Chapter 132 The Fitting
“It’s about time you started preparing for your wedding,” Sylvia said when they arrived at her house for the fitting of the Beethoven jacket. “It seems far away, but summer will be here before you know it.”
“Thanks for that information, mom,” Byron said, “Have you ever thought about becoming a fortune teller?”
“Very funny.” Sylvia started to unwrap the jacket, which was inside a protective layer of plastic, and another one of linen.
Sylvia’s cat emerged from the hallway and made its rounds of the room, rubbing its body against everyone’s calves.
Well-preserved and majestic, the jacket had plenty of personality. It was black, with large metallic buttons, and a velvet collar. It was much better than Emily imagined. She had forgotten that 19th century jackets were much longer than modern ones, so it might not matter that it was made for someone of shorter stature.
But when Byron put it on, it had a kind of scraggly look because it was clearly too small for him.
Byron covered his eyes as if trying to block out his reflection while smothering a laugh. Emily couldn’t really cover up her laughter. What started as a tiny giggled turned into a full belly laugh that had her nearly doubling over.
She didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact that Byron’s handsome looks contrasted so much with the ill-fitting jacket.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Sylvia said dryly. “Is our family legacy a joke to you?”
“No,” Emily said, trying to stop the torrent of giggles, “but look at him!” She waved her hands helplessly in a fit of hilarity.
She didn’t want Byron to think she was laughing at him, but the twinkle of mirth in his eye told her he was not offended.
“I take it this doesn’t summon up the dignity and grandeur of a classical composer?” he asked, sweeping his hands down the lapels.
“Sorry, but you look like a down-on-his-luck funeral director.”
“Okay, so maybe it needs some alterations,” Sylvia exclaimed. “That’s not unheard of for a vintage piece.”
The cat, which had been dozing in a comfy chair, lifted its head, startled by her loud voice.
“What if I was to make a new jacket in this style?” Emily offered.
“You don’t understand,” Sylvia said, “this is our family jacket. It brought my father good luck in his marriage. I wanted Teddy to wear it for our wedding, but he refused, and look how our marriage ended up.”
“I don’t think it was the jacket,” Byron said cautiously. “Teddy had a lot of issues…”
Emily felt bad for Sylvia, seeing that she had not had the best luck in her love life, and that she only wanted their marriage to succeed.
“We could have an early 19th century theme to the wedding,” she said, “It would be fun! I could make myself a poofy wedding dress! Or even early 18th century. Beethoven was around in the 18th century too, wasn’t he?”
“Wait a minute, is the whole thing going to be Beethoven-themed?” Sylvia asked, puckering her forehead in perplexity.
“I don’t know,” Emily replied, “But I like the idea of a theme!”
“Themes are tacky!” Sylvia declared.
Dammit, why did the woman have to be so difficult? Emily liked her and wanted to meet her halfway, but Sylvia was never happy with anything.
“Weddings are tacky,” Emily retorted. “It’s always some kind of pageant, people lining up to take photos, and they’re always on the beach for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, I love the beach, but why does everyone have to do the same thing for their wedding? At least having a theme will make it different, and it’ll give me a chance to get creative with the outfits.”
“What do you think, dear?” Sylvia asked, turning to Byron.
“I’m not getting in the middle of this,” he said. “Whatever you ladies decide is fine by me. Meanwhile, I have a Sonata to compose.”
Emily knew why he was staying out of it. How could he take sides between his bride and his mother, the woman who had raised him as a single parent, who loved him more than she loved anyone or anything in the world?
If Emily wanted to have an opinion about her wedding, she was treading on dangerous ground.
