Page 15 of Threads of Kindness
“It’s open to the public every day this week from eleven until four. I plan to look at it when we’re done here,” Sunday said. “It sounds like it’ll check all the boxes on my wish list for a venue.”
Susan checked her watch. “It’s almost eleven. Would you like company? I’d be happy to go with you.” She looked at Sunday and then gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t intrude and invite myself. This is your decision. You may not want someone tagging along.”
“Actually,” Sunday said, “I would love to have you with me.” She took a deep breath. “That brings me to the reason I asked you to meet me here today.” She held Susan’s gaze. “As I said, we’ll have a small wedding. I was an only child, and my parents are both gone. They were only children, too, so I don’t have any aunts, uncles, or cousins. Josh and I each want to invite someone we love to stand up with us.” She took another deep breath before continuing. “I was wondering if you would be my matron of honor?”
Susan’s eyes widened. “I’dloveto be your matron of honor, Sunday,” she said, her eyes becoming moist. “As the title implies, it would be my honor.”
“You have a busy life,” Sunday said. “I won’t make a lot of demands on your time. I don’t expect you to throw me a shower or a bachelorette weekend or any of that. Pick whatever dress and color you want to wear. I just want you with me on that day.”
“What if I want to throw you a shower or a bachelorette weekend?” Susan put a hand on top of Sunday’s. “I’d love to do all those things and support you however I can. I’m glad you’re flexible about what I’m going to wear, but I want you to pick the color.” She paused. “There’s something I should tell you. We haven’t told anyone else yet—we wanted to wait—but, since my news might impact your wedding, I think you need to know.”
Sunday raised an eyebrow and nodded for Susan to continue.
“I’ve been feeling queasy for the past few weeks,” Susan said. “We were going to wait after the holidays, but I couldn’t stand not knowing. A home pregnancy test tells me I’m expecting again.”
“Oh, Susan—that’s wonderful!” Sunday cried. “I’m so happy for you. I know how much you and Aaron want a second child.”
“We’ve had two miscarriages since Julia, so we don’t want to announce this until after the first trimester,” Susan said.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Sunday said. “I won’t even tell Josh.”
“I might be big as a horse by the time you get married,” Susan said. “Are you sure you don’t mind a very pregnant woman in your wedding photos?”
“Are you kidding? Of course we won’t mind,” Sunday said. “Have you told your mom?”
“Not yet, but I doubt I’ll be able to keep this a secret from her. We’re so close, we know each other’s thoughts.”
Sunday nodded. “I had that kind of relationship with my mom before she passed.”
“I’m terribly sorry your mother won’t be here to help plan your wedding,” Susan said. “I could never replace her, but I’d love to help any way I can.”
“If you really mean it, I’d like to run things by you. Josh is so busy completing his coursework for his degree and getting settled into his new job that he isn’t terribly interested in the details of our wedding. Whenever I mention something to him, he just agrees and says we should do whatever I decide.”
Susan chuckled. “Sounds par for the course for most men. In some respects, I suppose that’s nice—but, if you really want a second opinion, you’re not going to get one.”
“Exactly,” Sunday said. “I’d love to have a sounding board.”
“Well, now you do,” Susan said.
The server approached their table. “Sorry for the wait. What can I get you?” He turned to Sunday.
She placed her order for a mocha latte.
“I’ll have a tall black coffee,” Susan said. “And can you make those both to go, please?” She winked at Sunday. “We need to be on our way—we’ve got a wedding chapel to tour.”
Sunday beamed. “Yes,” she agreed, “we’ve got places to go and decisions to make.”
CHAPTER 8
Anita stepped onto the sidewalk outside of Pete’s Bistro on New Year’s Eve day, her carryout order of a club sandwich and chips secured in a carrier bag. She’d eat half of it now for lunch and save the rest for dinner. She and Gordon Mortimer had agreed to have their New Year’s Eve dinner together—on FaceTime. He, of course, would be in New York City, and she would be here. The thought of celebrating with him—even virtually—brought a warm flush to her cheeks despite the frigid temperatures. She stepped away from the door, set her parcel at her feet, and pulled her scarf close under her chin.
Two familiar figures huddled in conversation two doors down. The woman caught sight of her and swung her hand over her head in greeting.
Anita headed in their direction. “What are you two doing out here on this frigid afternoon?”
Tim glanced at the pink bakery box he was holding. “Nancy’s birthday is tomorrow, and I picked up her favorite cake for her. I was heading into Celebrations to buy a card. I’ve also got a gift certificate for a monthly massage.”
“I’d give you an A+ on your efforts,” Anita said. “I’m sure Nancy will be thrilled.”
