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“Would you like a drink, Nick?’  John Fremont paused in the act of pouring scotch over some ice cubes.

“Um…I…I don’t know if I should.  You know…like, I’m nervous and all and…”  Nick stood in the doorway, twisting his fingers together.

“Relax,” said John.  “The worst part is over…the Sharon test.  And you passed that with flying colors.”  John motioned Nick to a seat.  “Come in and sit down.  It may be a bit of a wait.  Ladies, you know.  They want everything perfect.”

Nick sat on the edge of a chair, resisting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on the upholstery and using his pants instead.

Nick had not known what to wear.  Abby had said that she was wearing a dress, short…not a formal one.  Suit and tie would do, she’d said.  Nick wasn’t sure he had one that was appropriate. AJ offered to go shopping with him, which gave the guys their biggest laugh of that day.  Finally, Howie went with him.  Nick was wearing a black suit with a long jacket.  His shirt was snowy white and French cuffs peeked out from the bottom of his jacket sleeves.  Much discussion had taken place over the selection of a tie.  Nick hated wearing them.  He felt constrained, like he was choking.  AJ told him not to bother with one then, but Kevin and Brian shook their heads.  No, a tie was a must in this situation.  Howie finally brought him one that they all agreed was perfect.  It was a shimmery grey material with a black woven pattern that seemed to shift with movement in the light.  Nick wondered if he could make people seasick by swaying from side to side.

“Hi, Honey,” said John suddenly.  “You look nice.”  John Fremont was the only one not to get the full import of the Abby reformation.  This was not because he didn’t think she looked great now, but because he hadn’t thought her ugly before.  She had always been his beautiful little girl.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Nick turned his head to the side.  The first thing he saw was the shoes…black, sleek high heels, holding a set of slim ankles.  Nick’s eyes moved up the calves to the knees and the hem of the dress just above them.

The dress was taffeta, a deep green that shimmered in the light and changed to a burgundy tone.  The skirt was full, made of three stiff ruffles.  It made a rustling sound as she walked.  The bodice was tight, fitting to the belted waist, where a circlet of rhinestones provided the buckle.  The neckline was square, low-cut enough to show a little cleavage.  The sleeves were long and tight. 

Nick’s eyes continued to travel upward.  Abby’s hair and makeup were carefully done.  She looked wonderful.  She stood with her bottom lip between her teeth and wrinkled her nose.  Well?

“Wow!” whispered Nick, rising to his feet.

“I was going to wear the French countess thing,” laughed Abby nervously, “but it’s at the cleaner’s.”

“Wow!” whispered Nick again.

“Let’s get a picture,” said John, holding up Abby’s camera.  “While we’re waiting for your mother.”

John removed the camera from the case and fiddled with buttons.  “How about over here by the fireplace?  Or by the tree?  What do you think?”

Nick picked up Abby’s left hand.  He brushed his fingertips over the ring.  He smiled at her.  “You nervous?” he whispered.

“Sweating like a pig,” answered Abby with a grin.

“Me too,” said Nick, leading her to the fireplace.  John positioned them and took some pictures.  He checked each one carefully on the LED screen and then made corrections, “Nick turn your head a little to the left.  Abigail, move your hand higher so we can see the ring.  Good.  Now smile.”

“Daddy’s new hobby,” said Abby through a frozen smile as they waited for John to take the picture.

“Now how about by the tree?”  John ushered them to the other side of the room.

“He got so many compliments on the engagement picture that he’s turned into Ansel Adams.”

“Oh,” said Nick, guessing that was some kind of photographer.

“I tried to tell him that the picture was good because it had Nick Carter in it,” added Abby with a twinkle in her eye, “but there’s no stopping him.  It annoys the hell out of Mother, so it’s not a totally bad thing.”

“Behave yourself, Abby,” admonished Nick in a whisper.  “She’s your mother.”

“Two words, big fella,” retorted Abby.  “For...sale.”

Nick burst out laughing.  He slipped his arm around Abby’s waist and pulled her into his body for a hug.  He kissed the top of her head and let her go.  He didn’t want to smudge or wrinkle anything.

“John, are you playing with that camera again?” said Sharon Fremont, sailing into the room.  She was dressed in a black silk shift with a single strand of pearls.  She looked very elegant.  Nick could feel his palms starting to sweat again and his vocabulary disintegrating.

“Yes, Dear, and I got some great shots.  Come and see.”

Nick watched John and Sharon huddle over the tiny screen.  Sharon commented on every picture, bland compliments like ‘very nice’ and ‘lovely’ or criticisms, mostly about Abby, she should have had her chin up, her eyes looked crossed.

Nick knew one thing about Sharon Fremont.  He was more afraid of her than anyone in the world.  Because she had managed to do something no one else ever had.  She had made Jane Carter shut up.

Nick’s mother had started in on him the moment she found out about the party.  Thank God he’d spent most of the previous month flitting around the country.  If she’d been able to get to him in person, Nick was sure that she would have locked him in a room until she got her way.

Jane Carter was no dummy.  She checked out Abby and her family thoroughly.  She started making plans to go to Chicago.

The barrage of phone messages grew increasingly bizarre until Nick knew he could no longer ignore them.  He told his mother that the party was a small gathering, just a few of the Fremont’s closest friends.  He told her that he was going to be very busy meeting a lot of new people and he wouldn’t have time to keep an eye on her.

She pounced.  “Make up your mind.  Is it a small party or are there a lot of people?  You can’t have it both ways.  And what do you mean, ‘keep an eye on me’?  What do you think I would do?”

Nick didn’t want to get into that.  “I just meant that I wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time with you, you know, introduce you around.  I’ll be meeting most of these people for the first time myself.”

“Don’t worry about me.  I can take care of myself.  I’m good at meeting people.  And I suppose I can force myself to talk to your father for a couple of hours, if need be.”

“Well, see, Mom, here’s the thing…”  Nick tried to find the words.

He didn’t and Jane went away with the impression that Nick didn’t want his father at the party.

The next phone message Nick received was from his father, sounding hurt, saying that he understood that Nick didn’t think his old dad would fit in with the society crowd, but ‘good luck’ anyway.

Nick sighed as he punched in the number.  He tried to explain to his father that Bob had it all wrong.  It wasn’t that Nick didn’t want him there, it was… Again Nick tried to find the words that would make his father understand without actually saying it…that he was afraid to put his parents in the same room because he couldn’t trust them not to embarrass him.

“Aw hell, Dad, I don’t even want to go,” he finally said in desperation, inadvertently landing on just the right approach.  “I’m only doing it for Abby.  It’s going to be a bunch of snooty society-types.  I’m sure I’ll do something wrong – double-dip my chip or something.”

“Better you than me,” laughed his father.  “I didn’t want to go in the first place.  I just kinda…well, you know, the way your mother phrased it…”

“Yeah, I know, Dad,” said Nick, wondering when his dad was going to come to his senses and stop listening to her.

“What are you going to do about her?” asked Bob.

Nick didn’t know the answer to that.  He discussed it with Abby, who offered a couple of suggestions and then finally asked for his mother’s phone number, saying she was turning it over to Sharon.

Nick didn’t know what Sharon said.  He didn’t want to know.  All he knew was that suddenly Jane announced that she wasn’t going to Chicago, even though Sharon had graciously invited her.  No, things were too busy in California, what with the party being the week before Christmas…so much to do for the kids who were still living at home…

Nick knew that his mother was hurt and tried to mollify her by saying that he was sure she’d have more to do with the wedding.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Nick,” she answered in a resigned tone.  “I’m only the groom’s mother.  The bride’s parents handle all of that.”  She paused and then asked conversationally, “Um…is Abby at all like her mother?”

“No,” said Nick.  “She’s not.”  Later that night, as he was drifting to sleep, he wondered if that were true.  Abby could be pretty stubborn when she wanted her own way.  And she seemed to be getting more self-reliant and determined by the day.  Hmmm, maybe it’s a good thing we’ll be in different cities most of the time, was his final thought of the day.