lap.
I got so mad, I picked up the cake in my lap and hurled it in Tom’s face. SPLAT! The guy never even saw it coming ’cause he was still stunned from watching the table collapse. For one moment, the topper stuck out from his face like a carrot nose on a snowman. Then it, and a great glob of frosting, slid like an avalanche down his chin and landed on the outdoor turf carpet with an ominous plop. As he scooped the goop out of his eyes, it occurred to me at that point that I might not be long for this world. Nobody else moved. Masked with mush, Tom leaned over and grabbed a fistful of cake from behind me…
…and smeared it all over my hair and my face.
“You jerk!” I yelled at him. I got him in a headlock and pulled him down with me. We rolled backward into the debris that used to be my in-laws’ wedding cake.
“You’re the most self-sufficient, stubborn girl in the whole world!” he shouted as he stuffed cake down my swimsuit.
Jeanine finally found her voice. She shrieked at us to stop it immediately. But we were too far gone. All the months of frustration and irritation got taken out on that poor, unfortunate cake!
“And you want everything to be both ways! Valued at home, and yet absent all the time!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Frosting was everywhere now, and we were coated. “Don’t you know you can’t have your cake and eat it, too?” I yelled.
Suddenly, everyone started giggling. And then there was full-blown laughter. I couldn’t figure out why, until Tom started chuckling, too. Then I realized what I’d said. I groaned and laid my head back in all the mush. Tom leaned over me, his face white with frosting.
“Yes, I can,” he said, right before he kissed me.
The kiss was sweet and sticky and gooey, and we forgot about everyone else watching us and just kissed and kissed—until I heard my mother-in-law, resignation in her voice, say, “I give up. Let them eat cake!”
Fortunately, there were enough sheet cakes on a different table to feed the guests. I thought for sure Jeanine and Morris would be livid. But they said when you get to be their age, you realize that good entertainment is worth a few wedding cakes now and then. They also came over to us, after we’d showered off all the confection, and presented us with a packet.
“We were talking,” Morris said.
Tom asked, “What’s this?”
“Our honeymoon itinerary,” Jeanine told us. “We want you to go instead.”
Tom shoved it back at them. “No way. We aren’t taking your honeymoon!”
I shook my head, too.
“You obviously have some issues you need to work out. We figured ten days in Cancún without the kids should do the trick.” Morris refused to take back the packet.
“Yeah, well, where are they going to go?” I asked.
Jeanine smiled patiently. “With us, of course.”
Tom sputters, “You just got married!”
“What better time to let the girls get to know their new grandpa?” Jeanine said.
Morris glanced from me to Tom and back at me. “Look, five years from now, if our marriage is in the mess yours is in right now, you can repay us the favor. Okay?”
They wouldn’t let us talk them out of it. So we took the girls to stay with Grandma and Grandpa and then went home long enough on Sunday to grab our passports and suitable clothing. We got to Cancún on Monday afternoon and are staying in this fabulous beachfront suite, and having the time of our lives. We’ll be home a week from today.
You know, at first, I thought Jeanine was crazy for marrying Morris. But seeing how he handled the wedding, and how sweet he was to me and Becky—even after our third-degree interrogation of him (which we’re all laughing about now—no hard feelings whatsoever, thankfully)—and his kindness to me and Tom made me just love him. And he’s great with Tom. He might turn out to be the good dad my husband always wanted.
And that, my friends, is “what’s going on.” Gotta go…
* * *
From:
Zelia Muzuwa
To:
“Green Eggs and Ham”
Subject:
NO STINKING FAIR!
* * *
Hey! None of us have gotten a trip to Cancún for fighting with our husbands! Much less, for ruining our MIL’s wedding cake! Man, I’m going to go kick some cabinets!
But, Dulcie, before I go, you never said—did you work everything out with Tom? Are you two going to be okay?
Z
* * *
From:
Rosalyn Ebberly
To:
VIM
Subject:
Re: SAHM