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Val’s expression dims again as I swallow air down my very dry throat. I think I need a bagel too. I don’t mind fennel.
“It’s good,” I mumble on my way to the snack table.
A neat pile of fennel seeds now rests beside the tray of bagels. A second pile of onion flakes is amassing beside it as Uncle Howard takes issue with that garnish as well. He knows there are plain ones, right?
“Larinda! We drove all this way to congratulate you in person,” Mama chides, tugging me around by the elbow.
“You drove less than an hour, and you didn’t even know I was going to be engaged when we discussed this.”
I certainly didn’t. In fact, now is the perfect time to tell them it’s not real. That I’ll be breaking it off and?—
“Well, I already booked an appointment with Bethann. Remember Bethann from Sunday school? She’s so good with preparations. She did Uncle Burt’s funeral—may he rest in peace. Remember your great-uncle’s funeral? Wasn’t it elegant, Randall?”
“Very elegant,” Dad says. “She did the ‘Block of Blocks Block Party’ too, didn’t she?”
“With all the blocks! Yes! Remember that, CeCe?” she calls to her sister.
“Too hot, too loud, and nobody likes that many squares in one spot,” Aunt Lucy snaps. “The bagel spread was nice, though.”
Ouch.
“Well, anyway, Bethann is so excited to help. So is the Neighbors In Need committee and my book club. Oh! And I was able to get us an appointment with Letisha! Remember her from middle school choir? She does dresses now and they’re fantastic. Aren’t they fantastic, Randall?”
“Very fantastic.”
“You’re already booking things? Don’t book things,” I say, anxiety swirling in my stomach.
Tell them.
“Nonsense! I’ve been waiting my entire life to plan my child’s wedding. I brought the box of binders. Did you bring in the binders, Randall?”
A box of binders?
“Now’s probably not the best time,” I say before they can retrieve whatever that is. “Thanks, though.”
“Gotta say. We were a little surprised,” Dad says. “You’ve been dancing around with that fellow for so long. We were wondering if you were ever going to hitch your wagons together. Guess it’s time to finally make room in the corral.”
Ugh! And when did wagons and horses make such a comeback?!
“Thanks, Dad. But?—”
“I’ll say this, though.” He gives me a hard look and points his someone’s-getting-in-trouble finger in the air. “If I ever find out that he so much as gives you a look you don’t like, he’ll need an entire team of stylists when I’m done with him.”
Uh-oh. Dad is not going to like the truth about this engagement and what Jarvis did to get it.
“He already has a team of stylists,” I mutter.
“Another team, then. He’ll need an entire league of teams, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Great. Now what?
I turn back to the bagels.
How can I tell them the truth when Mama already has her social calendar booked with wedding events and Dad is threatening to mess up Jarvis’ hair? Pretty sure “bullying me into being engaged when I explicitly told him I didn’t want it” would count as an offense in my father’s eyes. The last thing I need in my life right now is a murder trial. Plus, I hate disappointing my family. I love them dearly and they’ve always been so supportive of me.
Even worse, if I tell them, I’m telling everyone. In case it wasn’t obvious, they’re not exactly vaults of discretion. The entire world would know this whole thing is a sham before I even got to the hallway. As much as I want that, I’m not sure I’m ready for the fallout. There will be an explosion when the engagement is called off, and I’ve been conditioned not to do anything without considering all possible ramifications. I have no doubt the label already has a detailed, outlined plan vetted and in place for when the time comes.
