Mary entered the kitchen, yawning. “Morning. Happy birthday, Lulu.”
I chuckled. “Thanks, Sis.”
“Your sister is a young lady now, Mary,” Mama said, her mouth drawn in disapproval. “You named her Lulu when she was born because you couldn’t pronounce Lorena Ann. Perhaps it’s time to put away the childish nickname.”
Mary rolled her eyes once Mama turned her back. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing and carried my juice to the breakfast table. Had Mama forgotten most people, including herself, call me Rena? Especially when her mother, Grandma Lorena, and I were in the same room.
“What time are we going to the hall?” Mary poured herself a cup of coffee and joined me at the table. “Roy said he’d help with the decorations.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. Roy Staton, son of Daddy’s most important business client, was as dull as they come in my opinion. With Mary in her first year at Ward-Belmont College, she had endless opportunities ahead of her. Why she’d agreed to date dull Roy was beyond me.
“We should be there by two.” Mama glanced at the wall clock. “We’ll need to finish with plenty of time to come home to bathe and dress. The guests arrive at seven.”
She set a bowl of lumpy-looking oatmeal and a plate of slightly burnt toast on the table. When she returned to the kitchen, I crinkled my nose. My taste buds were set for Dovie’s famous blueberry pancakes and crisp bacon, a tradition on my birthday as far back as I can remember.
Mama stopped to look out the window above the sink. She seemed preoccupied. Worried even. Which was unusual, because Mama rarely allowed herself the luxury of showing her true emotions. Sometimes I wondered what she really thought, like when Daddy embarrassed her after church last Sunday. A group of parishioners had gathered in the noon sunshine, discussing the building project that would provide more room for the growing congregation. Daddy bragged about how much money he’d donated in order to have the new education wing named Leland Hall. Mama’s face turned beet red, but she’d put on a smile and made a joke about Daddy buying his way into heaven.
“Roy said his friend Homer wants to call on you after the debutante ball.” Mary glanced at me for a response.
Mama brought over a platter of scrambled eggs that seemed the most edible out of all her efforts, then joined us at the table. “Homer? What’s his last name? Do I know his parents?”
I groaned. “It doesn’t matter. He could be a Rockefeller for all I care. I still wouldn’t go on a date with him.”
“You’re such a snob, Lulu.”
“What’s wrong with the boy?” Mama wanted to know.
“Nothing.” Mary and I spoke at the same time.
Mama’s brows rose in question as her blue eyes pinned me to the chair.
I lifted one shoulder. “I simply can’t see myself married to someone named Homer, so there’s no point giving him encouragement.”
Mary shook her head in disgust and dug into her meal. Mama studied me with more concentration than I felt I deserved, considering the topic of conversation. I was years away from settling down with a husband and family, so she should be relieved I wasn’t boy crazy like my sister.
“If I wasn’t dating Roy, I’d set my cap for Homer,” Mary said right on cue, as though Mama or I cared about her latest infatuation. “He’s handsome, smart, and comes from a very fine Memphis family. Roy says Homer’s mother is from old money.”
I gasped in mock interest. “Maybe they found buried treasure on the banks of the Mississippi left over from pirate days.”
Mary shot me a narrowed scowl and opened her mouth to retort, but Mama’d had enough.
“Girls,” she said in that stern way she used when she was put out with us. “It’s no joking matter to find a husband who comes from a good family. You’re both old enough to consider possible marriage prospects.” She focused her gaze on me. “I expect you to make a fine showing at the ball, and you—” she turned to Mary—“shouldn’t lead Roy into believing you care more for him than you apparently do.”
Her seriousness had the opposite effect, and I felt a giggle lodge in my throat. I couldn’t look at Mary. I knew I’d burst into laughter if I did.
We finished breakfast, with Mama shooing me away from helping with the dishes since it was my birthday. Mary stuck her tongue out at me as she picked up a dish towel, but then followed it with a wink. I went upstairs to my room. The gown Mama’s favorite seamstress designed for the ball hung on a dress form near the window. I had to admit I loved the silky white material and lace overlay on the skirt. Mama insisted the hem fall at my ankles rather than the shorter style that was popular, but I didn’t mind. At my last fitting, I couldn’t believe how sophisticated and grown-up I looked.
A glance in the bureau mirror to my messy hair and fuzzy pink bathrobe brought me back to reality.
I’d always considered Mary prettier than me. With her blue eyes and blonde curls, she was Mama’s daughter through and through. I, on the other hand, had Daddy’s boring brown hair and eyes, which although striking in the right light, didn’t catch boys’ attention the way Mary’s did. Maybe that’s why I never cared too much about catching their attention. The man I married someday would like me just the way I was.
A single sheet of printed paper lay on my desk. I snatched it up and stretched out on the bed, grinning. Seeing my byline in the school newspaper never ceased to please me. Mr. Snyder, my English teacher and editor of the paper, said I had a gift for storytelling. He’d encouraged me to join the small group of reporters during my sophomore year and promoted me to assistant editor this year. I dreamed of writing for Life, Collier’s, or one of the other major magazines in New York City after college, but for now my article on who stole the school’s stuffed eagle mascot would have to suffice.
Much to my disappointment, Daddy did not come home for lunch. Mama didn’t want to drive into the city, so we ate bologna sandwiches instead of shrimp and lobster at the Maxwell House Hotel. True to Mary’s prediction, Roy met us at the hall. He was so preoccupied with greeting her that he completely neglected to wish me a happy birthday.
Decorating went well. We were almost finished when the catering truck arrived. Mama waylaid the rotund man—I forgot his name—and issued directives to his two helpers on where to place the platters of food, the punch bowl, and a lovely five-tiered cake decorated with fresh flowers. At one point, however, I looked across the room and found Mama in an intense, whispered conversation with the man, which seemed odd. Mama wasn’t one to flirt with strange men, and although I wouldn’t necessarily call their secret conversation flirting, it made me uncomfortable.
I walked outside and noticed the two helpers having whispered conversations of their own. When they found me watching, they went back to work, but my skin crawled, as though I should be aware of something but wasn’t.
Mama fell quiet on the ride home. Even Mary, who wasn’t always mindful of other people’s feelings, gave me a questioning look. I indicated I didn’t know what was wrong and left it at that. At home, I bathed and dressed for the evening. I certainly could have used Dovie’s help with the tiny pearl buttons on the back of my peach-colored party dress and breathed a sigh of thanks when Mary appeared in the doorway wearing a green silk gown that made her skin look like cream.