Not Quite Perfect
Page 89

“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, boy.” Mary Frances got ahold of her laughter. “Sweetheart. I’m old enough to understand the mechanics of sex, and I’m fairly certain Burke will be careful with my delicate frame.”
It hurt to keep smiling when Mary wanted to cringe at the thought of Mary Frances doing the naked tango with Burke. But she endured the pain and listened.
A knock on the door of the church was followed by a voice. “Five minutes, ladies.”
Mary Frances actually appeared nervous.
Mary took Mary Frances’s hands in hers and met her eyes. “I know today is about your becoming a wife. A proper wife with all the things that come with it . . . but . . .” Mary had been contemplating this question for years, and today seemed the best time to ask.
“But what, dear?”
Mary felt her eyes swell with tears. “I want permission to call you Mom.”
Mary Frances pulled in a sharp breath, brought their joined hands to her lips, and choked back tears. Without words, she pulled Mary into her arms and hugged her hard.
“Is that a yes?”
Mary Frances nodded and pulled back to look at her. “I have waited so long for you to ask. I knew in my heart the day would come. I love you so much.”
Mary blotted tissues under Mary Frances’s eyes. “You’re making your makeup smear.”
“I don’t care. I’ll be crying all day anyway.”
Mary fanned her face with her hands to dry her eyes. “Well, Mom . . .” she tested the new name on her lips and enjoyed the taste. “There’s a handsome man out there who will be squirming in his shoes if we don’t get moving.”
“Okay.” She twisted toward the full-length mirror and ran a hand down her belly. “I should not be this nervous.”
Mary leaned her chin on her mom’s shoulder and smiled at her through the mirror. “Sex is going to be awesome.”
The older woman instantly flushed.
“Oh, that’s a much better color for your cheeks,” Mary said. “Now let’s go.”
The church had done a wonderful job decorating for the ceremony. Something Mary hadn’t seen coming. As hard as it was for her mom . . . and it did take some thought to think of her in that way . . . as hard as it was for her to leave the convent, it appeared as if the church hadn’t left her.
Some weddings are simply a formality in the lives of those taking their vows. But for an ex-nun and a widower, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. The Mass took nearly an hour and every minute was precious in Mary’s heart.
When the priest asked Burke to kiss his bride, instead of feeling uneasy, Mary cheered on the inside.
The reception took place in the hall of the church.
Mary watched her mom and Burke greet their guests and smile for pictures once the meal was over. All the traditional fanfare that went with a wedding didn’t go undone. During the planning, Mary Frances attempted to downplay the party, but Mary refused. So did Burke’s children. Whether the couple wanted it or not, there was cake, and the first dance . . . the removal of a garter, which Mary Frances practically had on her ankle. And the tossing of the bouquet.
Mary didn’t stand up when the emcee behind the microphone asked for all the single ladies to gather around.
Dakota bounced seven-month-old Leo on her knee and nodded toward the group of women. “Get up there.”
Mary grasped Glen’s hand on the table and leaned into his shoulder. “I don’t feel very single these days.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Glen kissed her briefly.
“Yeah, well.” Dakota reached across the table and picked up Mary’s left hand. “Looks like you’re still eligible for free flowers.”
Walt shook his head in laughter.
Glen nudged her shoulder. “Go ahead.”
Jason, Trent, and Monica had happily accepted the invitation to the wedding, so the entire table encouraged her to go.
“Fine, fine.” Mary stood and joined a dozen women huddled in a corner.
There were heckles and a couple of women in their thirties started kicking off their shoes to dive for the bouquet.
She watched the wedding director position her mom in front of the women. A fake throw and a picture came first, then she turned around for the real thing.
Mary caught everyone at her table staring and holding their breath. Poor Glen wouldn’t be given a moment’s peace if she caught the darn thing.
The crowd started to count down for the toss.
Mary Frances played along.
“Three . . .”
“Two . . .”
On the word one Mary Frances turned around and met Mary’s eyes.
Then, before the women in the crowd could protest, she walked directly up to Mary, grabbed the hands that Mary had glued to her sides, and shoved the flowers into them.
Laughter erupted from the crowd. It grew louder when Mary Frances turned on her heel and pointed a finger directly at Glen.
Mary felt the need to crawl under the table.
Instead of waiting for her to return to the table, Glen pushed his chair back, stood, and straightened his jacket.
The crowed parted as he approached.
He leaned down and kissed her mom’s cheek and winked.
Then he smiled at Mary and slowly bent down on his knee.
The blood drained from her face when the reality of the moment hit her.
Cameras were flashing left and right. Someone with a video camera stepped in front of the line.
“I love you, Mary. The past seven months have been the happiest of my life. I want the next seventy years with you by my side.” He reached into his coat pocket and removed a small velvet box and opened it. The round solitaire was the size of her thumb but didn’t sparkle as much as Glen’s eyes did with his smile.