Apple Die Page 2

  Some stores in town had come and gone over the years, but the majority had remained in place since I was a kid. Our coffee shop, The Brown Cow, was in a converted brick house. It had a trellis, wrought iron benches, and even a life-size statue of a brown cow.

  Next to that was the firehouse. Two stories. Two big garage doors. And a bright yellow firetruck out front. I never knew why our fire trucks were yellow instead of red, but when I was a kid, I got to ride on one, which I loved, so I still got all warm and fuzzy every time we passed the station.

  Miss May honked and waved at a young woman crossing the street. “Liz! I’ve got your mom’s order of pies. You want to take them?”

  Liz trotted over. She had a kind, round face and big brown eyes. “Miss May. Hey. Yeah, I’m going over to my Mom’s house later. I’ll take the pies. Thanks!”

  Miss May gestured at me. “Remember Chelsea? She graduated from PGHS a few years after you.”

  “Ohhh yeah.” Liz looked at me. “You do seem familiar. You were in orchestra, right? I played violin.”

  “Uh... yeah. Sure. I remember you.” I lied. I did not remember her, and I was not in orchestra. But I was pretty forgettable in high school, so I figured I might as well embellish my former self with a hint of musicianship.

  “Liz is the editor of the Gazette now,” Miss May said.

  “Impressive,” I said. The Pine Grove Gazette was our weekly newspaper. When I was a kid, the Gazette had been my go-to reading material on the toilet. It surprised me to hear Liz was the editor, and it made me a little jealous. I could be the editor of a local paper if I wanted. Right?

  “I’m trying to bring more real journalism to town.” Liz popped a piece of gum into her mouth. “Not just stuff about missing cats, or the weather, or whatever. I’m going to meet the mayor right now.”

  “Ambitious.” I nodded. “I like it.”

  “Open the trunk,” Miss May gestured toward the back of the bus. “Your mom’s order is labelled.”

  Liz hurried around back and opened the trunk. Miss May called out to her, “And take a few cookies too. New recipe, I'd love your opinion."

  Liz grabbed her order, thanked Miss May, and strode away, a woman on a mission.

  “Good kid,” Miss May said. “I’ve known her mother forever.”

  “You’ve known everyone’s mother forever,” I said. “And sister. And brother. And dog.”

  Miss May laughed, clunked the bus back into gear and kept driving.

  A little past the firehouse was a track and field and the town playhouse. Pine Grove was so close to the city that a few of our residents were actual Broadway actors. When the actors had time, they would lend their talents to local productions, and people would come from far and wide for the discounted Broadway experience. As a little girl, I had gotten to see the man who played Jean Valjean on Broadway sing “I Dreamed a Dream” on the same stage where I’d had my pre-school graduation. It was unforgettable. Although it might have been even more unforgettable to see Jean Valjean sing “I’m a Little Tea Pot” on that stage, like I had.

  My favorite restaurant in the universe was “Grandma’s.” Grandma’s had a prime location right across from the theater, and Miss May's best friend, Teeny, was the owner.

  Growing up, Grandma’s had been our favorite spot after school events, dances, and recitals. The restaurant was brick, like most businesses in town. But for Grandma’s, a little white awning and a big green sign gave it extra charm.

  As we passed by, I saw an employee out back chopping maple, ash, and beech for the pizza oven. Grandma’s had always been most famous for its sandwiches and desserts. However, Pine Grove had a lot of Italian-Americans, so a lot of our restaurants made pizza, too. Grandma’s thin crust margherita was transcendent.

  I smiled. I’m an easy crier, and just driving through town made my eyes well up.

  Miss May flipped her turn signal on, and I turned to her, shocked that I hadn’t realized what was going on.

  “Are we going to Grandma’s!?”

  “It’s a special occasion,” Miss May said as she turned into the lot. “Of course we're going to Grandma's.”

  WHEN WE ENTERED THE restaurant, everything I smelled and saw transported me back to some of the best meals I ever had.

  The scent of fresh coffee was in the air. Little old couples and happy families were at every table. And the dining room looked like a grandmother’s living room, with big wooden chairs, red booths, and the image of a smiling, white-haired granny on every menu.

  I was about to make a comment about the grotesque amount of food I planned to eat when the owner of Grandma’s, Teeny, rushed towards us. Teeny was barely five feet tall, she had bottle-blonde hair, and she had anxious, light blue eyes that always made me want to give her a hug.

  “May! Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to show up with the guest of honor all day!”

  Miss May laughed. “Relax. We’re here, we’re here.”

  Teeny turned her laser-sharp attention on me. “So. Don’t just stand there. Talk. Are you moving back or what?”

  My face turned red. I wasn’t exactly proud to be returning home. “Uh... Actually...”

  Miss May bailed me out with a little white lie. “Chelsea’s just here to help me out with the decorating for a few months,” she said. “She was so busy with clients in the city, I had to get on my knees to get her back up to Pine Grove.”

  I was sure that Teeny, who had a nose for lies of all colors, knew Miss May was stretching the truth, but she played along. “Well, I love that. Family business, you know that’s what I’m all about. Right, Granny?”

  Teeny looked over to her mom, aka “Granny,” a tiny, 95-year-old lady sitting near the cash register. Granny was the original owner and founder of Grandma’s, but she had long ago given up the daily grind. Now, she just “oversaw” the restaurant, which meant she read tabloids all day from behind the counter. Teeny waved and Granny smiled. It was the same smile from the menus. But I don’t think Granny had any idea what Teeny said.

  “Yup. She agrees,” Teeny said. We all laughed.

  I hoped the conversation would end there, but I should have known better.

  “So sorry about that horrible man you almost married.” Teeny put her hand on my shoulder. “When May told me what he did, I wanted to push him down the stairs!”

  “He’d sue you once he landed,” Miss May said.

  “Not if I pushed him hard enough,” Teeny smirked.

  I laughed nervously and tried to brainstorm a way to change the subject before Teeny asked me anything else about the wedding from you-know-where. Luckily for me, a new customer walked through the door precisely at my time of need.

  “Yo! I need to make a reservation for a wedding in two months!”

  I turned. It was none other than Vinny Russo. Vinny had a “Jersey Shore,” vibe. Tight black t-shirt. Slicked back hair. Expensive gold watch. And he was engaged to get married to my cousin Maggie in a few months.

  Vinny owned a successful contracting company with his business partner, Sudeer. The two were unlikely partners, but they built Pine Grove's biggest, most expensive houses. And from what I had heard, they had more clients than they could handle.

  My cousin Maggie Thomas trailed behind Vinny a few steps. He didn’t hold the door for her, of course, and it almost closed right on her face as she pushed it open.

  “Vinny, hold up!” Maggie approached in a tizzy. “I’m sorry, Teeny. We were just wondering —”

  “We weren’t wondering,” Vinny crossed his arms. “We need your party room. First weekend in October. We got people coming in from the city. How much?”

  Teeny scoffed. “The first weekend in October is less than two months out. I’m booked every weekend ‘til spring. Try Divola’s, they might have an opening.”

  “Divola’s made half the town sick at Ferragosto,” Vinny said.

  Ferragosto was an Italian street fair Pine Grove hosted every August. And Vinny was right. Divola’s gave
out free pizza at last year’s event, and it made everyone sick. People even made a verb of it, like “I got Divola’d,” or “Don’t drink that expired milk, it’ll Divola you!” A scandal like that was never good, especially in a small town like Pine Grove, and it surprised me that Divola’s was still open.

  “Everything OK, Maggie?” Miss May said.

  “Aunt May, hi!” Maggie said. “I can’t believe I didn’t see you there. We just lost our venue out of nowhere, so I’m kind of scattered. Now we’re scrambling to—” Maggie stopped when she saw me. “Chelsea! Oh my God, what are you doing here? How are you? How have you been?”

  Maggie hugged me. I returned the hug, but my hands got all clammy and nervous. I knew Maggie’s concern was well-intentioned, just like Teeny’s had been, but I was in no mood to talk about my “I Don’t” situation, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be.

  Fortunately, Vinny jumped back in before Maggie asked me any more questions. “Can we cut the small talk? We’ve got a problem to solve.” He took a step closer to Teeny. “I’ll double your rate. How ‘bout that?”

  “How ‘bout you beat it, Vin? I told you. I’m booked.”

  “Three times your rate! Four!”

  “Sorry.” Teeny put her hands on her hips. I got the sense that she wouldn’t have rented the restaurant to Vinny no matter how much he offered to pay. “You’re gonna have to look elsewhere.”

  Vinny fumed. Teeny glared at him. Stalemate.

  Miss May looked at me with her eyebrows raised. She had an idea.

  “You can get married at the orchard.” Miss May turned her palms up and smiled.

  Vinny turned to Miss May, and I got a whiff of his cologne. It smelled like cigarettes and gasoline. Not good. “I’m not getting married in a barn,” he said.

  “It’s not just any old barn.” Miss May pulled out her phone and flicked through some photographs of the orchard. “We’ve got heat lamps. Full plumbing. People love it.”

  “She’s right.” Maggie took a hesitant step forward. “I had my “Sweet Sixteen” there.” She turned to Miss May. “The farm is perfect. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. I guess I assumed you’d be booked up.”

  “Booked up, how?” Miss May laughed. “You’re my niece! We were planning to close that night so the whole family could attend your wedding. You got my RSVP, right?”

  Maggie slapped her forehead like “Duh!” “How could I forget?”

  My face flushed with guilt. I had gotten the invitation a few days after my own botched wedding and failed to RSVP. Hard to reply to something you rip into tiny little pieces and shove into the bottom of your trash under mountains of Chinese takeout.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind working instead of coming as a guest?” Maggie bit her lip. She had always been so sweet. It was just like her to worry about whether her wedding would impose.

  “Of course we won't mind.” Miss May smiled and offered one of her favorite refrains. “There's no better path to happiness than hard work.”

  “Hold up!” Vinny stepped between Maggie and Miss May. “You two can’t just decide this without me!”

  “OK,” Maggie put her hand on Vinny’s arm. “What do you think, babe?

  Vinny scrunched up his face. “I got ice sculptures I ordered that you gotta make room for.”

  Teeny scoffed, but Miss May kept her composure.

  “Not a problem,” Miss May said. “And I’ll charge you my normal rate, since Maggie’s family.”

  “You better,” Vinny said.

  And thus began the most catastrophic wedding in Thomas family history. Including mine.

  4

  Rehearsal Realization

  The morning of Maggie and Vinny’s rehearsal dinner, the weather had never been more perfect.

  The late-September air was crisp and cool. Long rows of apple trees were heavy with Red Delicious, Fuji, and Pink Lady apples. And the sun streamed through puffy clouds and blanketed the entire farm in a soft, marbled light.

  I woke up early, stirred by the light spilling through the slats in my blinds, and I smiled. My room was serene, and I felt hopeful about my cousin’s impending nuptials. At least, I thought, things will go better for Maggie than they did for me.

  But as soon as I got out of bed, things started to unravel. I stubbed my toe, I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet, I got coffee on my good blouse, and my skirt refused to zip that final quarter inch over my waist, so I had to safety pin it closed.

  And things only got worse from there.

  A few hours later, I was strolling back towards the event barn to add a few finishing touches to my decorations, when I heard an argument booming from one of the guest cabins.

  Raised voices. Slamming doors. Thudding footsteps.

  I took a step closer, hoping to figure out where the sounds were coming from. Many of the wedding guests had already arrived and were staying in the cabins, so there were dozens of potential culprits.

  But as I got closer, I knew my fears were correct. The yelling was coming from Vinny and Maggie’s cabin. The bride-to-be and her groom were having a knockdown, drag-out fight... less than three hours before their rehearsal dinner. Not good.

  I looked around to see if anyone else was near enough to hear the brawl. From what I could tell, I was alone, which was a good thing. That meant no one else was listening to the fight. And that no one would see if I crept closer to pick up more of what Vinny and Maggie said.

  I should have minded my own business and kept walking back towards the event barn. But I found myself magnetically drawn closer and closer to the cabin. Morbid curiosity was part of what drove me, for sure. But I also wanted to protect my cousin.

  If something terrible happens, I’ll intervene, I thought.

  But the cabins were so well-insulated, I struggled to make out any specific words, even after I climbed the first few steps on the porch. So I got closer. And closer.

  Suddenly, my heart beat in my entire body. I realized I was holding my breath. And I was nervous and scared. What was I doing?

  I took another step. What if I got caught? What would I say?

  I took another step. Maybe I should knock.

  I reached out to knock. But then...all was quiet. Was the fight over?

  I stayed still and listened. But Vinny and Maggie remained silent.

  So I tiptoed off the porch and hurried back to the event barn so I could finish setting up for the rehearsal dinner.

  Who am I to give relationship advice, anyway?

  AN HOUR LATER, THE entire wedding party was at the church for the run-through, and there was no indication of Vinny and Maggie’s argument. Vinny didn’t break into a sprint from the altar — always a good sign — and Maggie looked joyful and ebullient in a silver satin slip dress.

  Plus, all the members of the wedding party tittered with excitement for the wedding the next day. My Aunt Dee Dee, Maggie’s mom, was beaming. Vinny’s brother Lance, the best man, was right on cue. And the flower girl was the cutest little thing I had ever seen in a pink dress and tiny little heels.

  As the priest directed the rehearsal, I had my eyes peeled and my ears open for any hint of conflict between Maggie and Vinny. None arose, so I slipped out early to get back to the farm.

  By the time the rehearsal dinner began, I was so busy obsessing over every detail of the décor in the event barn that Maggie and Vinny's argument became the last thing on my mind.

  Although I had worked lots of high-profile jobs as an interior designer in the city, including magazine launch parties and decorating the homes of celebrities and politicians, decorating for Vinny and Maggie’s wedding had been my most difficult job, by far.

  The biggest challenge in the city was always managing the wealthy people and their even wealthier personalities. But pulling off a rustic wedding required an entirely different set of skills, most of which I hadn't used at all during my time in New York.

  Back when we took the job, Miss May had suggested that I base my des
ign off photos from previous events held at the orchard. But I wanted Maggie’s wedding to feel special, and magical, and just a bit...me. Plus, using other designers’ ideas seemed like cheating, so I worked to create something all my own.

  In the end, I went with a simple fairy-tale aesthetic. I bought three beautiful wrought-iron chandeliers from a metal-worker in town. The main centerpiece was made from an old wagon wheel, flanked by two smaller metal accents. Vinny — who insisted on having his say on every aspect of the décor — also agreed to white drapery that we could hang from the sides of the barn and connect in the middle. This created a delicate, lilting effect that drew the eye up and brought the chandeliers into even sharper focus. Beyond that, we stuck with the concept of understated elegance. All white flowers, assorted floating candles on every table and gold-backed Chiavari chairs brought the room together.

  It was beautiful. More than Vinny deserved, but just right for Maggie. Still, I was nervous for guests to arrive and see the barn. But when Miss May strolled inside a few minutes before the wedding, my nerves washed away in the tide of her big, generous smile.

  “Oh, Chels, it looks amazing!” Miss May said as she wrapped me in a hug. “I knew you would do it! Didn’t I tell you!?”

  I laughed. “You really like it?”

  “Are you kidding!? Look at this place.”

  Miss May pumped her fist in the air. “Woo!” She cheered. Then she gave me a high five. “That’s my girl! Best interior designer from here to Argentina!”

  When Miss May got excited, she let it rip, and I felt like I had just hit a buzzer beater to win the championship game of some sport. I couldn’t help myself from fishing for just a little more validation.

  “You really think it’s good?”

  “Oh, come on,” Miss May gave me a light shove. “You know it’s good.”

  I smiled and looked away, embarrassed by Miss May’s praise, and even more embarrassed by how happy it made me.