I amused myself by letting my imagination run rampant about their boss, who was hovering attentively outside the curtain, occasionally exchanging rapid and unintelligible remarks with them. I would definitely have to interrogate Mother about him. But discreetly. If she and the rest of the family deduced that I was interested in him, half of them would probably disapprove and make clumsy and embarrassing attempts to interfere. The other half would rejoice and indulge in even clumsier and more embarrassing attempts to throw us together. Matchmaking was a competitive sport in Yorktown, and my family's enthusiasm for it was one of the reasons I had chosen to relocate several hours away.
I would have been tempted to hang about and talk to Michael the Gorgeous, but I knew I should be getting back to keep up with my schedule for addressing the envelopes for Eileen's invitations. Besides, another neighbor had arrived with the twin six-year-old nieces who were going to be flowergirls in her daughter's wedding, and she obviously expected Michael's full attention. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have plenty of future opportunities to see him.
As maid of honor, my presence at all future fittings of any member of the three wedding parties could be taken for granted. It would be very considerate to find out when their least busy times were, so I could schedule fittings that wouldn't be interrupted by other customers. Why, choosing Eileen's gown alone would probably occupy several mornings or afternoons next week. I magnanimously forgave Eileen for having lied to me.
I was in very good spirits when I arrived back at the house. I found Mother lounging elegantly on the living room sofa with a box of chocolates and the latest issue of Bride magazine.
I hate it when they read the bridal magazines. Every issue is good for at least a dozen new items on my to-do list.
"Well, I went down to the dress shop today, had my measurements taken, and found out that Eileen has not decided on her dresses yet," I announced, throwing myself into a nearby armchair.
"You really ought not to have let her wait this long, dear," Mother said. "She could have a very hard time getting anything on such short notice."
"I didn't let her wait this long, Mother. I nagged her to go in and order something; I sent her down here to do it under the threat that I'd pick something myself if she didn't, and two days later she came back and told me she'd ordered something. She lied to me!"
"She's under a great deal of strain, dear. Be tactful with her. Mrs. Waterston will manage somehow." Bingo! My opening to pry without seeming to.
"By the way, Mother, you told me to ask for Mrs. Waterston, but apparently she's in Florida, recuperating from a broken leg."
"Oh, yes, dear, didn't I mention that?" Mother said. "Her son has come down to run the shop while she's gone."
"Yes, I met him."
"Such a nice boy. I understand he teaches theater at a college somewhere up your way," Mother said, as she poked through the chocolates to see if perhaps there were any left that she liked. "Such a pity, really."
"What's a pity?"
"That he's ... well, you know. Like that."
"Like what, Mother?" I asked, but had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer. Mother, mistress of pregnant pauses and vague euphemisms, had come just about as close as she ever would to telling me that drop-dead-gorgeous Michael was gay.
"I feel so sorry for his mother sometimes," Mother went on, inspecting a chocolate critically. "She's told several people that she's in no hurry for Michael to settle down because she was a child bride and doesn't want to be a young grandmother. She puts on a brave front. But of course since he came down everyone knows exactly how unlikely it is that she'll ever be a grandmother, especially since he's an only child." She nibbled a corner of the chocolate and made a delicate face. "Here, darling, you finish this one; I don't like coconut."
"Neither do I, Mother."
"Oh? Then we'll save it for Eric," she said, putting the candy carefully back in one corner of the box.
"Feed the grandkids the spitbacks?" I snapped. "That's efficient, Mother."
She looked at me in surprise.
"Are you all right, dear? Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down for a bit; you've been so busy and perhaps the heat is making you just a little out of sorts. So hard to believe it's still May."
Feeling guilty for taking my disappointment out on her, I pleaded a small headache and fled up to my room. Actually I was depressed and wanted to mope by myself. Like Cinderella's golden carriage turning back into a pumpkin, all those impending trips to Be-Stitched to be fitted now turned from golden opportunities back into drab chores. I was already on the verge of tears when the sight of the huge stack of Eileen's envelopes on my dresser sent me over the edge. How symbolic of my summer. Me doing an endless series of chores while other people found happiness.