The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(8)

Unfortunately, I forget about everything I want to say to her as soon as Noel pulls me into the living room.

“What in the hell happened in here?” I whisper in shocked awe and maybe a little fear as I look around the room.

“It looks like a craft store threw up all over the place,” Noel whispers back.

“Jo-Ann Fabrics, to be exact,” Bev adds, walking around us and shoving a huge blue tote into my arms. “I had a fifteen-percent-off coupon that couldn’t go to waste.”

“Mom! That’s too heavy! Here, I’ll take that,” Noel scolds, quickly snatching the tote from my arms, the weight of it bringing her entire body forward until it slams to the ground at my feet. “You just sit down and put your feet up.”

I watch in confused irritation as Noel grunts and huffs as she tries to lift the tote back off the ground, finally giving up and getting behind it to push it across the floor and into the corner of the room. She comes back over to my side and gives me a pat on the back and a smile.

“I could have carried that over to the corner,” I tell her, unable to be mad when she’s standing so close and rubbing her hand up and down my back.

“Nonsense. You just have a seat and don’t worry about anything.”

She tries to shove me toward the couch, but I hold my feet steady and refuse to move.

“Noel, what is going on?”

“What’s going on, is that everyone should be happy I didn’t pay full price for these Mason jars,” Bev interrupts, holding up two glass jars in her hands. “Saving money should make Mister Ed very happy.”

Noel groans and Aunt Bobbie raises her glass and nods her head in agreement.

“Mom, we already discussed this. No Mason jars,” Noel complains.

I knew as soon as I proposed to Noel on Valentine’s Day that her family would go crazy with planning the wedding, and I was right. We’ve spent the last four months trying to convince her mother that we just wanted something small and intimate in their backyard. After a month of Bev dragging us to every venue in a fifty-mile-radius, each one more pretentious and fancy than the last, Noel put her foot down and threatened to go to Vegas alone to get married if she didn’t stop trying to make this the wedding of the century instead of something small, like we wanted.

“But it says on Pinterest that Mason jars are all the rage,” Bev complains. “We can put flowers in them on each table. Or fill them with little colored rocks and water and have goldfish swimming in them. How cute would that be?!”

“No,” Noel states.

Bev rolls her eyes and shoves the two jars back into a cardboard box on the coffee table, walking over to another box by the fireplace.

“Fine, what about these little chalkboards? We can write anything we want on them, like Cake Table, Gift Table, Candy Bar!” she tells us excitedly, holding up a small chalkboard with a wooden frame.

“No, no chalkboards. And what the hell is a candy bar?” Noel asks.

Bev tosses the chalkboard into the box and walks over to yet another one on the couch, pulling out a huge glass jar.

“You put a bunch of different sized containers on a table and fill them with candy. How fun is that?!” Bev asks.

“No.”

Noel crosses her arms in front of her, holding her ground.

“Noel, the people of Pinterest have spoken. Mason jars, chalkboards, candy bars…it’s called Shabby Cat and we’re doing it.”

“I believe you mean Shabby Chic, my love,” Aunt Bobbie corrects.

“Whatever,” Bev says with a wave of her hand. “If you’re forcing me to put on a wedding in our backyard on the Fourth of July, you have to give me something. Give me Shabby Chic, Noel. GIVE IT TO ME!”

Aunt Bobbie sets her glass down on top of the fireplace mantle and walks to Bev, grabbing her upper arms and taking a few deep breaths.

“In with the good, out with the bad, Beverly. Remember, this is all about keeping Mister Ed calm,” Aunt Bobbie reminds her.

The two woman spend a few minutes breathing together when Reggie walks up behind us. I feel a little better now that he’s here. There’s only so much crazy wedding talk one man can handle all by himself.

“What’s going on? Why does my living room look like a craft store puked all over the place?”

“Nothing is going on, dear. Everything is fine, dear. We’re all remaining calm, dear,” Bev tells him with a big smile as Noel moves over to the boxes and starts rummaging through them.

“Are these mini bird cages? No,” Noel states, holding up one of the metal cages with a cringe.

“You could use them instead of the Mason jars on every table. But you’re right, it’s too much. I’ll call the pet shop and cancel the order for fifty doves, one to put in each of them. Whatever you want, dear,” Bev tells her with a smile.

I have no idea why Bev is suddenly being so agreeable with Noel and I don’t like it. This feels like the calm before the storm and pretty soon, I’m going to be ducking punches and breaking up a chick fight.

“Why is there a chainsaw and wood carving tools in this box?” Noel asks, pushing the box of bird cages aside and lifting the flaps of a box in the corner.

“For the ice sculpture, silly,” Bev laughs. “Your father is quite crafty. I ordered a few big blocks of ice from Amazon so he can practice before the big day.”