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The Good Kind of Crazy
Three sisters. One wedding. It’d be enough to drive anybody crazy.
NEELY: Reliable, hardworking, pragmatic…and single. That is until new beau Robert suddenly pops the question. Neely’s as stunned as the rest of her opinionated Southern family. But she’d rather drink warm ice tea before introducing Robert to that clan.
SAVANNAH: Suburban, almost-empty-nester Savannah is having the mother of all midlife transformations. Sure, she’s still gorgeous, married to a doctor and a whiz in the kitchen. But lately she’s just been feeling so darn invisible. Only one way to change that…
VI: What’s going on with the Mason family? Composed Neely is cracking jokes, Savannah has lost her perky glow and Vi…well, infuriating, eccentric, contrary baby-girl Vi is actually making sense for once. Could it be she’s finally growing up?
Tanya Michaels
Tanya Michaels enjoys writing about love, whether it’s the romantic kind or the occasionally exasperated affection we feel for family members. Tanya made her debut with a 2003 romantic comedy, and her books have been nominated for awards such as Romantic Times BOOKclub’s Reviewer’s Choice, Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award, the National Readers’ Choice and the Maggie Award of Excellence. In 2005, she won the prestigious Booksellers’ Best Award. She’s lucky enough to have a hero of a husband, as well as family and friends who love her despite numerous quirks. Visit www.tanyamichaels.com to learn more about Tanya and her upcoming books, or write to her at PMB #97, 4813 Ridge Road, Suite 111, Douglasville, GA 30134.
The Good Kind of Crazy
Tanya Michaels
In honor of my sister and dear friend, Lara Spiker
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 1
So this is what it feels like to be the unpredictable one in the family. A definite first for Neely Mason. One of four siblings, forty-five-year-old Neely was known for being reliable, hardworking, pragmatic…and single, much to the chagrin of her cheerfully opinionated Southern relatives.
But running the risk of becoming a sixty-year-old unwed cat lady had been Neely’s sole nod toward eccentricity; it was her twenty-six-year-old sister, Vidalia, who habitually caught people off guard. Vi had been a surprise from the moment Mrs. Mason learned that her “early menopause” was actually a pregnancy. The unexpected late-in-life baby had grown into a quirky career student who still delighted in startling others. For a change, Vi’s pretty bow-shaped mouth was hanging open in the same gape as everyone else’s.
Ten minutes ago, the clank of silverware had been the background music to Savannah fussing that everyone got enough to eat and Douglas charming their parents with the latest anecdote starring Douglas. Now, silent shock was as tangible in the dining room as the heirloom mahogany furniture and the brass antique chandelier—the one Neely had always thought looked like a spider with lightbulb feet. Though rarely fanciful, Neely could swear her announcement had halted not only conversation but the rhythmic ticking from the wall clock.
Well, how did you expect them to take it?
Since she’d never actually told her family that she’d been seeing Robert Walsh for the past six months, possibly the last thing they’d expected to hear from Neely was, “I’m getting married.”
“To a man?” It was Vi who finally spoke. “I mean, you never bring guys home and rarely date, so I always wondered if you were a les—”
“Vidalia Jean!” Mrs. Beth Mason flushed red and actually crossed herself.
Neely rolled her eyes. “Mom, we’re not Catholic. And, Vi, I’m not a lesbian.”
“Well, congratulations on your engagement,” Savannah put in smoothly. “I’m sorry Jason couldn’t be here today, he’d want to pass on his felicitations, as well.”
“Felicitations?” Vi snorted at their older sister— Savannah beat out Neely by eleven months. “I’m working on a second Master’s, and even I don’t talk like that. Can’t you just say ‘Way to go, sis’?”
Douglas, their thirty-nine-year-old brother, stopped eating long enough to tease Vi. “Criticism from someone who had to ask the fiancé’s gender?”
Vi shot him a look that was the slightly more mature version of sticking out her tongue, then studied Neely’s left hand. “So, where’s the rock?”
“We’re going to pick it out together.”
Robert had proposed last night, on her birthday, giving her two small jewelry boxes after the sumptuous dinner he’d prepared. The first had held a pin, the infinity sign in her birthstone, aquamarine. The second had been empty; he’d told her he’d found his perfect woman, and that if she’d do him the honor of spending the rest of her life with him, they’d find something perfect to fill the ring box. Her lips curved, remembering. He was such a sap, she thought affectionately, not at all who she would have pictured for her husband. Robert was definitely a surprise.
Especially to her family.
Beth cleared her throat, staring pointedly toward her own husband, Gerald Mason, who sat at the head of the table. “Don’t you have something to add, dear?”
“Hmm?” The Professor, as everyone called Neely’s father, glanced up, his faded blue eyes characteristically preoccupied behind his bifocals.
“For instance,” his wife prompted, “asking about who this young man is we’ve never heard of before today!”
“You’ve heard of Robert lots of times,” Neely said. “I’ve worked with him for three years, ever since I left the accounting firm and went to work in-house at Becker. I think some of you have even met him.”
“Yeah, but that’s hardly the same as knowing you’re bumping uglies with him.”
“Vidalia Jean!”
“What?” Vi looked at their mother, all owl-eyed innocence. “She just turned forty-five. You don’t think she’s a virgin, do you? Douglas isn’t married anymore, but I’ll bet no one expects him to lead a celibate lifestyle.”
“Hey,” Douglas protested around a mouthful of potato salad, “my love life isn’t the issue today.”
Beth could have been a ventriloquist with the way she enunciated her words from behind primly set lips. “Some topics are not appropriate to the dinner table.”
“But hearing about Uncle Darnell’s colonoscopy last month was okay?” Vi muttered.
Savannah stood, a purposeful smile on her attractive face. “Vi, darlin’, why don’t you help me clear the table and get candles for Neely’s cake? Mama did all the work preparing dinner and it’s Neely’s celebration, so I think we should be the ones to clean up, don’t you?”
Neely was sure the answer to that question would be a resounding no, but Vidalia dutifully scooted her chair back across the gold-and-cream area rug. Then Vi grabbed a couple of dishes from the table, including her brother’s plate.
“I was still eating that!”
“Come finish it in the kitchen,” his younger sister said tartly. “I’ve been exiled from the discussion, I don’t see why you should get to stay.”
As the three of them went into the adjoining room, Douglas explained that if he had stayed, Vi would’ve had a mole who could fill her in later. Neely barely made out Vi’s retort that, for a lawyer, Douglas was surprisingly unobservant, only noting “guy things” and skimping on pertinent details.
Neely couldn’t decide if she was glad her siblings were gone, or if she felt more nervous facing her parents alone. Well, her mother, anyway, still formidable at sixty-seven. The Professor wasn’t the sort who made anyone nervous, unless his history students had feared failing grades back when he taught at the community college.
“You children.” Heaving a sigh at her end of the table, Beth Mason shook her head. Her steel-colored curls, set for the last twenty years at Lana’s Beauty Shop, didn’t move so much as a strand. “Some people think parenting stops when the kids leave the house, but that’s just not so. Take Vidalia for instance—you know the nights I stay up worrying about that girl? And now you, who has been nearly as dependable as my Savannah, give us a heart attack with this news that you’re getting married out of the blue sky. You’re not…in the family way, are you?”
“Pregnant?” Neely choked on a horrified laugh. “At my age?” She had the urge to make the sign of the cross herself.
“I was over forty when I had Vidalia. Turned out to be a good thing, since she would have driven me prematurely gray if I’d had her young. But it’s nice to hear you aren’t getting married for that reason. I’m glad you’re in love. Still, you’d think that would be the sort of thing a girl told her family.”
Neely squirmed in her chair. When Robert had kissed her on the beach during an administrative retreat in Key West, she hadn’t told anyone—not even her best friend, Leah. What if the incident had been the by-product of fruity green umbrella drinks and nothing more? But shortly after, he’d asked her to come cheer him on at a pool championship and invited her to one of the meet-and-greet cookouts he and several of his apartment neighbors frequently threw. As she and Robert magically passed that invisible barrier between becoming a couple and actual coupledom, she’d shared the news with Leah, but neglected to bring it up during the monthly Sunday dinners with her family. She’d told herself she was forty-five and hardly needed anyone’s permission to date, but that wasn’t it.
Though her immediate family had finally stopped nagging her about having a man in her life, she knew the second they caught wind of one, the resulting matrimonial pressure would be intense. As would the pressure to have Robert over for dinner. Neely barely made it through these gatherings with her own sanity intact; she was reluctant to subject the man she loved to one.
Of course, she loved her family, too. She just didn’t consider them confidantes. Vi was of a completely different generation, Douglas was normally wrapped up in his own life, and Savannah…well, Neely would just as soon keep her Savannah issues repressed. And Lord knew what Robert would make of her parents. He’d thought it was endearingly odd that the Masons had deliberately named all four of their children after Georgia cities, but that wasn’t even the tip of her family’s idiosyncrasies.
Robert was one of the few people not related by blood who could get away with calling Neely by her given name, Cornelia. The way her mother was glaring at her now, she was about to get the full “Cornelia Annette” treatment.
“I’m sorry, Mom. You know I’m…a private person. At first, I just wasn’t comfortable telling you all about him because I wasn’t sure where the relationship was going, if anywhere. Then, once a few months had passed, trying to figure out how to backpedal and tell you we were involved was awkward.”
“So you waited until the engagement?” Beth arched an eyebrow. “At least we found out before the wedding invitation showed up in the mail. I suppose that’s something.”
Neely bit back a groan—her mother’s sarcasm was partially deserved and entirely expected. It was why she’d asked Robert to let her tell them alone. After she’d accepted his proposal, they’d headed for his bedroom, and she’d floated on bliss and champagne until waking at three in the morning to the realization that she’d have to tell the Masons today. He’d wanted to come with her, but the second her family saw a man walk in, they would have known something was afoot. They would have ferreted out the engagement before she’d even got past the foyer, and everything afterward would have been pointed remarks and interrogation. It seemed an inhospitable way to repay him for such a lovely night.
“How old did you say he was again?” Beth demanded.
I didn’t. “Forty-seven.”
Her mother sniffed. “Divorced, I suppose.”
Neely bit the inside of her lip at her mom’s hypocrisy. To her mother, divorced still meant damaged goods and scandal; yet Beth thought her only son could do no wrong, was shocked that his wife had left him and just knew a more deserving woman lurked in his future.
“Actually, Mom, Robert’s never been married. We have that in common.”
“Pushing fifty and he’s never settled down?” Beth narrowed her sharp hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with him that no woman would have him? Or is he the kind who runs from commitment?”
“Would you prefer he was divorced?”
“Don’t you sass me. I don’t care how old you are, I’m still your mama and I won’t be sassed at my own table. I’m unhappy enough that this husband-to-be of yours didn’t do us the honor of coming to meet us.”
“That’s my fault. I wanted to tell you alone and stopped him from coming. We argued about it this morning.” Quibbled, anyway.
Beth looked somewhat mollified. “Well, we should meet him soon.”
“As quickly as we can all fit it into our schedules,” Neely promised. “I’ll call you this week.”
“You work with him—is he an accountant, too?”
Which was nicer than the way Vi would have asked. So is he another soulless number-cruncher? Neely figured her baby sister had plenty of “soul” for the whole family…maybe not the budget or discipline to pay rent regularly, but definitely spunk and imagination. “Not exactly. He works in market analysis. We collaborate on reports for our boss, especially on prospective deals. Robert’s a visionary who puts together projections on the potential benefits of a deal, and I work the figures to make sure it’s affordable and evaluate realistic profit margins.” They were a good team.
But Beth was interested in different details. “Where are his people from?”
Oh, boy. “His parents live in Lawrenceville.”
“So he grew up in Gwinnett?”
“Went to high school there, when they relocated from Vermont. Decades ago.” Not that any number of years could help them now, she knew.
“They’re Yankees?”
That drew signs of life from Gerald Mason. “During the War Between the States, the Vermont 4th Infantry—”
“Oh, for the love of…” Beth had never, in Neely’s memory, actually finished her oft-repeated phrase; the siblings used to make a game of speculating. For the love of God? Probably not, as that would fall under Beth’s definition of blasphemy. The love of Mike? Pete? Elvis? Six-armed alien sexbots? The latter being Vi’s contribution.
“Gerald, our daughter has informed us that she’s taking a husband. Surely you’d like to contribute something to the conversation other than regiment trivia?”
He offered Neely a soft, somehow unfocused smile. If he’d been sitting closer to her, he probably would have patted her on the arm. “Congratulations, sweet pea. Do you need us to pay for the wedding? We certainly have more saved up now than we did when Savannah settled down.”
“No, Dad, that’s all right.” She and Robert might not be rich, but they made decent salaries at Becker Southern Media, and she’d invested wisely. “We’ve both got savings accounts and can manage a simple affair. We thought June would be—”
“June? That’s just three months away,” Beth pointed out in a you’re-out-of-your-everlovin’-mind tone. People often talked about genteel Southern Belles, but forgot to mention another traditional figure, the Southern Matriarch, the iron-willed, sharp-eyed woman who usually raised those belles and ran the household. “And what is this folderol about a simple affair? Surely you aren’t planning to shame your family.”
Neely wondered idly if there were wedding planners who specialized in that—holiday weddings, theme weddings, nuptial events that will make your mama put a paper bag over her head. “I’m planning on getting married, Mother. Shame wasn’t part of the equation.”
“There’s that sass again. You have relatives, Cornelia, people who love you and would be slighted if they didn’t get a chance to participate in your big day. We should call Savannah back in here and start making lists immediately. Maybe we should even call Carol and Jo to help! Seems like a month of Sundays since we all got together.”
At the mention of her two aunts, a sense of foreboding rolled through Neely like dark storm clouds through a summer sky. “Mom, Robert and I haven’t discussed what kind of wedding—”
“Don’t you’d think you’d better hurry if you’re going to be married in June? Besides, men don’t want to be bothered with things like seating charts and floral arrangements! They’re grateful for a woman who can handle all of the organizing and just show them where to stand on the big day. Isn’t that right, Gerald?”
“Yes, dear.”
Neely, however, didn’t feel as agreeable. She was familiar enough with Beth’s take-charge personality to worry. She didn’t want to lose control of her wedding. After all, she’d waited forty-five years to have one, so shouldn’t it be the day of her dreams?
Our dreams, she reminded herself guiltily. Robert’s and mine. She was so used to living her life alone and making plans accordingly.
But all that was about to change.
CHAPTER 2
“You okay, kid?”
Vi sent a glare of female empowerment toward her brother, but the full effect was probably lost behind her tinted sunglasses. “I hate when you call me that.”
Douglas gave her a deliberately irritating smirk from the driver’s seat. “Why do you think I still do it?”
She laughed despite herself. He had that effect on her—on all women, really. Whether it was making a sister laugh or getting a female client to confide in him, dark-haired, dimpled Douglas was good at charming the ladies. He’d told her it was a shallow talent but not without its uses, especially when it came to jury selection. Or when it had come to sweet-talking their older sisters into covering for him, but that was before her time.
Flipping on his left blinker, he waltzed the luxury sedan across two lanes on 85, toward the exit that led to the run-down duplex Vi shared with a Hispanic single mother and her children. Vi, who used the MARTA bus and subway system as her primary means of getting around, didn’t have a car of her own. But that lack was not going to excuse her from monthly Sunday dinners, particularly now that Douglas lived so close.
Geography-wise, anyway.
The condo he’d taken a few blocks from his firm’s downtown building seemed worlds away from Vi’s weathered brick house with its rusty porch rail and torn window screens; her low-budget rental agreement had stipulated “as is” conditions, making most repairs her responsibility but giving her leniency in terms of redecorating. She kept meaning to spruce up the place, but with classes and three part-time jobs, she had even less time than money. Plus, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to invest when she and another waitress were talking about maybe looking for an apartment together to help lower bills.
“Thanks for the ride home, old man.” A fitting response to the kid remark. “If I’d had to wait for Savannah, who knows when I would have escaped? They looked like they were settling in for the long haul.” June was still a few months off, but their mother had acted as if all the wedding details had to be nailed down today.
“You’re not upset they didn’t ask you to stay, are you?”
Vi blinked. “For planning all that girlie stuff? Please. I know even less about weddings than you do.”
She knew enough about Neely, however, to recognize the trapped expression in her blue eyes as Savannah and Beth tag-teamed her. Savannah could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about putting together a beautiful event, and Beth, who’d helped raise two younger sisters and then four children of her own, could have organized the entire Confederate Army if she’d been born a century sooner. And if they’d given women meaningful leadership roles. So Vi had no doubts that Neely’s wedding would be a lovely, well-run occasion. She just wondered if, between her sister and her mother, any of Neely’s personality would show through.
Assuming Neely had one.
Her efficient, detached older sister had a brain like a calculator. Of course, most of Vi’s family would say she had enough personality for all of them, and they wouldn’t mean it as a compliment. The thought bothered her more than it normally would.
With a start, she realized that Neely’s announcement today had broken the only real bond she’d shared with her sister. Savannah was perfect and Douglas, if flawed by his divorce, was successful and charming enough to secure his parents’ adoration. But Neely’s “spinsterhood” had always earned their mother’s and aunts’ disapproval, much like Vi’s…everything.
“Well, here we are.” Douglas pulled onto the cracked driveway that led up to the left half of the double-home. On the parallel right-hand strip of pavement, a shirtless teenager had his head stuck under the hood of an old blue Cadillac. Douglas flicked his gaze in that direction. “You may not have a car for me to work on, but I’ve been meaning to ask, do you, um, need a little help with repairs on this place?”
Since she doubted her brother had lifted a hammer his entire adult life, she snorted at the offer. “Mom said something to you about my disgraceful living conditions.”
“While also managing to cast aspersions on my manhood and ability with power tools.”
The idea of Douglas near a power tool made Vi’s fingers itch to dial 911. Zoe, his ex, used to joke that he drank straight Scotch over ice because he couldn’t even build a decent drink. Vi had liked the woman and occasionally still ran into her on campus, where the willowy brunette taught a civics class. At thirty-seven the former Mrs. Mason was attractive enough that Vi wouldn’t be surprised if freshman boys had hot-for-teacher fantasies over her.
For that matter, Vi had reason to believe her brother still fantasized about Zoe on a regular basis. Their divorce was no healthier than their marriage had been, but given Vi’s own dysfunctional love life, she wasn’t one to judge. Her relationships seemed to come in two modes—low-key fun with guys she knew she’d never stay with long, and passionate flings characterized by intense sex but too much fighting. Frankly, until today’s revelation, she’d always wondered if Neely had the right idea by staying single.
Oblivious to Vi’s mental meandering, Douglas was still defending his masculinity. “All right, so I’m not…some guy famous for renovating stuff. My employers must not think I’m useless because they pay me pretty damn well. Even if I don’t rescreen your windows myself, I can certainly write you a check to get it done.”
Yes he could, without even blinking. It was so Douglas to offer the easy solution.
She sighed, wishing his attempted generosity didn’t leave her feeling snide. “Nah, I’d probably just blow the money on booze and extreme makeovers.” Besides, if she really needed something fixed, she could always ask Brendan, her most recent low-key boyfriend, a nice guy with whom she had little in common.
As if she were the kid he’d jokingly called her, Douglas reached over and tousled her hair, a chin-length platinum shag. “I like this, but I kept waiting for Mom to say something about it.”
Please. As if Savannah hadn’t been dyeing her hair for years? Or did Douglas think it was naturally retaining its youthful gold, unmarred by the hereditary gray that streaked Neely’s ash-blond bob? Vi had heard their mother sigh to Neely as they’d set out the china, “I suppose that awful bleaching is better than some of the colors Vidalia could have chosen.”
