Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,50

father,” she instructed me as she disappeared into the dining room.

“Dad? What does Mom think she’s doing with that thing on her head?” I was referring to a silk-flower headpiece my mother wore.

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “That’s her latest craft project. She seems to believe that floral headwear is going to be the fashion hit of the year.” He spoke with amused resignation.

I shook my head in disbelief. “She looks like she’s going to a Maypole dance.” I’d have to make sure that she didn’t accessorize with that monstrosity on the day of Ade’s wedding. “Dad!” I yelled. “No!” I practically had to tackle my father, who had grabbed a pair of scissors and was on the verge of breaking into the pastry boxes.

“Oh, all right. Some help you are,” he teased. “I did my dumb fruit platter, so I’m going to get out of your hair and go to my yoga class. Did Mom tell you about it? It’s wonderful! Watch this.”

Dad raised his arms while teetering awkwardly on one foot. Even while he was striking a ridiculous pose, I had to admire how muscular my middle-aged father was. He still had a full head of hair, most of it gray, and with his fit build and those Paul Newman blue eyes of his, he was quite a handsome man.

I laughed. “Okay, Dad. Go work on your chakra or whatever, and we’ll see you later.”

Dad grabbed a gym bag and blew me a kiss. “I’m trusting you to snatch a few of those treats for me.”

“Hey, Dad?” I stopped him. “Thanks so much for everything you’re doing for Adrianna and Owen. Especially walking her down the aisle. It means a lot to her. And to me.”

“You got it, kiddo. We love those two. It will be an honor for me to stand in for her father.” He smiled and went out the back door.

I mixed up a yogurt dip for the fruit platter and then put puff pastry shells in the oven to bake. They’d eventually be filled with a sweet cream filling and topped with strawberries.

At about quarter of eleven, when I was finally finishing up, my mother answered the doorbell and let Robin and Nelson in. Ushering them into the kitchen, she said, “Chloe, your friends are here.”

Not friends, exactly.

“You’ll never believe it,” my mother exclaimed, “but Robin and I know each other!”

Nelson, hiding behind his camera, panned to my face.

I said, “Oh, really? How?”

“Robin produced a show on gardening at a house where your father and I had designed the landscape. Small world, isn’t it?”

“That was what? Two years ago?” Robin asked.

“I think so,” Mom agreed.

“Come on, Nelson,” Robin said. “Let’s get some footage of the rooms and the decorations.” She directed her cameraman to the dining room. Robin wore a bright floral dress, and an eighties-inspired wide white belt hugged her small waist. She stomped away with Nelson, and her skirt flounced decisively.

A few minutes later, at five before eleven, the doorbell rang again, and I welcomed Naomi, who’d supervised my school internship during the past year, into the living room. When Naomi engulfed me in her usual bear hug, I had to blow her long braids out of my mouth. Since I’d known her, Naomi had chosen a version of the Bo Derek hairstyle; her entire head of hip-length hair was braided into chunky strands.

Naomi barely knew Adrianna, but Adrianna had so few female friends that I’d had to pad the guest list. Including men wouldn’t have worked, since almost all of Adrianna’s male friends were ex-boyfriends. The women who disliked Adrianna were fools. They envied her looks and were put off by what they saw as her haughty manner. Little did they know what a loyal, generous person she really was. In any case, Naomi belonged at the shower and at the wedding because she’d written the letter of recommendation for me that was required by the commonwealth before issuing a Certificate of Solemnization. Attesting in writing to my “high standard of character,” as the instructions phrased it, had made Naomi feel intimately involved with everything about Adrianna and Owen’s wedding and procreation. Among other things, she’d mistakenly gained the impression that Adrianna and Owen were following her advice about what she called “alternative birthing” methods. Naomi, who was a big fan of the alternative, the natural, and the New Age in all its forms, had had a long conversation with Adrianna about the benefits of acupressure, hypnosis, water birth, and