The Would-Be Daddy

“How awful,” Ada said. “But it’s fortunate Jazz had you during such an important part of her childhood. You’ve prepared her to succeed in school and life.” The mother of a second-grade teacher, Ada understood a lot about learning and child development.

“That’s a positive attitude.” Franca wandered into her own bedroom. On a side table, her sewing machine sat idle, threaded with pink from the Valentine’s Day dress she’d stitched for Jazz.

“I can understand you might not be making doll clothes for a while,” Ada said. “It’s too bad. Sewing is such a relaxing hobby.”

“I do enjoy it.” A puffy blue concoction on a hanger caught Franca’s eye—the bridesmaid’s dress from Belle’s wedding. Considering Belle’s usual good taste, why had she chosen such ugly gowns for her attendants?

Last month, Belle had pulled out all the stops in her wedding to a likable CPA. Franca had been glad to serve as a bridesmaid, despite the strain on her budget to pay for this awful creation, its bows and lacy trim more suitable for a Pollyanna costume than for a woman in her thirties. She wondered what the rest of the half dozen attendants would do with their froufrou getups. Donate them to charity? Use them in community theater productions? Clean the garage with them?

“Well, don’t be a stranger,” Ada said. “You never can tell when you might need a gift, or be in the mood to sew for fun.”

On a shelf, a couple of dolls that doubled as bookends caught Franca’s eye. How shabby they’d become, as had the dolls in her office. They underwent plenty of wear and tear in play therapy, where she used them along with stuffed animals, coloring materials and building blocks.

Franca hadn’t planned to drive to Safe Harbor today, but she refused to sit here and stew in her unhappiness. A visit to the Bear and Doll Boutique was exactly what she needed.

“You’re an inspiration,” she said to Ada. “My dolls deserve a new wardrobe, and I have a perfectly hideous bridesmaid dress to cut up.”

“Some of these new patterns are darling.” A bell tinkled in the background, signaling the arrival of a customer. “I’ll see you soon.”

After clicking off, Franca changed from her skirt and jacket into jeans and an old sweater. Since her hair was frizzing out of its bun, she shook it loose and ran a brush through it, which did little to tame the bushiness. But Ada wouldn’t care about Franca’s appearance, and she doubted she’d run into anyone else she knew.

Out Franca went, her mood lifting.

* * *

“BEST MAN AT your wedding?” Marshall repeated. He wasn’t ready to answer, nor to ask the question uppermost in his mind until he had a better grasp of the situation. “Have you set a date?”

“Yep, three weeks from now.” When the elevator arrived at the ground floor, Nick let him exit first. “There’s nothing like an April wedding, Zady says. Lucky for us, the Seaside Wedding Chapel had a cancellation.”

“Not so lucky for the couple who canceled, I presume,” Marshall said.

“Maybe they decided to elope instead.” How typical of Nick to look on the bright side.

As they passed a couple of nurses’ aides in the hall, Marshall heard the murmur that often greeted their rare appearance side-by-side: “Are they twins?”

He’d been irked in school by the striking resemblance between him and his cousin, who was a year younger. Wasn’t it obvious that Nick’s brown hair was a shade lighter, and that at six feet tall he lacked an inch of Marshall’s height?

Nevertheless, people considered them look-alikes. And since they were also close in age and shared a surname, teachers at their magnet science high school had often compared them academically. How unfair that Marshall had studied until his head hurt to earn top grades, while Nick, with his quick grasp of essentials and his unusually good memory, sailed from A to A.

After attending different colleges and medical schools, they’d accidentally landed at Safe Harbor Medical at almost the same time, which had created confusion among their colleagues. Good thing they specialized in different fields, Nick in obstetrics and Marshall in urology, or their patients might wind up in the wrong examining rooms. Or worse, the wrong ORs.

Nick must have heard the muttering, too. Rather than stiffening, he draped an arm over Marshall’s shoulders. “If they want to yammer about us, bro, let’s show ’em what pals we are. Okay if I mess up your hair?”

“No.” Marshall eased away from his brother.

Nick removed his arm. “Loosen up, man.”

“I’d rather not.” However, Marshall had no desire to renew the friction that had flared between them over the years. His perfectionist, high-achieving parents had encouraged him to scorn his freewheeling cousin and Nick’s irresponsible parents. They’d hidden a dark secret, though: unable to have children, Upton and Mildred Davis had adopted Marshall, their nephew, as a toddler. In exchange for their silence, Mildred and Upton promised to help pay the younger Davises’ household expenses.

That silence had lasted for nearly thirty-five years, until last Monday. Out of the blue, Uncle Quentin had confronted Nick and Marshall with the truth, explaining that he wanted to repair past wrongs. Instead, he’d simply dumped his burden on his sons, then taken off for his home a hundred and fifty miles away in Bakersfield.

Everything Marshall believed he knew about himself and his parents had been thrown into turmoil. Why had they been ashamed of his origins? Had they been so strict because they feared he’d turn out a mess like his birth parents?

As they exited the hospital via a side door, Nick asked, “Is that a no? I assure you, I have the bride’s approval.”

“Considering that Zady’s my office nurse, I should hope so.” Marshall didn’t wish to offend either his brother or the future Mrs. Davis, whom he liked and respected. Besides, being invited to serve as best man was an honor. “Of course I’ll stand up with you.”

On the path toward the parking structure, their strides synchronized. “Maybe we should rent different color tuxes,” Nick said cheerfully. “I’d hate for the bride to get confused and marry the wrong guy.”

Leave it to Nick to find humor in their embarrassing resemblance. “What exactly does a best man do?” Marshall asked. “Aside from making sure the groom shows up and doesn’t lose the ring.”

Halting in his tracks, Nick whipped out his phone. “Let’s see.”

“I didn’t mean for you to research it now.”

“We’ve only got a few weeks.” He tapped the screen.

Marshall gazed across the curved drive to the newly acquired building, where construction equipment buzzed. The Portia and Vincent Adams Memorial Medical Building—popularly referred to as the Porvamm—would provide much-needed operating suites, laboratories and other facilities for the men’s fertility program.

A little over a week earlier, two groups of doctors had nearly come to blows over how to allot the two floors of office space. Marshall and Nick had taken opposite sides, with Marshall in favor of keeping the entire Porvamm for the men’s program, while Nick and his comrades protested that they deserved a break from their cramped quarters.

Before open warfare could break out with scalpels flashing in the corridors, they’d reached a compromise. Encouraged by Zady, Marshall had proposed a concession, and last Monday the administration had agreed to assign a quarter of the offices to obstetricians and pediatricians.

“Duties of a best man,” Nick read aloud from the phone. “Serve as the groom’s adviser on clothing and etiquette. I think we can skip that part.”

“I know nothing about weddings, so I concur,” Marshall said.

“Organize the bachelor party,” his brother continued.

“Okay to video games and pizza,” Marshall said. “I draw the line at strippers.”

Nick laughed. “I’d love to see you plan a party with strippers, just to watch your face get redder than a blood specimen, but you’re off the hook. Because of the tight time frame, Zady’s skipping the bachelorette party, too.”

What other land mines lay in wait? Co-opting the phone, Marshall scanned the list. “I can make a toast at the reception, and I’ll be glad to dance with the bride and the maid of honor. Should I be squiring around the other bridesmaids, too?”

“There aren’t any.” Reclaiming the device, Nick resumed their walk toward the garage. “Just Zora as matron of honor.” The bride’s twin sister was an ultrasound technician. “You might have to ride herd on my future mother-in-law, though. She’s reputed to be a dragon.”

“You haven’t met her?” Marshall had presumed that introductions to the bride’s parents would be a priority.

“Zady doesn’t plan to invite her until a few days before the ceremony. That’s enough notice for her to fly down from Oregon but short enough to minimize the damage.” Nick shrugged. “I’ve heard many stories about the woman’s drinking and trouble-making. Zady’s plan seems sensible.”

Marshall hadn’t given any thought to what kind of wedding he’d have. If he’d ever spared a moment’s reflection on the subject, however, it wouldn’t include misbehaving in-laws. That brought up a delicate subject. “Will my mother be invited?”

“I put Aunt Mildred on the guest list.” Inside the parking structure, Nick halted beside his battered blue sedan. “Unless that’s a problem for you.”

“I doubt she’ll accept,” Marshall blurted. In response to his brother’s quizzical expression, he explained, “I tried to talk to her after Uncle Quentin dropped his bomb, and got nowhere.”

He still couldn’t refer to Nick’s father as “Dad.” That title belonged to Quentin’s older brother, who, to be fair, had been as hard on himself as he’d been on his adoptive son. A brilliant inventor of medical devices and a savvy businessman, Upton Davis had amassed a fortune. After his death five years ago of an aneurysm, he’d left half his estate to Marshall, along with a request to take care of his mother.