Page 2 of The Perfect Hosts
“If you say so,” Madeline says glumly.
“I do say so. You look beautiful. Now, come on, put on your pearls, and let’s go meet your public.”
“You mean Wes’s public,” Madeline clarifies, getting awkwardly to her feet. In fact, few of the people on the guestlist are truly her friends or even Wes’s. Ranching and raising world-class equestrian horses and training the riders is a cutthroat business, and Madeline has no illusions that any one of the people who are going to raise their glass to toast the upcoming birth of their baby wouldn’t hesitate to stab them in the back if it’s a good business decision. Madeline wiggles her toes. Johanna is right. The flip-flops are much better.
“True,” Johanna concedes, “but you know they love you much more than Wes. You raise his likability factor by a thousand percent.”
“Yeah, right!” Madeline smiles, slipping a triple strand of pearls over her neck. “Everyone loves Wes. But you feel free to tell him he owes it all to me.”
“Oh, I do. Every chance I get,” Johanna says as she threads her arm into Madeline’s and guides her from the bedroom and to the landing that looks over the living room with its hand-scraped oak floors perfectly aligned with the concrete walls, earthy and austere at the same time. The space is softened by plush sofas and chairs in the shades of green found in the trees and flora seen through the expansive window walls. Outside, the Wyoming sky is periwinkle blue. It is the perfect evening for a party, though the forecast calls for a chance of rain.
“You know,” Johanna begins in a conspiratorial voice, “I can tell you if you’re having a boy or a girl. No one else has to know. It can be our little secret.” As always Johanna seems to be able to read her mind. It would be nice to know before everyone else, to have a little piece of this day just for herself. But no, Wes wants to be surprised right along with their guests. Wants their friends and colleagues to share in one of the happiest days of their lives. Wes does love a grand gesture—the bigger the audience, the better.
“Well?” Johanna says, raising her eyebrows. “Do you want to know? It’s almost time.”
“No,” Madeline says, shaking her head. “If you tell me, it will be written all over my face. Everyone will know.”
“True,” Johanna agrees, sliding her arm through Madeline’s. “You’re a terrible liar.”
If only she knew, Madeline thinks.
Together they make their way down the steps, through the great room, and out the glass doors that lead to the terrace where they are greeted by the smoky scent of barbecue. The same waitress that Madeline saw talking to Wes earlier approaches, holding out a tray of steak tartare bites.
“No, thank you,” Madeline says, now too nervous to eat. This was the night. The night they will learn if they are having a boy or a girl. Although Madeline doesn’t care either way, she knows this one little tidbit of information will make it all the more real. The waitress turns to Johanna.
“Oh, no. I don’t eat meat,” Johanna says giving a little shudder.
The waitress lingers, and Madeline examines her face. She is beautiful, with large cat eyes that are a startling green against her pale skin. And she is young. Younger than Madeline initially thought. Twenty-one if she’s a day.
“You look familiar,” Madeline says. “Have we met before?”
“Probably at another event,” the girl says. “I’ve worked for this caterer for about a year. Were you at the Whitneys’ anniversary party in March?”
“Yes!” Madeline says, making the connection. “You were the bartender at that one.” She is about to ask her what she was talking to Wes about earlier when the waitress turns to Johanna. “You’re a doula, right?” she asks shyly.
“Actually, I’m a midwife,” Johanna says.
“There’s a difference?” the young woman asks. Madeline reads her nametag. Mellie. She then zones out as Johanna goes into detail about how midwives can provide medical care duringpregnancy, birth, and after, while doulas stick to information and emotional and physical support.
The back lawn has taken on the festive air of a carnival. The ceiling of the clear-top tent is festooned with pampas grass, wildflowers, and Edison bulbs of various lengths. Dozens of linen-covered tables are set for the barbecue dinner that will be served later.Picnic glam, the party planner called it.
The evening would begin with games that Alyssa has insisted will be a hoot: Name That Baby Song, Guess That Celebrity Baby, Pacifier Hunt, and more. Madeline immediately nixed the How Big Is the Bump? game. There is no way in hell that she is letting people guess the circumference of her belly. Still, Madeline knows a ridiculous amount of money is at stake in the pool that includes the sex, length, weight, hair color, and God knows what else. Madeline also knows Alyssa has overplanned, that this crowd will spend most of their time drinking the expensive alcohol and gossiping about the person just out of earshot.
After the fun and games, there will be the dinner consisting of shaved fennel and celery salad, ribs, barbecue-spiced hot-smoked salmon, and grown-ups’ s’mores made with cinnamon graham crackers, milk chocolate ganache, candied pecans, sweet coconut, and a topping of almond-scented toasted meringue. Madeline would have been happy with a plain old s’more, but Alyssa said the guests would swoon over these, so she agreed.
Just before dusk, the guests will gather behind the long row of hay bales to watch the big reveal. Waiters and waitresses will be standing by with flutes of champagne topped with either pink or blue cotton candy depending on whether the explosion shows they are having a boy or a girl. Madeline, of course, will have sparkling cider. Then comes the rodeo where some of Madeline’s students will show off their equestrian skills, and young men and women new to the rodeo circuit will try and catch eyes in hopes of landing a sponsor. Then the guests willget their chance. Men and some of the women will drunkenly ride one of the more docile broncos while the crowd whoops and hollers. Finally, Reba will take the outdoor stage that was erected for the event.
“I may have a new client,” Johanna says, pulling Madeline from her thoughts.
“She’s pregnant?” Madeline asks, looking at the young woman with new eyes. “No way.”
“Apparently she’s four months along,” Johanna says. “I’m going to meet with her later, get more info.”
“We hate her, right?” Madeline says. “I swear when I was at four months, none of my clothes fit me anymore.” A niggle of something tugs at her. Why was a young, pregnant waitress talking to her husband? How does she even know who he is?
“You’re gorgeous,” Johanna assures her. “Hey, do you see Dalton?” she asks.
Madeline searches the crowd for Johanna’s husband in the sea of cowboy hats. “Not yet,” she says. “Didn’t you two drive over together?”