while she changed out of her cake-making clothes.
Mom emerged from her room in a floral skirt and a short-sleeved sweater set. Her hair was freshly combed, and she had put on a creamy shade of lipstick. She looked lovely. Dad obviously thought the same thing because he whistled at her. Mom responded to the whistle with a grin and a “Stop, Walter.”
As Mom and I prepared to leave for the shower, I found that everything was making me think of Isaac. As we ate our stew I saw a carrot that was in the exact shape of Isaac’s Firebird. Mom and Dad didn’t quite see the resemblance, but I’m telling you, it was there. Then as Mom and I were loading the cake into the back of the station wagon, she said to me, “Watch out for this icing,” but for a split second I thought she said, “Watch and then kiss Isaac.”
Oh, man. I was falling fast.
I stepped inside the gigantic Carmel home where the final touches were being put on Elise Stapleton’s bridal shower. I helped Mom carry the cake through the marble-floored entryway and into a kitchen that looked much different than the bridal shower kitchens I’m used to. No stacks of dishes. No sauce spills. No hurried women bumping into each other as one pours bottles of Sprite into a punch bowl while the other stirs in the limeade. All I saw was a huge, spotless kitchen filled with gourmet foods and people with focused looks on their faces and neat uniforms on their backs.
Inside the kitchen, a woman in a cream-colored dress greeted Mom. “Marjorie,” she said. Then she glanced at the cake and gushed, “How lovely. Let’s take that out to the ballroom.”
On the way to the ballroom, which I thought was a room that only existed in old movies and the game of Clue, Mom introduced me to the woman in the cream-colored dress: Bev Stapleton. We exchanged greetings.
As Bev, Mom, and I entered the ballroom, my eyes grew wide. This was not a bridal shower, it was a bridal storm.
The first thing I noticed, probably because we were standing right next to
“Can I go?” This could be the perfect opportunity to check out the menu at someone else’s shower. Do a little research.
“Sure. I could actually really use your help.”
Good. We would both get something out of my going. “What time do we have to leave?”
“In an hour or so,” Mom replied.
I freshened up in the bathroom, and when I was through, I found Dad in the kitchen with Mom. He was home from work, where he does something I’ve never really understood—investments or investing or something like that.
“Hey, Dad.” I smiled when I spotted the spoonful of icing in his hand. Like father, like daughter.
“Hi, Bellie. Will you be around for family home evening tonight?”
“Aren’t I always, Dad?” Since the first Monday after I graduated college and moved back to Monterey, I have had family home evening with my parents. Usually, I go to the one at singles ward and then go to my parents’ house afterwards.
Dad smiled. “Yes, but you have a boyfriend now. I thought maybe you’d just go to singles ward and then spend some time with him.”
“What?! Dad, Isaac isn’t my boyfriend!” Although I did kind of like the sound of that. “You can’t go around calling him that, okay?”
“Okay,” Dad said, raising his hands in acquiescence.
Mom looked up from her cake and smiled at the two of us.
“Plus, the singles ward isn’t having FHE tonight,” I explained.
“Annabelle is going to come with me to Bev Stapleton’s house to drop off the cake,” Mom said. “We’ll be back at about eight o’clock. I know it’s a little late, but they asked me to do this cake at the last minute. I didn’t have time to plan as well as I would have liked.”
“It’s a beautiful cake, Marjorie.” Dad kissed Mom gently on the top of her brown curls.
Mom put the finishing touches on the cake and declared it finished. She asked me to put some frozen stew into the microwave for dinner while she changed out of her cake-making clothes.
Mom emerged from her room in a floral skirt and a short-sleeved sweater set. Her hair was freshly combed, and she had put on a creamy shade of lipstick. She looked lovely. Dad obviously thought the same thing because he whistled at her. Mom responded to the whistle with a grin and a “Stop, Walter.”
As Mom and I prepared to leave for the shower, I found that everything was making me think of Isaac. As we ate our stew I saw a carrot that was in the exact shape of Isaac’s Firebird. Mom and Dad didn’t quite see the resemblance, but I’m telling you, it was there. Then as Mom and I were loading the cake into the back of the station wagon, she said to me, “Watch out for this icing,” but for a split second I thought she said, “Watch and then kiss Isaac.”
Oh, man. I was falling fast.
I stepped inside the gigantic Carmel home where the final touches were being put on Elise Stapleton’s bridal shower. I helped Mom carry the cake through the marble-floored entryway and into a kitchen that looked much different than the bridal shower kitchens I’m used to. No stacks of dishes. No sauce spills. No hurried women bumping into each other as one pours bottles of Sprite into a punch bowl while the other stirs in the limeade. All I saw was a huge, spotless kitchen filled with gourmet foods and people with focused looks on their faces and neat uniforms on their backs.
Inside the kitchen, a woman in a cream-colored dress greeted Mom. “Marjorie,” she said. Then she glanced at the cake and gushed, “How lovely. Let’s take that out to the ballroom.”
On the way to the ballroom, which I thought was a room that only existed in old movies and the game of Clue, Mom introduced me to the woman in the cream-colored dress: Bev Stapleton. We exchanged greetings.
As Bev, Mom, and I entered the ballroom, my eyes grew wide. This was not a bridal shower, it was a bridal storm.
The first thing I noticed, probably because we were standing right next to
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