Curbside Pickup

Two: Dear Abby is Dead

*** Author's note: Thank you for choosing to read my story. As I noted in Chapter 1, CURBSIDE PICKUP is a work in progress, a challenge I made to myself at the start of June, 2020. I'm grateful for your comments and support as I attempt to rewrite and post a chapter every week this summer. ***

"You see, it'll all turn out right," church secretary Becky Porter tsked, shooing another guest into the reception hall. "We've seen worse. We had a bride who insisted on including her dog in the wedding." She arched an eyebrow. "Little bitch, she bit a bridesmaid on the ankle at the reception."

"The bride, or the dog?" After all this, Ellie thought, anything could happen.

Becky's silver hair seemed to crackle at the question. "Don't ask."

"Keep calm," she coached herself under her breath. "You can do this." She tasted the champagne in her flute and arched a shoulder against the confines of her wedding gown. What did she do now? Make a "morning after" to-do list? Check out the single men on that dating app? Put in an order for condoms on Amazon? No, she was done with men. Really. Maybe she would skip the condoms and stock up on sex toys.

Friends and family had abandoned her beautiful, precise seating arrangements in favor of gathering in clusters. The afternoon's unexpected turn of events dominated the conversation. The wedding gown's stays cut into Ellie's waistline. The champagne was cold, and she allowed herself to savor a the beginnings of a nice buzz as the level in her glass fell.

Uncle Raymond, true to form, was first to the buffet. "Ellie-love, that fruit tower is champion!" he crowed. He swerved across the room and began picking apart the fruit bouquet. With methodical precision, he found the pineapple, then the kiwi.

His wife, Aunt Belinda, circled the food as she eyed the selections. Did they never get fed at home? Ellie wiggled against the despised stays in her bodice and tried to draw a breath.

"What a shame." Her mother's fork hovered over the paper plate of bean dip and slivered carrots. Trust her mother to eat snack foods with a fork.

"You'll have to return the gifts, of course. What is this stuff?" Her fork pushed beans over carrots, trying to get a grip on the mess.

"Nobody knows how to eat this food, Mom. It's all Bernard's fault." Gail stepped into the conversation, glaring at the slivers on her plate. "Are we going with the original playlist? The DJ wants to know." Her scarlet bridesmaid's dress skimmed her sylph-like figure, and Ellie hated her older sister for a moment.

The scent of limes tickled Ellie's nose, and a pair of strong arms slid around her. Ellie recognized the embrace and lifted her hands to return the hug, clumsy as it was.

"Dad." She laid her head back against his chest, nestling into the comfort of his embrace. 

"How you doing, pickle?" Norman turned her in his arms and raised two fingers to pinch her nose . "I have to say, you made me proud today.  Standing up for yourself on that altar was tough. I saw your eyes, blinking like a stoplight." Eyes filled with emotion, he pressed his forehead against hers.

Ellie smiled for the first time since walking down the aisle. "Remind me not to play cards with you," she murmured. "You spotted my tell, and I can't trust you any more."

"And who taught you to cheat in the first place?" Norman placed a smacking kiss on her cheek. "Cheat all you want, the game counts more than the winning."

"I'll hold you to that." Ellie backed up and surveyed the hall, as the conversation around her seemed to settle in greetings and catching up. What a wonderful way to celebrate, she thought. Even better, stupid Bernard hadn't spoiled anyone else's afternoon.