Christmas Wishes Part 3. Diana Palmer

of this is funny, Damon?”

      “The Katie part. She’s not an old flame, not even a teeny tiny flicker of a flame.”

      I let out a drawn-out sigh. “Right, well, your mother didn’t seem to think that was the case.”

      He leans over me, his face close to mine, his wavy hair falling forward. I resist the urge to tuck it back for him.

      “Lil, Katie was one of my best friends throughout school. We both loved cooking, still do, and now she’s on her way to being one of the best chefs in America.”

      “She sounds like the whole package, Damon.” I try to keep the jealousy at bay but it ekes out anyway.

      He grins.

      “Don’t grin at me!”

      He strokes my hair back. “You’re beautiful when you’re jealous, you know that?”

      I scoff. “I don’t know why you’re not taking this seriously, Damon. Your mother blurting it out like that last night made me feel about this big.” I hold my thumb and finger together. “I had no idea you spend your weekends in New Orleans gallivanting and doing who the hell knows what.”

      He throws his head back and laughs. “She’s gay, Lil.”

      “So?” I pull the quilt over my head. She’s gay? “But your mother said…” I muffle through the quilt.

      He pulls it down and kisses the tip of my nose. “She’s a great girl, and my mother has always assumed we’d be perfect for each other. Her family knows my family very well. But Katie hasn’t told them she’s gay, so when we were younger we let them think what they wanted. It was easier for her and everyone assumed we were a couple.”

      “I thought…”

      “I know what you thought.” He stands and grabs a sweater from the drawer, with one quick movement pulls it over his head. “I’d never hurt you, Lil. Ever.”

      My stomach is a queasy lump, and I blush. “I’m an idiot.”

      “No, you’re not. In future I’ll tell you when I plan on gallivanting around New Orleans. Or better yet, you come for a weekend with me.”

      He crouches by the bed. “I have to go. Will you be OK?”

      I nod, closing my eyes against the roiling in my gut.

      “The doctor should be here around lunchtime, but call if you need anything.”

      Exhaling slowly, I say, “Can you check CeeCee is OK? Mamma’s going in to help her, but that could actually hinder her.” My mamma is the clumsiest cook there is. She’s liable to set the café on fire if you don’t watch her.

      “They’ll be fine, but I’ll pop over and check. Let me know what the doctor says.” He kisses my forehead. “Sleep tight. I’ll call at lunch to check on you.”

      I sink into the softness of the pillow. It’s only a moment before I drift off into a restless dream-filled sleep.

      An hour or two later I startle awake, suddenly sure I know what’s wrong. I throw back the quilt, and race to the bathroom cupboard. In the very back are boxes of tests. I take one and rip the packaging open, hastily reading the instructions as I go, even though I’ve done so many before I’ve committed them to memory.

      Two minutes. I’ll know in two minutes. My somber mood is instantly replaced with hope. Maybe I’m pregnant?

      One hundred and twenty seconds have never moved so slowly, as I wait with the stick sitting on the window ledge, as if it’s not something life-changing, as it so clearly is.

      I think of how I’ll tell Damon. Sweet things, I’ve heard, like putting a bun in the oven, and asking him to open it. Will he understand? Or buying booties, and wrapping them up. Or…

      Two minutes are up. With a deep breath I peer at the test. One line shrieks out in neon pink. Negative. Devastatingly, positively, negative.

      I ditch the test in the bin, and head back to bed, not bothering to wipe at the tears as they fall.

      A knock at the door wakes me. Glancing at the time, I see it’s only eleven. Too early for the doctor. I amble out of bed, not bothering to check my reflection in the mirror.

      I press my face up to the peephole. It’s Sarah. I smile, in spite of myself. I have the best friends.

      “Hey,” she says as I motion for her to come in.

      “Hey.”

      “CeeCee told us you were sick. She made you a basket of goodies, and I brought you some magazines.”

      I take the proffered bag, and say thanks.

      “Get back into bed, Lil. You look positively green.”

      I give her a rueful smile. “I thought I was pregnant, but I’m not.”

      “Aw, Lil. I’m sorry.” She follows me to my room and sits on the end of the bed. “Maybe, you know, once all the wedding stuff is organized, and after all your Christmas orders are sorted, your body will slow down, and it’ll just happen.” Her black bangs hang over her eyebrows, highlighting the genuine look in her eyes.

      “It’s stupid worrying over it, already, isn’t it?”

      “It’s not stupid, Lil. You’ve wanted to be a mom your whole life. It will happen, but right now you’ve got so much on. It’s just a matter of time.”

      I’ve been taking pregnancy tests almost weekly since Easter. But Sarah is probably right: once things settle down my body will just know, and it’ll happen. The yearning for a child is almost indescribable sometimes, is all.

      “You’re right,” I agree. “There’s still so many little things that need to be organized and I feel awful leaving CeeCee at work. Is she OK?”

      Sarah scrunches up her nose. “She’s…” Her voice trails off.

      “Mamma?” I know by Sarah’s expression there’s been some kind of drama at the café.

      She nods. “I don’t know how to tell you, Lil. So I’ll just say it. She somehow tripped and knocked your display fridge over. The wedding cake…” Sarah pales. “I’m sorry, Lil. It’s completely ruined.”

      I gasp, picturing the three tiers of perfection toppling over and smashing to the floor. “Please tell me you’re joking,” I whisper through my hands.

      “I’m so sorry, Lil. Your mamma is beside herself with worry. But I’m sure we can fix it. We can all help…”

      “But…how?” I’m beginning to feel as though my wedding is cursed.

      She shrugs. “CeeCee said don’t worry, you can make another one when you’re back.”

      I’m too stunned to speak. That cake took us the better part of a whole day. Will we even have enough time to make another one? I want to weep with the worry I feel. “I can’t believe it. How could she knock over a huge fridge?”

      “She feels terrible, Lil.”

      I sigh, thinking of Mamma, I know she’ll be upset, and I fight hard to let the anger subside. “I guess we can always make another one…”

      Sarah presses on. “Good news. Missy said Bessie’s finished our bridesmaid dresses and yours isn’t far away.”

      I smile, Sarah’s managed to change the subject to something more positive. At least that’s one thing Mamma can’t ruin. “I can’t wait to see them.” The girls have mink satin gowns, similar to my dress, but with a high back. They’re cut on the bias and swirl