Babs never came out and said she didn’t approve. But I felt it. I knew.
My mother on the other hand…
“It’s here! It’s here!” she practically sang from behind me. I turned to see Mom and her twin sister coming up the path.
“So getting here an hour early to have a glass of champagne by ourselves didn’t really pan out, did it?” Sarah said under her breath.
“On the bright side, Mom looks like a glass of champagne,” I said.
She was wearing the most perfect champagne-colored sheath with a tiny belt at the waist and chic tan pumps. Aunt Alice was clad in an eerily similar dress in pale blue, but with a wrap. I hadn’t actually seen either of these outfits on my mom or aunt, but I had heard about them for months.
“They look gorgeous,” Sarah said. “And very well coordinated.” They had perfect matching blowouts, although Mom’s hair was much lighter, verging on blond, while Alice still made the valiant attempt to keep hers dark, even though it meant that covering her grays was a constant battle.
“Did I tell you about the PowerPoint?” I asked.
Sarah furrowed her brow, which I took as a no.
“Babs took an iPad class at the senior center so she could better assist with all the wedding details. She made everyone in the family send photos of their outfits—complete with shoes, accessories, and purses—for each event. Then she made a presentation and distributed it to the entire family to serve as a packing list. Let’s just say,” I added, as Mom made her way to us, “some of the first outfits we sent to Babs didn’t make the cut.”
Sarah burst out laughing. When it came to important family events, Babs didn’t leave anything to chance.
Mom smiled and leaned over to hug and kiss Sarah and me. “No, no,” she said, picking up on what I’d just said and imitating Babs. “Don’t think of them as cuts. Think of them as edits.”
Alice wrapped her arm around me. “Well, girls, we made it. It’s here. We’re all wearing the appropriate outfits. It isn’t snowing.”
“What is so wrong with snow?” I asked.
“It’s a logistical nightmare,” Aunt Alice said.
“Where is Babs?” I asked, finally realizing she wasn’t here. We had all gotten ready at the Asheville mountain house that had been in her family for generations, and I had assumed she would ride with Mom and Aunt Alice since Sarah and I had left early.
At that same moment I heard, “Girls, come quickly! You have to see this!” from behind me. One of the conservatory doors flung open and I saw Babs, all five foot two of her, in a navy knit suit, pillbox hat, and kitten heels, looking as though this estate belonged to her. She waved us over and we hurried in.
I’d been told we were having this event outside in the gardens, another point of panic for my poor mother and her snow. But as I stepped through the door, I realized that wasn’t wholly true. Amid the palms and hydrangeas, orchids, and birds-of-paradise, and—best of all—what must have been hundreds of butterflies, a small table held a chiller bucket with an open bottle of champagne and five flutes. Quick as a wink, Babs began filling the glasses and handed one to each of us. “I thought we’d toast our girl before we went outside for lunch,” she said.
I smiled, looking around at my four favorite women. Sometimes my mom drove me batty, but I loved her dearly. She and my aunt Alice seemed to be in a world-ending spat as often as they were getting along, but they were always there for me. Sarah was my ride or die. She had been since we were five years old, when she had stood up for me after I was wrongly accused of talking in class. Her job as a public defender was no surprise to anyone. And then there was Babs, who inspired me every day with her tenacity, her spunk, and, like any wonderful grandmother, her wisdom.
Now she raised her glass and said, “To my bright, beautiful Julia, who has always been poised to take on the world. May you find your eternal happiness, my darling girl.”
Everyone raised their glasses gleefully, but as we all clinked, I felt a familiar panic welling up in my throat. Could I do this? Could I marry Hayes tomorrow? And, maybe more important, should I?
Follow the rules, I thought. Follow the rules. The other women might have been toasting to my wedding, but Babs was testing me. She was asking me why I had changed course so suddenly, why I hadn’t stepped into the life I always thought I wanted. I stood taller, straighter, convincing myself that I was doing that. Hayes and our family were my future. The rest would work itself out.
My friends began filing inside the butterfly garden as well then, a man in a black-and-white uniform appearing to serve them champagne. Seeing all these women gathering to support me, to support my marriage to the man I loved, reminded me that my uneasy feelings were silly. Every woman felt nervous before her wedding. Right?
I looked up at the dozens of panes of glass—handmade, no doubt—that formed the roof of this historic building. I wondered what it would have been like to draw the plans for the massive arched windows inset in this beautiful brick. Realizing I was jealous of the architects who lived more than a century ago, I wondered if perhaps I had done the wrong thing, walking away from my dream career. I looked down to see that a butterfly had landed on the rim of my flute. Sarah snapped a picture with her phone, startling me out of my thoughts, as Babs clinked her glass with a fork. “Ladies, we have a quick surprise before lunch is served.”
I moved over to Babs as the guests murmured excitedly. “Being inside the conservatory isn’t enough of a surprise, Babs?” I whispered, so as not to scare off the butterfly.
“In life, and especially at a party, there can never be enough surprises, Jules.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s the surprises that direct our path.”
As if she’d heard, the monarch on my glass spread her orange and black wings and flew off into the orchids, back where she belonged.
A woman who looked to be in her midfifties, dressed in a black-and-white Biltmore guide uniform, appeared in the doorway with a stack of books. “I am delighted to introduce one of Biltmore’s finest guides,” Babs said to the group, “who is here to take us on a tour of the conservatory and gardens. And, in honor of Julia’s wedding, we have a very special treat. With the help of the Biltmore staff, we have compiled a book of photos from Cornelia Vanderbilt’s wedding day for each of you.”
I put my hand to my heart. “Babs! You didn’t!” I had visited Biltmore Estate with Babs many times while growing up, and over the years, I had developed quite a fascination with the house and maybe even more so with Cornelia Vanderbilt, the little girl—and later, woman—who grew up and lived here. I knew she had been the first bride of Biltmore, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing any photographs from that day. As the guide handed me a book, my heart swelled. Babs was so thoughtful.
“Do you remember the first time I brought you here?” Babs asked. “You were the only six-year-old in the world who was as thrilled about the architectural details of Biltmore as you were about the candy shop.”
I laughed. “And you were the best grandmother for getting me an annual pass every year for my birthday.”
“Some kids like Disney World.”