Forget Me Not

FORGETMENOT
JulieSoto
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishersLtd
1LondonBridgeStreet,
LondonSE19GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
FirstpublishedbyHarperCollinsPublishersLtd2023
Copyright?JulieSoto2023
CoverdesignbyHollyMacdonald/HarperCollinsPublishersLtd
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JulieSotoassertsthemoralrighttobeidentifiedastheauthorofthiswork
AcataloguecopyofthisbookisavailablefromtheBritishLibrary.
Thisnovelisentirelyaworkoffiction.Thenames,charactersandincidentsportrayedinitaretheworkoftheauthor’simagination.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,eventsorlocalitiesisentirelycoincidental.
AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenon-exclusive,non-transferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookonscreen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,down-loaded,decompiled,reverseengineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollins.
SourceISBN:9780008564834
EbookEdition?2023ISBN:9780008564841
Version:2023-06-06Dedication
ForMarandCat.
Thanksforholdingmyhandunderthetablealltheseyears.Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter1:Ama
Chapter2:Ama
Chapter3:Elliot
Chapter4:Ama
Chapter5:Elliot
Chapter6:Ama
Chapter7:Ama
Chapter8:Elliot
Chapter9:Ama
Chapter10:Elliot
Chapter11:Ama
Chapter12:Ama
Chapter13:Elliot
Chapter14:Ama
Chapter15:Elliot
Chapter16:Elliot
Chapter17:Ama
Chapter18:Elliot
Chapter19:Ama
Chapter20:Elliot
Chapter21:Ama
Chapter22:Elliot
Chapter23:Ama
Chapter24:Elliot
Chapter25:Ama
Chapter26:Elliot
Chapter27:Ama
Chapter28:Ama
Chapter29:Ama
Chapter30:Ama
Chapter31:Ama
Chapter32:Elliot
Chapter33:Ama
Chapter34:Ama
Author’sNote
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
AboutthePublisher1AmaMARCH
Ihavefiverulesforplanningasuccessfulwedding.
(Lies.I’msuretherearemore,butifIsaid,“Ihaveseventy-sixrules—sitback,”IthinkIwouldhavelostyou.)
Rule#1—Noliveanimals.Theyeatrings,biteflowergirls,andpooeverywhere.
Rule#2—DIYdoesn’tmeantheweddingpartywillDoItThemselves.ItmeansthecouplewentonPinterestandnowit’stheweddingplanner’sproblem.
Rule#3—AnightclubDJandaweddingDJarenotinterchangeable.
Rule#4—Don’teverfindyourselfalonewithagroomsman.
Andfinally,Rule#5—Alwaystalkthemoutofthegazebo.Always.
Imarchdowntheaisle,thighsburningtokeepmyheelsfromsinkingintothegrass.Thecarpetarrivesintwenty,andI’mgladIinsistedonit,becausethebridewouldhavebeentuggingherlegsoutofthislikeamarsh.
Myphotographerandfavoriteex-stepsibling—atallIndianwomanwhogetsmistakenforPriyankaChopraatleasttwiceaday—islyingonherstomachinthemiddleofthepark,camerapointedupwardatthegazebo,wheremyassistantshavebeenkidnappedtostandinforthebrideandgroom.
“Mar,dear,”Isaythroughafakesmile.“Jakealreadyhasajob.”Withasnapofmyfingers,Jake—anotherstepsibling—boltsdownthegazebostepsandbacktotheloadingzone,wherehe’ssupposedtobedirectingthevendors.“AndIgaveyouSarahfortenminutes.”
Asherlonglimbsbringherselftostanding,Mar’sbeautifulfacescowlsdownatmefromsixinchesabovemyhead.“Gazebos,Ama?”
“Thecoupleinsisted.Iknowyouhateit—”
Grabbingmyarm,shejerksmetohersideandturnsthecamerapreviewwindowtowardme.“Latticework.Latticework.”
Ilookattheframesassheclicksthroughthem.Theceilingofthegazeboiscrisscrossed,andasluckwouldhaveit,todayisaradiantlysunnyday.ThereareshadowsonJakeandSarah’sfaces.
Marleansdowntome.“Theylooklike—”
“Applepies.Theylooklikeapplepies.”Ihuff,glaringupatthesun.Therearecloudsinthewest,butwilltheybehereontime?“Whatdoyouhaveinyourcar?”
“Abunchofstuffthatwouldlookterribleduringtheactualceremony.”
Inodmyhead,staringatthegazebo.Marknowstoletmethink.Ishoveahandthroughmydarkhair,stillgettingusedtotheshorterlengtheventhoughit’sbeenmaybetwoyearssinceitrandownbetweenmyshoulderblades.(Infact,Iknowexactlyhowlongit’sbeensinceIcrawledintothesalonandbeggedmyhairgaltomakeme“different.”)
IturntoSarah,who’sploppedherselfonthegazebosteps.
“Sarah,assoonastheceremonystarts,youwilltakeMar’skeysanddrivehercartotheloadingzone.Youwilldiscreetlybringeverythingshetellsyoutobringtothatbig-asstree,andassoonastheysay‘Ido,’youandMarwillsetup.We’llpulltheministerandthecoupleandgetafewshotsthatdon’tresemblebakedgoods.”
Sarah,anotherex-stepsister,whohasabsolutelynointerestinweddingplanning—anditshows—blinksatmesleepily.“Who’sgonnacuetheDJ?”
“IguessIwill.”IcheckmywatchandliftmybrowstoMar.Shenods,agreeing.“Okay,Mar.Duringtherealceremony,getthekiss,thebigmoments,butfocusonthecryingfamilymembers.”
“Cryingfamilymembersaremybreadandbutter.”
Ileavethematthegazeboandwavedownthefloraldelivery.Astheflorist’sassistantweavesgarlandsofrosesthroughthechairs,myeyessearchforpetalsthatarebrowning,andIpluckthemrightoutofthebuds.Theassistant’slipstighteneverytimeIdoit,butsheknowsbetterthantosaysomething.
Istepbackandlookoverthevenue.We’realmostthere.Ihavesignagetoputupandasoundchecktodo,butit’scomingtogether.Whenthecarpetisdelivered,thegruffmaninthetruckisunfamiliar.HesweepsagazeovermeandasksifI’mAmaTorres’sassistant.WhenIcorrecthim,hedoesn’tseemtotrustthatI’mthekindofpersonwhocouldplacechairsinastraightline,muchlesscoordinateawedding,butheshrugsandrollsthecarpetdowntheaisle.
AsI’mobservingtheDJplaywiththesoundlevels,theBluetoothinmyearbeeps—yes,I’mthatperson—andIanswer,“ThisisAma.”
“Um,hi.”Idon’trecognizethevoice.“You’retheweddingplanner,right?”
“Iam,”Isayascheerfullyaspossible.“Who’sthis?”
“ThisisErica.I’mthegroom’scousin.”
Thebridesmaidwhodecidedtodyeherhairgreenlastweek.“Hi,Erica.Somethingsoundswrong.”
“Yeah…Eloisehaslockedherselfinthewomen’slounge.”Istopdead.“Theothergirlsdidn’twantmetocallyou,butit’sbeenlikeforty-fiveminutes,andthemakeupgirlhasn’tevenstartedonher—”
“Gotit.Thankyou,Erica.I’monmyway.”
ItapmyearpiecelikeaBondvillainandpivotlikeadancer,makingmywaytothehotelacrossthestreet.Thebridalpartyisstationedinasmalldownstairsconferencehallthatthehotelwassmartenoughtotransformintoasuiteafteratrendofdowntownweddingstookoff.IwalkstraighttothefrontdeskwhereBernie,myfavoriteconcierge,isalreadyreachingintothedrawer.
“Emergency?”hesays.
“NothingIcan’thandle.”Ibeamathimandtaketheskeletonkeysfromhisoutstretchedhand.
Myshortlegsstrideacrossthelobbyanddirectlyintothesuitewithoutknocking.Sixperfectlycoiffedheadssnaptome,andEricapretendstobejustassurprisedbymyarrival.Carmen,themaidofhonor,snapsherheadupfromwhereshe’sleanedagainstthewalloutsidethebathroom,talkingthroughthedoor.Shelookshalfrelievedtoseeme,halfputoutthatshecouldn’tbethesavior.
Butthat’smyjob.
Iheadstraightforthelockeddoor.“Carmen,everythingisgoingtobefine.WillyoumakesurethemakeupgirlisreadyforEloiseinfiveminutes?”Carmenblinksatme,butIunlockthedoor,enterthebathroom,andlockitbehindmebeforeshecanspeak.
Thebathroomisa1940sdesignwithTiffanyshadesoverthesconcesanddecotile.Aclawfoottubsitsagainstthefarwall,andinsideitisEloisesoon-to-be-Reynolds,whitechiffonoverflowingtheporcelainenameledsides.Shedoesn’tlookatme,juststaresintospace.
MyheelsclickontheblackandwhitetilesasIapproach,andwithaquicklook,Iconfirmshedidn’tturnonthewater—norepeatsoftheWinchellWeddingDisasterof’22,thankfully.ItakeoutmyBluetooth,toeoffmyshoes,andstepintothetub,sittingacrossfromher.
HerlashesflutterasIregisterinhermind.Thenherlipquivers,andasqueakescapesherthroat.Ahandcomesuptocoverherfaceasthetearsfall.Idon’tsayanythinguntilshe’sdone.She’spressingherpalmsintohereyes,tippingherheadbacktokeepthenewtearsatbay.
Isaysoftly,“What’sonethingthatyouwouldchangethatwouldmakethisdayperfect?One.”
Shebitesherlip,staringatthewall.“Thegroom.”
Ah.Well,thatIcan’thelp.Notinanimmediatefashionanyway.Inod,asifIunderstand,asifI’mconsidering.
PatrickReynoldswasn’tmyfavoritegroom.Heproposedatabaseballgame,Jumbotronandall.IcanalwaysgetagoodsenseaboutacouplewhenIaskabouttheirengagementstory.I’mnotsayingit’saprovenmethodtoknowifthey’regoingtomakeit,but…thebrideswiththeloveliestengagementstoriesaretheonesIhaven’tdonetwice.
“Doyouwannago?”Iaskher.“Sneakouttheback?”
Shechokesoutawetlaugh.“Areyouserious?”
“Yeah.Wecanbounce.Justyouandme.OrjustyouandCarmen.”Whentheconfusiondoesn’tleaveherface,Isay,“Imean,I’vealreadybeenpaid,sowhatdoIcareiftheweddinghappensornot.”
Shesnortsandrunsherhanddownherface.“Whatwouldhappentothevendors?Thecaterer,theDJ?”
“Nonrefundablethedayof,I’mafraid.You’llbeeatingchickenorfishforthenextfifty-sevendays.”
Herlipwobbles.“IsitweirdthatIhatetheideaofcancelingthereceptionmorethancancelingtheceremony?”
“Nope.It’sprettystandardtobemoreexcitedaboutthepartywithallyourfriendsthanthealtarbit.”
“CanIjusthavethepartywithoutthewedding?”shemutters,fluffingherdressaimlessly.Ismileandletherthink.“Ireallyhatetheideaofgoingthroughwiththis,whenIknowitwillbefornothing.Ididn’twanttoenduplikemyparents—justmakingitworkuntilthekidsareincollege.”Shesniffs.“Isitworsetohaveaweddingforthefunofit,whenyouknowit’snotgoingtobeyourlastwedding?”
Iswallowtightly.IpromisedmyselfI’dstopdoingthis—stopgettingclose.Italways—always—leadstodisaster.EloisehadinvitedmetoherbridalshowerbecauseIwasalreadytooclose.Butmyjobisgettingherdowntheaisle.SoItakeabreathandstopholdingback.
“Mymomhasbeenmarriedsixteentimes.”
EloisestaresatmelikeIjustthrewherweddingcakeontotheground.
“Howmany?”
“Sixteen.Myfatherwasnumberfive.I’mheronlybiologicaldaughter,butMar—thephotographer?She’snumbernine’sdaughter.Ihaveupwardsoftwentycurrentandex-stepsiblingsrunningaroundthegreaterSacramentoarea,includingmytwoassistantsworkingtoday.”
Icanseehermindworking,counting,doingmath.“That’s…horrible.I’msorry,Idon’tmeantoberudeaboutit—”
“It’sokay.ItwasreallychallengingwhenIwasyoung—tobouncefromstepfamilytostepfamilylikethat.ButIeventuallymetsomereallycoolpeople.”Iclearmythroatandrefocus.“I’monlytellingyouthistosay,asmuchasyouwantittobeyouronlywedding,itdoesn’thavetobe.Mymomhasfullceremoniesandreceptionseverytime.Onlyoneofthosesixteenweddingswasatcityhall.So,ifyouplanadifferentweddinginthreeyears,allthesepeoplewillstillbethereforyou.Noonegetstiredofweddings.Trustme.”
Shenodsslowly.“Isthatwhyyoubecameaweddingplanner?”
Ismile.“Prettymuch.Byeighteen,Ikneweverythingtherewastoknowaboutweddings.I’ddoneeverythingfromflowergirltomaidofhonortoDJ.”
Eloiselaughs.“Haveyoueverbeenmarried?”
“No,”Isay.“EversinceIwasyoung,Iwasn’tinterestedinit.”AndbeforeItellherthatIdon’tevenbelieveinlong-termcommitmentsonthedayI’mtryingtogethertomakeone,Itakeadeepbreathandshift.“Soyouhaveachoice,Eloise.Youhavethepower.Youcangooutthereandhavecake,dance,andmakeasolidattemptatkeepingthesevows.Orwecansneakoutthebackdoor.I’llsendmyassistantaroundtocallitoff.”Ireachforherhandandsqueezeit.“Aweddingisnotamarriage.Marriageswillneverbeperfect.They’realwaysaworkinprogress.Butweddings?Weddingsarejustamomentintime,strivingtobeperfect.Letmemakeyouaperfectmoment,Eloise.”
Eloiseworriesherbottomlipbetweenherteeth,staringdownattheengagementring.Whenshelooksbackupatme,IknowI’vepulleditoff.
Weclimboutofthebathtub,andwhenIopenthebathroomdoor,Carmenisstillstandingthere,bouncingfromfoottofoot.
“We’regood.Ladies!”Isaytotheroom.“Wehavesomeworktodotogetthisgoingontime,butwhatwillnotsavetimeisaskingEloisewhatthatlasthourwasabout,okay?”
Iwinkather,andEloisenodsherheadinthanks.
AsIhandBerniebackthekeys,ItrytotellmyselfthatIdidtherightthingbyopeningup.We’realreadyattheweddingday.Givingalittleofyourselfisn’tabadthing,despitewhatI’vebeentoldtobelieve.
BythetimeIgetbacktothepark,Jakeisspeed-walkingtowardmewithafeveredlookonhisface.
“Thecatererjustcalledfromthevenue,”heblurtsoutinapanic.“Hesaysthelinendeliverydidn’tshowup.”
Damnit.That’sabrand-newlinencompanyIwastrying.Ifoldmyhandsinfrontofmystomachandletmyfingerscalmlyplaywiththelongchainnecklacethatlandsbetweenmybreasts.“Jake.HowmuchamIpayingyouagain?”
Hestammersout,“Uh,onehundreddollars?”
Jake’sabitofaMuppet.He’sasophomoreatCSUSacramento,studyingtheater.IhopedIwasgettingastagemanagementmajor,butapparentlyIgotadramamajor.He’smyonlycurrentstepbrother,ashisfatheriscurrentlymarriedtomymother.Isaycurrently,because…well…it’sonlyamatteroftime.
Iscrollmyphoneforthelinencompanyinmycontacts.ThecallinmyeargetssenttotheLinensandLovefrontdesk,andIsay,“MynameisAmaTorres.Yourcompanyisnowanhourlatewithalinendelivery.Whatcanyoutellmeaboutthat?”
Theguyontheotherendstammersandsays,“Thetruckisenroute.It’sjust—therewassomecartrouble—”
Itakemycarkeysoutofmybagandsay,“CanIsendsomeonetomeetthetruck,seeingasyou’redelayingmycateringstaff?”
Hetellsmewherethetruckisstopped,andIputhimonhold,takingJake’sarmanddragginghimtowardtheparkinglot.
“Jake,Iamnowpayingyoutwohundreddollarsbecauseyou’regoingtothegasstationonHowe.Youaregoingtoloadeverythingintomycar—Imeaneverything;youwillstrapboxestothetopifyouhaveto—andthengostraighttothevenueandhelpcateringgetbackonschedule.Gotit?”
Jakestartstosputteragain,andIsay,“Oryou’renotgettingpaidatall.Becausecurrentlyyou’regettinginmyway.”
Heswallows,nods,andthenzoomstomycar.Oncehe’spulledaway,IwalkbacktoMarinthegazebo,turningmyBluetoothbackon.“Myassistantiscomingtomeetthetruck.Pleaseletyourdeliverydriverknowthatifyouareanhourlate,youcall,andpleaseletyourmanagerknowthatAmaTorresisverydispleased.IwillnotbeaddingLinensandLovetomylistofapprovedvendors.”
Ihanguponhimashestartstoapologize.Itakeadeepbreath,rollmyshouldersback,andfindMaronaladder,practicallyhangingfromtheceilingofthegazebotosetupasmalllight.“Alrighthere?”Isay.
“Whatwasthedrama?”sheasks.“Isawyouheadingtothehotel.”
“Thebridealmostran.Italkedheroutofit.”
Marliftsadarkbrowatme.“How’dyoudothat?”
Ipressmylipstogether.“Itoldheraboutmymom.AndhowIbelievemarriagesdon’tmatter,butweddingsdo.”
Marlaughs.“Thatwasboldofyou.”
Ishrug.“Shehadonefootoutthedoor.Ithoughtitwastimeforsomehonesty.”
Shestepsdownfromtheladderandsays,“Ifanyonecanconvincesomeonethatfirstmarriagesdon’tmatter,it’sthedaughterofCynthiaJonesRutherfordReedDyerLeeTorres—”
“Ican’tbelieveyoustillhaveitmemorized.”
“SmithSmithNelsonJaswalMatthewsAndrewsEvansBenjamin…plusthree.”Shetakesabreathlikeshe’srunarace.“IonlyhaveitmemorizedupuntilCindystartedmarryingabunchoffirst-name-as-last-names.”
“Alldownhillafteryourdad,”Isay,andsheliftshercameratotakemypicture.“Thegirlswillbereadyforyouintenminutes.ThebrideandMOHweren’tinmakeupyetwhenIleft.”
Marscruncheshernoseandchecksherphone.“Arewegoingtobela—”
“Don’tsayit!”Ipointafingeratherandmoveswiftlytotheminister’scarasitpullsuptothecurb.
Wegetthroughtherestofthesetupwithoutanotherhitch,andbeforeyoucansay“Ido,”theguestsarearriving.Oncethevaletisthere,I’mabletocheckinatthehotelagain.WhenIcomeintothesuite,MarhasEloiselookingoutthewindowwithsunlightdapplingthroughthelacycurtains.Eloiselooksoverhershoulderatmeandnods,smiling.
Lookslikewe’reoff.
Thebridewalksdowntheaisleto“AThousandYears,”liketheyalwaysdo,andIstandinthebacknexttoarelativewithafussingbaby,waitingforthenextmusiccue.WhenEloiseandPatrickwalkbacktogetherpasttheirguests,newlymarried,Iseehersmilingupathimwithweteyes.
Itmightjustworkout.
Itakethemtotheright,awayfromtheguestexit,andholdthemasthebridalpartyjoinsus,lettingMarandSarahsetupeverythingforourfakeweddingphotos.Someone’saunttriestofollowthebridalpartyandsneakintheirprivatepictures,andIgooffEloise’sexpressionwhenIfirmlytellherthatthisisaprivateareaandnoonebutthebridalpartyisallowed.Shesniffsatmeandstompsaway.Isenseastronglywordedemailcoming.
Ilovepostceremonyonward.Thehardpartsaredone,formeandforthehappycouple,andthevendorsaredoingtheirthingatthenextlocation.It’sbasicallycorrallingtoddlersatthispoint,gettingthebridalpartyfrompointAtopointB.AndwhenMariscontractedasphotographer,shedoesn’tputupwithwanderinggroomsmenorrandomfamilymembershangingaround.Shehasamagictouchwithweddingparties,becauseshe’sbubblyandengagedenoughforthebridesmaidstofeelendearedtoher,butsmokinghotenoughforthegroomsmentolistentoeverywordthatcomesoutofherpoutymouth.
Andlikeme,shedoesn’tforgetRule#4—Don’teverfindyourselfalonewithagroomsman.
It’scakeoncewe’reatthereceptionhall.JakeishoppeduplikeajunkiebythetimeIwalkin,talkingamileaminute.He’sfoldingnapkinsintoshapesthatalmostlookright,tellingmethatthedeliveryguywasveryapologetic.
Notgoodenough.LinensandLoveisnotgoingintomyRolodex.(Yes,IhavealiteralRolodex.It’sfromthefiftiesandit’sadorable.)
Ifinishthenapkinswithhim,redoingtheoneshe’sfumbled,andthentheguestsarearriving.
WhatImissmostaboutworkingwithahugeweddingplanningcompanyisthatIusedtobeabletopeaceoutassoonasthecakewascut.WhenIwaswithWhitneyHarrisonWeddings,theywerealwaysabletohirethreeJakestobethereforsetupandbreakdown.NowthatI’mdoingmyownthing,it’smeatdawnandmeatdusk.OnedayI’llgetthere.OnedayI’llbedoingthreeweddingsperSaturdayandtwoperSunday,likeWhitney.Butasis,Icanonlydooneperday,andIhavetobooksmallerpackagesonSundaysbecauseIwillbecompletelyunavailablethedaybeforetheirceremony.
WhatIreallyneedisafeaturearticlefromMarthaStewartorTheKnot.com,likeWhitneyhadinhertwenties.Shewasthrustintothespotlightwiththeweddingofthemayor’sdaughterandsingle-handedlyputSacramentoonthemapfortheweddingindustry.BythetimeIwasworkingforher,shewastwenty-fiveyearsintohercareerandhadSanFranciscoconnectionstoboot.Shehardlyevershoweduponthedayof,unlessitwasawidelypublicizedwedding.
Iactuallyreallylikethedayof.Ilikethehectichustleoftheceremony,Ilikethebumpsanddips,Ilikethefirstdance.But,yes,onedayI’dlovetobechargingenoughtogettwomoreassistantsinheresoIcanjustpoint.Thatwouldrequiresacrificingabitofmybrand,whichuptillnowhasbeenMillennialModernAffordablewithapersonaltwist.
“WhyareyoufrowningattheDJ?Didyoufindhimsnortingcokeinthebathroomagain?”Marsnapsapicturenexttome.
“YouthinkIstillworkwiththatguy?”Isay.“Igothimblacklisted.Heworkssolelyoncocaineweddingsnow.”
“Excellent.”Sheswitcheslenses.“Areyouthinkingabouttomorrow?”
Well,Ihadn’tbeen.Butnowthatshe’dbroughtitup…“I’mnotnervous,”Irushout.
Shelaughs.“Good.There’snothingtobenervousabout.They’lleitherwantyouornot.There’snothingelseyoucando.”
Inod,takingadeepbreath.
Speakingofbigbreaks,tomorrowcouldbeit.HazelRenee,aninfluencerwith4.2millionfollowersonInstagramand8millionsubscribersonherYouTubechannel,hasfalleninlovewithagirlfromSacramento.IsawtheirengagementannouncementlastmonthonInstagram,andIthought,WhatluckyLAplannerwillgettodothatwedding?
Well,itseemsImaybetheluckyplannertodothatwedding.Herfiancée,JacquelineNguyen,wantstogetmarriedinherhometown.Sheemailedmetwoweeksagotosetupaninterview.I’mtryingnottogetmyhopesup.I’mfullypreparedtoletthemknowwhatIofferandwhatIdon’t.Eveniftheyplantokeepthelistunderthirty,thereareagencieswhohavemuchmoreexperienceinthestyletheymaywant(read:fancyasfuck).
ButifIclickwithHazelandJacqueline…IfIdoaweddingseenbymillions…
That’sallIneed.That’sthegoldentickettoupscale(read:fancyasfuck)andhighexposure.
IjustneedtomakesureI’mreadyforit.
Eloisestumblestomeattheendofthenight,barefootandlove-drunk,kissesmycheek,andtellsmeIwasthebestchoiceofherlife.Isendheroffinhertowncar,smilingtomyselfforamoment.
WhitneyHarrison’scoolblueeyesflashinmymind,themotherlyvoiceshereservedonlyformesaying,Becareful,Ama.Attheendoftheday,you’retheweddingplanner,nottheirmaidofhonor.Don’texpendsomuchofyourselfonpeopleyouwillneverseeagain—peoplewhoprobablywon’tevensaygoodbyetoyouattheendofthenight.
Well,takethat,Whitney.
Isigh,rubbingmybrow.I’vebeentryingtosetclearerboundaries.Thelineofprofessionalismwiththeclientsandthevendorshasalwaysbeenmyweakness.Ilovegettingtoknowpeopleandfindingoutwhatmakesthemhappy.Butblurringthelinesalwaysgetsmeintotrouble.
Always.2AmaMARCH
Decidingwhattoweartomeetsomeonewhohastheirownmakeupline,threeupcomingprojectslistedonIMDb,andtheirfaceinTimesSquareontheregisanightmare.
IwasinhighschoolwhenHazelReneebookedherfirstMarieClairecover.We’reroughlythesameage,soshe’shadmyfriendsandmewhippedforalongtime.I’vebeenfollowingherInstagramfortenyearsatthispoint,soIknowexactlywhattoexpectwhenshewalksintothecoffeeshopinanhour.
Usuallyinafirstinterviewwiththecouple,Idressfortheclient.Throughsomelightsocialmediastalking,I’mabletodeterminewhethermyStellaMcCartneyskirtsuitormybohemianwitchvibeismorelikelytodothetrick.HazelandJacquelineareyoungandtrendy.Theydon’tneedStella.Itossafittedblackshirtandablackblazeroverjeansandslidemyfeetintoblackheels.Ispendanextra-longtimeonmymakeup,becauseit’sHazelRenee,andit’shermakeuplineIuse.ItwasHazelwhotaughtmehowtocontourinherYouTubevideoswhenIwasateenager,andIstilldoitherway,becausewithmyroundface,Igetmistakenforakidallthetime
Withaspritzofperfumeandahissfrommycat,IsetoutintothewarmMarchmorning.
Iboughtatwo-bedroomhouseafewyearsagointhesweetpartoftheCityofTrees.WhatImeanis,Imovedintoatwo-bedroomhouse.Iwillofficiallybuyitinapproximatelyeighty-fouryears.InaplacelikeSacramento,it’shardnottogetcaughtupintheroommatethinginthemiddleofMidtown.There’safive-blockradiusthatfeelsalittlelikeNewYorkCity—abarbelowyourapartment,amini-martonthecorner,andnoneedforacar.It’saddictive.MarisstillinMidtown,butshecomestomefifteenblockseastwhensheneeds“avacation.”IdecidedtobreakfromthemillennialstereotypewhenIstoppedrenting.Don’tworry—Istillspend$6,000ayearonavocadotoast.Theyletmekeepmymembershipcard.
Andactually,ifthere’sanythingIspendsixgrandoneveryyear,it’sdonuts.
IpushopenthedoortoJStreetDonuts,andMr.Kwonwavestomeovertheheadofthewomanhe’shelping.WhenIgettothecounter,he’salreadyloadingupmyhalfdozen.
“Letmeguess,”hesays.“Newclients.”
“How’dyouknow?”
“Youaredressedtoimpress.”Hesealsthetopoftheboxandtakesmyten-dollarbill.“Thepeanutbutteroneisontheleft,wrappedinpaper.”
“Thankyou,Mr.Kwon.”Iwaltzoutbeforethewomanaheadofmehasevenpulledouthercardattheregister.
Mr.Kwonknowstokeepthechange,justlikeheknowsthatalthoughhisPeanutButterDreamdonutishisbestseller,I’mallergic.Heusedtogivemeafewforclientsinaseparatebox,butIfinallyconvincedhimafterafewyearsthatjustseparatingthemisfine.
Donutsaremylovelanguage.Ibringaboxtoeverypotluck,party,cocktailhour—younameit.Thereisnothingintheworldthatcannotbesolvedbythefirstbiteofaperfectdonut.Iam,ofcourse,excludingseriousworldproblems—buteventhen,Ithinkthatifwecouldalljustsitdownandhaveadonut,thingsmightgetbetter.
Donutsarealsoatacticformetogettoknowtheclients.Icanfigureoutwhichbrideshavestarteddietingfortheirweddingdresses,whichgroomsprefertheirfiancéesdon’teatsweets,andwhichcouplesarealreadystresseating.AndwhileIgettoknowtheclients,Igettohaveadonut.Orsix,iftheyare,infact,dieting.Mymomwentoncrazyintensedietsforaboutathirdofherweddings,andthattoldmealotaboutwhereshewasemotionallywiththatperson,withhisfriends,withthatpointinherlife,etc.
IparkoutsideofWeatherstone,atrendycaféinabrickbuildingthatusedtobeahorsebarnbackintheday.Idon’tknowwhatdaythatwas,butitwasback.ThebaristashereknowmetoobecauseIpeddletheircoffeeforreceptions.Ievendidathirty-guestweddinginthecoffeehousetwoyearsago—whichiswhythebaristawiththegoateedoesn’tsayanythingaboutthedonutsIbringin.
Igrabtheopencorneroftherusticdiningtablesmackinthemiddleofthecaféandsetupfacingthedoor.Iorderjustadripcoffee—theybringittoyouinalittlepersonalcarafe,soyoucanfeelextrabougie—insteadofmyusual:espressoshotwithacoldbrewchaser.Mylegsarebouncingenoughasitis.
I’veneverbeenthisnervousfortheinitialmeet.Exceptmaybemyfirst.Thatwasoverthreeyearsagonow.Whitneyhadsentthemmywaywhentheybalkedatherprices,andwhileitsoundslikeapityfuck,itwasatthetimeinmycareerwhenIneededasmanypityfucksasIcouldget.DecidingtoleaveWhitneyHarrisonWeddingscouldhavebeenthemostcolossalmistakeofmylife,butthankfullyIhadWhitneyinmycorner.
Attwominutespastnine,thedoorswingsopen,andittakesmeasecondtotrulytrustthatI’mseeingthepersonwhousedtolivesolelyinmyphone.Iwasexpectingrunway,butIgotgirl-next-door.Hazelisinjeansandacardigan,withherdarkblondhairtossedup;theonlythingmakingherstandoutasacelebrityistheaviatorsthatshekeepsonevenasshewalksindoors.HerfingersarelacedwithanAsiangirl’swhohasroundcheeksandbrightbrowneyes—Jacqueline.Shecatchessightofmewavingfirstandpoints.
“Hi,Ama?”Jacquelinedropsherbagonthetablenexttomeandoffersmeahandshake.
“YoumustbeJacqueline.”
“Jackieisfine,”shesays.“ThisisHazel.”
IshakeHazel’shand.“Goodtomeetyou.”She’sgotastronggripandabeautifulface,andthewholethingismakingmeabitdizzy.
“Jesus,yourskinisperfect,”shesays,andthenI’mpracticallylaidout.
MyfingertipsreachformycheeksandIsay,“Oh,thankyou.It’sactuallyyourline.”
“Amazing!Ilovethatforus.”SheflashesmeabrilliantsmileandturnstoJackie.“Hazelnutlatte?”
JackienodsandtakestheseatacrossfrommeasHazelmovestotheregister.Jackie’sabouttosaysomethingwhenhereyescatchonthepinkboxbetweenus.“Ifthosearedonuts,I’mgoingtolosemyfuckingmind.”
Igrinatherandopenthebox.ShesquealslikeI’mtheonewhodroppedtoonekneewithadiamond,andsearchesthehalfdozenforherfavorite.
“Ifpeanutbutterisyourthing,that’stheirspecialty.It’sthisone.”Ipointtotheonewrappedinwaxpaper.
Shedoesn’thesitatetostuffitintohermouth,andIthinkI’mobsessedwithheralready.
“Ohmygod,”shemumblesaroundthepastry.
Hazelarrivesbackatthetablejustintimetogetthedonutshovedtowardherfacewitha“Babeyougottatrythis.”
“Mm!”Hereyespopwide.“Ilovethat.”
Good.Good,Icanofficiallylikethem.
Ialwaysliketokeeptheconversationfromjumpingstraighttobusiness.Ithinkithelpseaseeveryoneintotalkingaboutthishorriblyawkwardthing—awedding.Whitneydisagreed.Shelikedtogettheballrolling.Butwhenyou’reWhitneyHarrison,peoplestoptalkingwhenyoustart.
“So,Jackie,yougrewuphereinSac?”
Jackienodsasshesipsherlatte,herlipssmackingwithpleasure.“IwenttoRioAmericano.Classof’15.”
“Oh,sameyearasme!”
“Really?Where’dyougo?”
“St.Joseph’s,”Isay,alittlesheepish.
SomekindoflightbulbswitchesbehindJackie’seyesasshesays,“Oh.Yeah.”
Mymothergrewupwithalotofmoney.Shespentthatmoneyontwothings:myprivateschoolingandherweddings.WhenItellpeopleIwenttoSt.Joseph’s,oneofthefourprivateCatholicschoolsinSacramento,theylookatmewithneweyes.Ihateit.Ipersonallyhavenoneofmymother’smoney,becauseshe’sstillspendingitonyearlytablearrangementsandstringquartets,butalsobecauseIdon’twanttoaskforitifIdon’tneedit.SinceworkingwithWhitneypracticallyoutofhighschool,Ihaven’tneededit.AndthefactthatIdidn’tgotocollegeisactuallyablightonSt.Joseph’sotherwiseuntarnishedreputation.Oneoftheonlygoodthingsaboutcomingoutofthatschoolwasthatmyfriendsandacquaintancesareallgettingmarried.SomeofthemcanaffordtogotoWhitney,butalotofthemhaveusedmeinthepastthreeyears.
“Andwhatdoyoudo?”IaskJackie.
“I’malegislativedirectordownatthecapitol.”
“Cool!Imean,itsoundscool.Ihavenoideawhatitmeans.”Jackielaughs.IflashherasmileandturntoHazel.“AndIobviouslyknowwhatyoudo.Butwhat’sdrawingyoutoSacramento?”
“Jackie,”shesayssimply.Thetwoofthemglanceateachother,colorpoppingontheircheekbones.“She’salwayswantedtogetmarriedhere.”
“It’sagreatcity,”Iagree.“Andtherearesomeinsanevenuesheretoo.”Bringingitbackaround…
“Weactuallyknowthevenue.”Jackiebeams,turningherbodytowardme.
“Excellent!Didyoulockinadateyet?”
“Notyet,”Hazelsays.“Jackiewantedtomakesureitclearedyourcalendar.”
MyfingersfreezeinsidemytotebagasIreachformycatalogbinder.“Oh,that’s…”Islipthebinderontothetable.“Youknow,I’mreally,reallyflatteredthatyouwantedtomeetwithme.Flatteredisnottherightword,butsuperexcited.Makesmydayforsure.”Ilookbetweentheirexpectantfaces.“Ijustwanttomakesureyou’redoingthebestthingforyourwedding.Idon’tknowanyofyourdetailsyet—howbig,howluxe—buttherearealotofcompaniesthathaveexpertiseinplanningweddingsofallsizes.WhitneyHarrisonWeddingsisanamazingcompany,andIusedtoworktheremyself—”
“I’veheardsomenot-so-goodthingsaboutWhitneyHarrison,actually,”Jackiesays,wincing.
“Oh,okay.”Itryforawarmsmile,butI’mrackingmybraintothinkofwhocouldhavereviewedWhitneypoorlyandlivedtotellthetale.
“Andontheflipside,”Hazeljumpsin,“youcomehighlyrecommended.”
Mymouthopenstoacceptthecompliment,butI’veneverbeengoodatthat,soitjustcomesoutas“Yeah,great!”Iclearmythroat.“Let’sabsolutelytalkthroughwhatIcanoffer,andwe’llmakesureit’sexactlywhatyouneedforyourday.”
Theybothnod,likelittlebobbleheads.Iflipmybinderaroundtofacethemandopentothefirstpage.Myhandsareshakingalittle.Ihadonlyasmidgenofhopethatthiswasgoingtoworkout.Ididn’tevenknowifIcouldpullthisoffiftheydidlikeme,butIknewIwantedtotry.Thisbinderisessentiallymypitchformyself,soIdivein.
“Inthishighlycompetitiveweddingarea,whatIspecializeinisyou.Yourvision.Yourwedding.Mycompanyofferssixlevelsofpackagestofityourbudget”—Ialmostmakeaquipabouthowmoneyprobablyisn’tanobject,butIwalkmyselfbackfromthatstupididea—“andyourstyle.”Iturnthepagetomypiècederésistance,mylookbook—tenback-to-backpagesoftheweddingsI’mmostproudof.“WhatIofferthatothersmalleragenciescannotisexperienceddesign,suitedtoyourexactpersonalityanddreams.Otherboutiqueagencieshireadesigneratanadditionalfee,orchargemorefordesign.Idon’t.I’manall-in-one.”
“Youshould,though.Chargemore.”
Mylipsareparted,readytotalkaboutrates,butHazel’smurmurstopsme.Shelooksupfrommydesignpages.
“Sorryforinterrupting.Ijust…Youshouldconsiderchargingforit.Thisis…”ShepointsatmyfavoriteweddingI’veeverdone,theWillowBallroom,anexplosionofspringinsidearepurposedwarehouse.“Thisisoutstanding.BetterthanmyentirePinterestboardcombined.Youclearlyhavethetalenttocharge.”
HeatrushestomycheeksasIstammerathanks.“You’reright.Icouldaddafee.Butit’ssomethingthatIlovetodo.Anditsetsmeapartfromthecompetitors.”
Hazelshums.Shesipsherflatwhite.“Iusedtodomyownmakeupforprintads.MyYouTubechannelbackthenwasjustmakeuptutorials,soI’dcometosetwithmymakeupdone,andthephotographerwouldjustallowit.Itdidn’toccurtomeuntillaterthatthemakeupartisttheyhiredwasstillgettingpaid.Andincertaincircumstances,stillgettingcredited.”Shescratchesaspotbehindherear.“Obviouslyyouknowwhatyou’redoing.I’mnottryingtotellyouhowtorunyourbusiness.Butasonepersonwhomakesalivinginthevisualworldtoanother?Beautyalwayshasapricetag.Youcanaskforwhatyou’reworth.”
Mychestconstricts,andmyskinbuzzes.I’malmostembarrassed,butalsopreeningfromthecompliment.
“Sorry.”Hazellaughs.“ItmeansIcare,Ipromise.”
“Shedoesthis,”Jackiesays,rollinghereyesplayfully.“Shegetsallentrepreneurialonyou.”
“No,Iloveit,”Isay.“I’mjuststunned,that’sall.It’ssomethingworththinkingabout.”Itrytofindmyfootinginmypitch—whichjustwentsidewayswhenHazelReneetoldmeIwasworthmorethanIaskfor.
Sheseemstoseemeflounderforamomentandsays,“Tellusaboutyourpackages?”
“Sure!”Iflipthepage.“Idon’tthinkinnumberofguests.Yes,thatcomesintoplaydownthelineforabunchofdifferentpricetags,butwhenItalkaboutservices,I’mthinkingofwhatyouneedfromme.Whatkindofcommitmentyouarelookingfor.”
“Full,”Jackieinterrupts.“Skipthebabysteps.Iwantdesign,Iwantvendorselection,Iwantyouwalkingmedowntheaisle.”
Isnort.
Hazelsays,“I’mgoingtobeprettybusythisyear.Ithasn’tbeenannouncedyet,butI’vebeencastinthenextGretaGerwigproject.Itfilmsnextmonth.”
Myeyesgowide.“Amazing!She’sfromhere,youknow.”
Jackienods.“I’mreallyhappyforHay”—shesqueezesHazel’sarm—“butIknowthatmeansI’mgoingtobedoingalotofthisalone—”
“Notalone,”Hazelargues,andIlovetheconcernthatcreasesherbrow.“YouknowI’mavailableforthis.”
“No,Iknow.Butwebothdecidedwedidn’twanttopushitayear.AndthatmeansIneedtotakepointontheearlydecisions.”Jackieaddressesme,“WhichiswhyIneedyou.Doyouoffertwenty-four-houranxietytexting?”
Shejokes.AndIlaugh.Butit’ssomethingIusedtooffer.Andit’sahabitthatneededtobebroken.
Itoccurstomeasweallsipourcoffeesthatthisisgoingtobehard.Ilikethem.Alot.Myheartisflutteringlikewe’reonanexcellentfirstdate,andIcanseehowthiswillallplayoutsoclearlyinmymind.
“Ithinkwecanworkwiththat,”Isay.“Whydon’tyoutellmewhatdetailsaresettled,whereyourprioritiesare.”IslipmyiPadoutofmybagandtapopenmynotes.IscribbleHazel&Jackieanditappearstypedinthecenterofthescreen.
“TheMcKinleyParkRoseGarden.It’sbeenmydreamsinceIwaslittle.”Jackieblushes,andHazelwrapsherarmaroundherwaist.
“It’sbeautiful,”Isay,writingitdownandattachingthewordstoHazel&Jackiewithalittlebubble.“I’vedoneseveralweddingsthere,soIknowthelocationwell.Iactuallylivewalkingdistance.Theydofillup,though.”
“Right,”Hazelsays,“I’vecalledalready,andthey’reholdingacoupleofdatesforus.Weweregoingtowaittohearyourschedule.”
Iblinkather.ItsoundslikeI’matoppriorityforthem,whichbogglesmymind.MycheeksarewarmwhenIopenmycalendarappandask,“Whataretheoptions?”
“Octoberseventhisourfirstchoice,butwealsohaveAprilsixth.”
“Octoberofthisyear?”Isquawk,myeyesbuggingatmycalendar.
That’ssevenmonthsaway.Aprilofnextyearisclearlythebetterdate.ButbeforeIcanconvincethemofthat,Hazelleansherelbowsonthetablewithadreamysmileandsays,“I’vealwayswantedafallwedding.”
Andmaybeit’sbecauseshe’sHazelRenee,orbecauseI’malreadyvisualizingthefeaturearticle,orbecauseJackiegetsasexcitedaboutdonutsasIdo(whichisallIreallyneedtoknowaboutaperson),butIdon’timmediatelytellthemitwon’twork.
Icandoaweddinginsevenmonths.I’vedoneplentyofweddingsinlessthanayearandstillmadethemincredible.AndOctober7isopenonmycalendar.
I’vebeenquietfortoolong,staringdownatmyplannerandflippingthroughthebigweddingsIalreadyhaveonthebooksforthisyear.AsidefromtwoweddingsinSeptember,theywouldhavemyfull,undividedattentionaftermyhecticweddingseason.
Lookingupatthem,IfindJackiechewingonherlipandHazeltryingtoreadmycalendarupsidedownwithatenseexpression.
“So…Icandoit,butitwouldbeverytight.”
Jackiesqueals,andHazelkissesher.
“Welikeittight!”Jackiegasps.“Andthat’snotasexthing!That’sjustsomethingthatcameoutofmymouth!”
Hazelburstsoutlaughing,andJackietriestoapologizewhilecatchingherbreath.
I’mlaughingwiththem,watchingJackieflushscarletandHazelgiggleintoJackie’sshoulder.They’reinfectious.Seductive.Icanseethesenextsevenmonths.Icanseethewedding.Iseemyselftaggedineveryphoto.IseeHazel’sweddingcoveredinPeople.MaybeEntertainmentWeekly.Iseereporterscallingtohighlightme.IseeTheSacramentoBeerunningcoverageintheweddingsection.Andjustbeforetheirlaughtersubsidesandtheirattentionflickersbacktome,IseeWhitneycallingtocongratulateme.ItfeelslikeI’vebeensweptupinacurrent,awaverisinghigherandhigher.
“I’llwriteyouinonOctoberseventh,”Isay.“IcancalltheRoseGardentodayandsecureeverything.ThereareafewthingstoknowabouttheRoseGarden.Theydon’thaveareceptionareathatIwouldrecommend.Doyouknowwhatyouwantforthereception?”
“Notyet,”theybothsayatthesametime.
“We’llcrossthatbridgelater,then,butIdon’tseethisreceptioninthepark.”Mylanguagehasshifted.I’mtakingchargeofthiswedding,talkingfastandlettingadrenalineguideme.“IfyoulikethegeneralvibeofthisWillowBallroomwedding,”Isay,pointingtothepagestillopeninmylookbook,“thenI’llstartbrainstorminginthatdirection.”
Theynodinunison.
“Second,sinceit’sahistoricrosegarden,thereareonlyahandfuloffloriststheyallowtoworkinthegarden.”
“Yeah!Oursiscovered.Heworksthereallthetime,”Jackiesays.
Mynextwordscatchinmythroat,andalllanguageleavesmeforamoment.ThecurrentIwasridingonlysecondsagobreaks.Awavedragsmeunder.
OutofthefivefloristsinSacramentoclearedbytheRoseGarden,onlyoneshopisrunbyaman.
Mychestcontracts,andIfeellikeIcan’tbreathe.Iforceasmileandsay,“Youalreadyhaveyourflorist?”
“Yes!Sorry.Floristandvenuearetheonlythingsthatarereallyimportantto—”
“Haveyousignedanything,orcanweshoparoundabit?”Mywordsaresharpandpitchedhigh.
Jackieblinks.Hazel’scoffeepausesonthewaytoherlips.
Irecover.“Tofindthebest,Imean.”
“Ithinkwealreadyhavethebest.”Jackielaughs.“It’sBlooming.Elliot—”
“Wonderful!”IsmilesowideIfeelmyteethwillfalloutofmymouth.“Andhe’slockedin?You’vediscussedtheOctoberdatewithhim?”Immediately,mypulseskyrockets.Theycan’thavemetwithhimyet.Andiftheydid,heshouldhavesteeredthemtoadifferentweddingplannerordeclined—justlikeI’vebeendoingfortwoyears.
“No,notyet.Buthe’safamilyfriend,”Jackiesays.“Iworkwithhismotheratthecapitol.”
Theliteralsensationofabubbleburstingslamsintomybrain.
“Oh,lovely.”AndbeforeJackiesaysitIalreadyknow—
“Lauraiswhyyoucomesohighlyrecommended.Youdidhersecondmarriagetwoyearsago.”
Champagnebubblesfloatthroughmymind.Aslowdanceandawarmhandonmylowerback.Andasquicklyasitcomes,it’sgone.Andtheinsideofmychestiscoldanddampagain.
“Ofcourse.”Itfeelsrougherthanmynormalvoice.“SenatorGilbertisawonderfulwoman.Andwasamodelclient,ifImaysay.”Myskinistightonmybonesasfearswells.“Youwereatthesenator’swedding?”Myfingersclutchthecoffeecup.
“Icouldn’tmakeit,”Jackiesays.“IwasactuallyoutoftowninChicago—whereImetHazelforthefirsttime!”
“Ohmygod,yes.Pleasetellmeeverythingaboutyoutwo,”Isay,happytoknowshewasn’tthereandthankfulbeyondwordsforachangeinsubject.“We’lltalkvendorslater.”
Myearsareringing,andI’velostfeelinginmyfeet.IclosemyiPadandtrytolisten.HazelandJackietalkovereachother,laughingaboutwhichofthemhadfeelingsfirst,andIshouldbetakingnotes.Ishouldbeholdingeveryscrapoftheirpersonalitiesinmymindlikemarblesinabag.IshouldbewritingOctober7,2023onmyiPadandattachingittothebubbleoftheirnames.
ButinsteadIlistenlikeanoldacquaintance,lettingimagesofrusticbarnsandivorytableclothstrickleoutofmyheadlikesandthroughasieve.EntertainmentWeeklyandPeopleflutterawayonthewind.
BecauseI’mnotdoingthiswedding.
3ElliotFIVEYEARS,FOURMONTHS,THREEWEEKS,ANDFIVEDAYSAGO
Ifuckinghateflowers.
Everyotherrosebudiswiltingandhangingoffthestem,petalsbrowning.I’msiftingthroughthemonebyoneattheheadtableintheoutdoortent,makingsurethatthebride’spointofviewandmajorcameraanglesareatleastsolid.
DadsaysI’llgetthehangofit,butIdon’treallywantto.Flowersarehisthing,notmine.Helovesflowers.He’samagicianwiththem.AllwhileIwasgrowingup,heusedtosay,“Flowersarebetterthanpeople.”
Itwasaweirdthingtosay.
Buthewouldtellmethatflowersneedonlythreethings:light,water,andattention.WhenIwasfifteenandangrybecauseIwastootallandtooangularandtoorude,Iwouldsay,“Itcouldbearguedthatpeopleneedthesame.”
He’dlaughatme.“You’dthink.”He’dtrailoff,“You’dthink…”
Andnow,asImanglerosesinfrontofthecateringstaff,stallinguntilDadcomesbackwiththerestofthecenterpieces,I’mprettypositivethatbothflowersandpeoplesuck.
IfluffupthegarlandasbestasIcan,tryingnottothinkaboutwhatDadmeantwhenhesaid,“You’llgetthehangofit.”AsifonedayI’llneedtohavealltheserandomfactsandanecdotesandgenusesmemorized.IshouldbestudyingformyfinalinArchitecturalDesignTheoryandCriticism,butthesoundofDad’shackingcoughthismorningmakesmethinkitwon’tmatter.Momcalledlastmonthandsaidmyfatherlookedlikeheneededanextrapairofhandswhenshevisitedtheshop.Butshedidn’tsayforhowlong.They’redivorced,butshestillchecksinonhim—whichisgood,becauseIdon’tknowhowelsewewouldhavefoundoutaboutthemassinhislungs.Certainlynotfromhim.
Irunahandthroughmydarkhairandglanceovertheheadtableagain,notactuallyknowingifI’mmakingthingsbetterorworse.
Alaughbouncesthroughthecanopytent,ricochetingoffthetablesandmockingme.Ilooktowarditandfindabrown-hairedgirlwithagroomsmaninonlyhistuxedopantsandshirt,standingofftothesideoftheceremonychairs.Practicallysnarling,Ialmosttearabudoutinfrustration.
I’veonlybeendoingweddingswithDadforfiveweeks,butIhateitwhenthebridalpartygetsinvolved.Opinionssproutinglikespores.Iwatchunderloweredeyelidsasthebridesmaidturnstopointatthebridalarchandthegroomsmanstepsclosertohershoulderto“seeitfromherperspective.”I’mwaitingfortheinevitablemomentwherehesays,You’reright.Oneofthesidesisleaningtotheleft.
That’swhenIseetheiPadinherhands.Andrealizeshe’snotinhairandmakeupyet.Notweddingpartyhairandmakeupanyway.Itwashardtotellbefore,becauseshe’spolished.Sleek.
I’mstaringtoohardathowshe’sreferencingbetweentheiPadandthearch,waitingforhertospinaroundand“findthepersonresponsiblefortheimbalance,”sothat’swhyIseethemomentwhenheleansintoherneck,whisperssomethinginherear,andslideshishandoverherass.
Shejerksaway.Icanseehereyes,wideandblinking,asthecolordrainsfromhercheeks.Shestepsback.
Hestepsforwardagain.AndIdroptheflowerI’mtrimmingashegrabsherwaistwithtwohands,leaningforwardtowardherlips.
Quickerthanacrackofthunder,herfistconnectssolidlywithhisnose.
“Fuck!”Thegroomsmanstumblesback,grippinghisfacebetweenfingerscoveredinruby-redblood.
I’mfrozeninshockasthegirl’shandscomeuptohersurprisedmouth.Iseeherapologizing,creepingforwardwithanout-stretchedhandtohelp—
“Fuckingbitch!”
Myfingerscurl.
She’swhisperingfrantically,herspinecurvedinlikeacorneredcatinanalleyevenasshetakestissuesoutofherfannypackandtriestogethimtotilthisheadback.
They’vegottheattentionofallthestaff.Theon-sitevenuecoordinatorsarerushingover,butWhitneyHarrisonbeatsthemall.She’saforcetobereckonedwithinherheelsandclipboard.She’ssnappingherfingerstogeticeandtowelsforthebloodynose.Thegirlisstandingjustathershoulder,cowering.
Thegroomsmanspitsaccusations,wavinghishandaround.Oncehe’susheredinside,Whitneysnapsaround,gripsthegirl’selbowinavise,andpullsherveryclose,hissinginherface.
Icatchthreewords:“Beaprofessional.”
I’mstillrootedtothespot,watchingfromadistance.Ihearthepeoplearoundmecontinuingtosetupthelinens,teethclickingwithgossip.Ifocusonceagainontheroses,hidingbrownpetals.Itakethecartoutofthetentandbacktothevan,tryingnottowatchasthegirlnods,wipeshercheeks,andwithdowncasteyes,movestohelpwiththelinen.
Whitneyadjustsherdress,sweepingherhairbackintoplace,andpastesonasmile.ShecatchesmyeyeasIheadtothetruck,andIfeelhermoveintostepwithme.
“I’msosorryaboutthat,Elliot.”Hervoiceissilkywithasharpedge.“Completelyinappropriate—andI’mgoingtodealwithher.”
“Hemadeapassather,”Isay.“Aggressively.”
Whitney’ssmiletightens.“That’sashame.Unfortunately,thisisthethirdtimeI’vetoldhersheneedstocreatespacebetweenherselfandtheclients.She’sfartooinvolved.”Tossingalookoverhershouldertowherethegirlisfoldinganapkinwithshakingfingers,shesays,“Shegotinvitedtothebacheloretteparty,forgod’ssake.Anyway,pleasedon’tthinkIsupportmystaffflirtingwiththebridalparty.Shewillbedealtwith.”
Somethingclawsatmythroat.“Mostpeopledon’tpunchsomeonethey’reflirtingwith.”
Shegivesmeasweet,condescendingsmile.“Mostpeoplewouldhavelearnedtheirlessonbynow.”Shegivesmyarmasqueezeandsays,“Sayhellotoyourmomforme.”
Whitney’soneofthosepeoplewhothinksshehascloutbecauseshehasaconnectiontomymom,astatesenator.Asifshecould“makeonecall”inspecialcircumstances.
Whitneymovesquicklyaroundtheedgeofthetent,eyeingherrogueassistant.Ipackupthecartwiththenextvases,lettingmymindclear.MaybeWhitneyisright.Maybethiswasalessonthisgirlneededtolearnthehardway.
Fromthecornerofmyeye,Iseethegirldropanapkinonthegroundbecausesheonlyhasonehandtofoldthemwith.Herrightiscurledintoherstomach,bruisedandbatteredfromcollidingwithbone.
Weddingsarefun,Elliot,Ihearmyfather’svoicesay.Don’tletitbedifficult.
That’swhatisechoinginmyheadwhenIabandonthedolly,movingtothebartograbahandfulofice.ThecubesareburningmybarehandasItakethemovertoher.Theothersaregivingherawideberth,soI’mtheonlyonewhocanhearhersniffassherestartsthenapkin.Shelooksupatmeandslapsawayatear.
“Hi,Elliot.Doesyourdadneedhelp?”
Hervoiceissmallandtight.Ihadnoideasheknewmyname.Idon’tknowhers.
Sheturnsherbackonmetosaveface,continuingtofoldnapkinswithonehand.Idon’tknowhowtorespond,soItugoneofmydad’shandkerchiefsoutofmypocket.
“Elliot!”
Ispintofindmydadparkingtheothervantothesideofthetent,wavingatmetocomehelphim.Iglancebackatthegirl,who’smovedtowardanothertable.Shecan’tbemucholderthantwenty.
Idon’tknowwhatI’devensaytoher.Justhandherahankiefullofice?Tellhersheshouldhavekneedhimintheballstoo?Askherifshe’dlikemetogobeattheshitoutofhim?OutofWhitney?
So,whenshemovesfartherawayfromme,Iwalkbacktomydad,icenumbingmyownhandbynow.
“Allgood?”Dadsays,heavinghimselfoutofthedriver’sseatwithawheezeIdon’tlike.“Anytroublewiththeroses?”
“Yeah.You’llneedtocheckthem,”Imumble.
“What’stheicefor?”
Ilookdownatmyhand,turningredfromthecold.“It’s…Thatgirl?Whitney’sassistant?ShehurtherhandsoIwas…”Iholdthehandkerchiefandiceouttohim.“I’llgetthecenterpieces.Doyouwanttocheckonher?”
Hetakesthehandkerchiefandthenlooksatme.“Don’tyouwantto?”
Ishrug.“I’mnogoodatpeople,youknowthat.”
Hesendsmeasmirkashewalkstowardher.“You’renogoodatflowerseither!”HelaughsathisjokeasIglareathim.
Iloadupthedolly,watchingoutofthecornerofmyeyeasmydadapproachesher.Withinsecondsshe’slaughing,grinningatsomethinghesays.Hewrapsthehankiearoundherknuckles,andshelaughsagain,asoundlikeblossomsopeninginspring.
Isetuptherestofthecenterpiecesalone,lettingDadworkthemagiconlyheknows.4AmaMARCH
Ileavethecoffeeshopwithapromisetocalltomorrowtosetupanothermeeting.Ihavetheiremailaddresses.I’msupposedtosendmyfavoritevendorsovertonight.
Iwon’tbe.
Ineedalittlespacetofigureouthowtodecline.Ineedtofigureoutwhatkindofliesoundsbest.Is“Idon’tworkwiththatvendor”enough?Ordoesthewholetruthneedtocomeout?WillitcomeoutanywaywhenJackieasksheroldfamilyfriendwhathappened?WillWhitneyHarrisonbedoingtheirweddingbythen?
Ican’tgetmythoughtsstraight,andIalmostdrivedirectlyhomebeforerememberingIhavetheFergusonweddingtoday.Iturnaroundandheaddowntowntocheckonprep.
Ifallintomyroutine,allowingmybraintoworryaboutschedulesandlatecaterersinstead.
IthinkI’mdoingagoodjobtoo.Thatis,untilMarpullsmeasideatthereceptionandsays,“Wherethehellisyourbraintoday,girl?”
Allofitrushesbacktome,makingmyheadspin,andIsprinttothebathroom.I’msplashingwateronmycheekswhenMarfindsmeafterfinishingthecakecutting.
“Youdidn’tgetHazelRenee?”
“IdidgetHazelRenee.They’resetonBloomingforflowers.”Mythroatthreatenstocloseup.Sayingitmakesmenauseous.
Marcurses.Ilookupandseeherheadthrownback,eyesontheceiling.Icheckuptheretoseeiftheanswersarewrittenonthefluorescents.
Leaningnexttomeonthewall,Markickshershoesofftomakeherselfshorter.Thehotelhascarpetinginhere,thankfully.“Youcoulddoit.”
“CouldI?Really?”Iturntoher,andherhesitationtellsmeshedoesn’tbelieveiteither.
She’ssilentforabitbeforeshesays,“Whatifyoucorrespondbyemailonly?Youexplainthere’sasituation,butyou’dbehappytoworkaroundit.”
Iconsiderit.It’sfarlessprofessional.Itmaymakemelookweak.“YoureallythinkIcoulddoaweddingwithoutseeinghimonce?”
Herlipspresstogether.“Maybetheydon’twantalotoffloraldesign?”
“Ifyou’reusingElliotBloom,youwantalotoffloraldesign.”
Evensayinghisnamemakesmystomachtighten.Behindmyeyes,Iseewhitedahliasandspidermums.
Iturntoher.“Gooutandgetmoreshotsofthereception.I’llbefine.”
“Wecandiscussthistonight.Drinksonme.”
Shedisappearsthroughthebathroomdoor,andIcheckthetimeonmyphone.
Ihavefourthousandnewnotifications.
Fourthousand,twohundredandtwelve,tobeexact.
IopenInstagramtoseewhat’sup,andIfindapictureofHazelandJackieoutsidethecoffeeshopfromthismorningatthetopofmyfeed.
Metourwonderfulweddingplannerforcoffeetoday—@WeddingsbyAma.Checkherout.
Ihavetwothousandnewfollowers.IhavethirtyDMsfromstrangers.IhavenotificationsthatmyPinterestpinshavebeensaved.IhavetwoemailsfrombloggersaskingwhatwecanexpecttoseeoutofHazelRenee’swedding.
Thenotificationskeepcoming.IstaggerbackouttotheFergusonweddingandtrytokeepeveryoneonschedule.Bytheendofthenight,myfollowercounthasdoubled.Ihavesixmoreemailsfromjournalists.
IfIwasn’talreadyregrettingthis,Iwouldbenow.ThisisfarmoreexposurethanI’veeverhandled,evenunderWhitney.Andexposuremeansjustasmanyopportunitiesformistakesasthereareforsuccesses.Everyweddinghasitspressures,butnotmanyhavethepossibilityofadvancingorruiningyourcareerwithonesmallswingofthependulum.
WhenMarandIeventuallysettleatthehotelbarateleven,she’sthumbingthroughmyInstagramwithwearyeyes.Sherubsherface.
“Youcanstillsayno,”shesays,almostaquestionwiththewayhervowelstiltupwardattheend.
Inod,staringdownintoamartini.“Ican.”
“Oryoucouldcarryon.Beaprofessional.”
Myeyesclose,Isuckairthroughmynose.
Beaprofessionalisaphrasethathauntsme.Mardoesn’tknowshe’shitalandmine,soIjustbreathedeeplytoclearmyhead.
Beaprofessional.IsthatwhatWhitneywouldsaytome?Iwanttocallherandask,butthenI’dhavetotellherwhathappenedatSenatorGilbert’swedding.Andwhathadbeenhappeningforsixmonthspriortoit.Andwithwhom.Andshe’dsay“Ama,”inthattonethattoldmeI’ddisappointedher.She’dknowI’dneverlearnedmylesson,andIcrossedanotherline.
“Talkmethroughtheworst-casescenario,”Isay.
Marsitsuptall.“Youwalkintohisshop.Youimmediatelyburstintotears.HazelReneefilmsit.It’sliveonInstagramtitled,‘WomanRegretsChoiceMadeinHaste—’”
“YouknowI’dneverbecalled‘woman.’”
“You’reright.‘SacramentoMinorCouldHaveHadItAll.Newsateleven.’IthinkE!wouldgetenoughofthefactsstraight.”
Wedrinksomemore,andwhenIgethome,IemailHazelandJackiethevendorlistlikeIsaidIwould.AsifI’mactuallydoingthis.
WhenIwakeuponMondaymorning,hungovery,Jackie’sreturnedmyemailwith:
CanwegetintoseeElliotsoonerratherthanlater?IwantHazel’sinputonflowersbeforesheleavesforfilming.
IlaughuntilIdryheave.AndthenIwetheave.WhenI’mdoneandrefillingonelectrolytes,Ilookatmycalendar.
TheoddthingisthatHazelandJackie’sweddingfitsperfectlyintomylife.Afewmonthsback,whenIlookedatwhatthisweddingseasonwouldbelikeforme,Iwantedalarge-scaleweddingtoworkonthisyear.Itwas,infact,myimmediategoal.IwantedsomethingthatwouldgetmenoticedandsatisfymybankaccountwhileIcontinuetoworkonasmallerscale.Iwantedtobeabletorentmyownofficespacebytheendoftheyear,hireapermanentassistant,andpaysomeoneelsetorunsocialmedia.Thoseweremylong-termgoals.Butnothingcamemyway,andItoldmyselfI’dcatchmybreaknextseason.HazelandJackiewouldputmerightonschedule.
Beaprofessional,Whitney’svoiceringsinmyear.WheneverIoverstepped,she’dremindmethatshegottowheresheiswithprofessionalism,withoutcrossinganyboundaries.
Whitneyneverwouldhavegottenherselfinasituationwhereshehadtoworkwithanex,butifshehad,shewouldpowerthroughit.She’dbeaprofessional.
IwritebacktoJackieandaskfortheirschedulesthisweek.ThenItextMarthatIneedhertosoberupandcomeover.
Sheknocksonmydooratnoonwithsunglassesonandaboxofdonutsinhand.I’mhalfwaythroughmythirdwhenwespeakforthefirsttime.
“I’mgonnadoit.”
Shenods,sippingherGatorade.“Good.”
“Ineedyoutocallhimtodaytosetupanappointment.”
CoolBlueRaspberrydribblesoutofhermouthasshecoughs.IhandherthenapkinIhadpreparedforthismoment.Whensherecovers,shesays,“Doyouintendtospeaktohimatall?OramIoncontract?”
“Ijustneedtogetthroughthisonething.ThenIthinkitwillbecomeeasier.Businesslike.”
Marsighs.“GimmesomeAdvil,andthenlet’sdothis.”
We’resittingonmylivingroomflooranhourlater,theboxofdonutsempty.MarisclutchingherprewrittenscriptinonehandasherthumbpokesthenumberI’mgivingherintoherphone.Shetakesadeepbreathbeforehittingdial,andIfeelmyowncatch.
Itringsfourtimes.Longenoughformetohopethatwe’llgetthemachine.Midwaythroughthefifth,Ihearaclickandwaitforhisfather’soldmessagefromtenyearsago,invitingustoleaveournameandnumber.
Ibreatheout.It’sover.Itwaseasy.Icanjustwaitforanemailback.
“’Lo?”
Thesinglesyllablesetsmyskinonfire.Ihatehimforneverenunciating.Ihatehimfornothavingastandard“Blooming,howcanIhelpyou?”Ihatehimforpickingupatall.
Butmorethananything,IhatethatIcan’tmove.I’mstaringatMarasshecrinklesthenotesinherhand.
“Hi,I’mcallingonbehalfofWeddingsbyAma.”Sherushesthewordstogetherlikewepracticed.“Iwantedtosetupameetingsometimethisweekforhernewestclients.CanItalkschedulingwithyou?”
Thelineisquiet.IcanfeelmyheartbeatinmylipsasIpressmyfingertipstothem.Marchecksthescreentomakesurehedidn’thangup.
Andthen—
“Mar.”Hesaysitlikeagreeting.Likeafact.
Mymouthopens.Mythroatisdry.He’ssaidoneandahalfwordsandIfeellikeI’minatrance.Thestaticofthephonemutesthetimbrehisvoicehasinreallife.Theresonanceinhischest.
Martiltsherheadbackandcloseshereyes.Shepullsherfulllipsintoatightlineandthensays,“No,thisisKelsey!”inahighvoice.“I’mcallingtosetupaclientmeeting—”
“Mar,putAmaonthephone.”
Hesaysmynamelike“Emma,”likeheusedto.Backwhenitwasourjoke.BackbeforeIrealizeditwasjustthewayheslippedthevowelthroughhislips.
Mar’seyesarewideandstaringatme,butIcan’tmove.“Okay!”theKelseyvoicesays.“I’llseeifshe’sfree!”
Droppingthephoneontothecoffeetable—hiscoffeetable—shegesticulatesinapanic,mouthing,WhatdoIdo?!
Idon’trespond.Ican’trespond.Istareatthephone.ThenMartakesoffhershoesandwalksthemacrossthehardwood,likeaFoleyartistfromthe1920s.Sheleansawayfromthephoneandsays,“Ama,callforyou.”
She’sreachingformyslippers,readytocreatethesoundeffectsoftwopeoplewalking,whenIreachforthephoneandsay,“Hello.”
He’squietforamoment.IthinkIcanhearhimbreathing.
“Whattime.”
Iswallowinvoluntarily.Ican’tevenfigureoutwhathe’saskingforamoment.
“They’refreeThursdayafterfour,orFridayallday—”
“Thursdayatfour.”
Thelineclicksdead.
Iholdthephonetomyearalittlelonger,wishingformoreofhisconsonants.Hopingformorethanathree-wordsentence,justlikeIusedto.
Ipullthephoneawayandstareatit.Mar’sphonescreenisthetwoofusatthirteen,Halloweencostumeson.
“Areyouokay?”
Ilookup,andMarhasherhandsonhercheekslikeMunch’sTheScream.Herdoeeyesaresearchingmine.
“Thursdayatfour,”Isay.Istandandtakethedonutboxtothetrash.Iwashthesugaroffmyfingers.“I’mgonnashower.Wannagetdinnerlater?”
Idisappearintomybathroombeforeshecananswer.Thefaucetcoversthesoundofmysobbing.
5ElliotTHREEYEARS,EIGHTMONTHS,TWOWEEKS,ANDONEDAYAGO
Flowersarebetterthanpeople.
“Yes,Dad,theyare,”Isaytotheemptyshop.
I’minthebackroom,workingonahoopthatIcansuspendfromtheceilingabovetheregister.Itwillhavedahliasandpeoniestwinedaroundit,asectiononthebottomright,asmallersectiononthetopleft.It’saminiatureversionofwhatsomepeoplewantbehindthematthealtar.
Dadwouldhavetoldmetofocusontheregister,don’tdallyintheback.Buthewas5′7″andfrail,kindtoeveryone.I’mtheopposite.Nobody’scomingintoBloomingtofuckwithme.Andbesides,I’vealwaysbeenmoreinterestedinbehindthescenes.
There’sstillalotofhimattheshop—hisvoiceonthevoicemail,hisnameonthesign.Butthereareexactlyfourofhisflowersthatarestillkicking,onesthatIbroughttohisfuneralwhenIthoughthe’dmaybelikemoreflowersthanpeoplethere.Momhasone,andtheotherthreearestillintheshop.Andhewasright.Theyonlyneededlight,water,andattention.Butit’snotassimpleasthat.Becauseyouneedtoknowhowmuchlight,howmuchwater,howmuchattention.Butifyoucangetitright—ifyoucancrackthecode—flowersareinfinitelybetterthanpeople.Becauseyoucanfindaperson’sratiooflight,water,andattention,anditstillwon’tbeenough.
Forflowers,it’senough.
Ittookmeacoupleyearstoreallyunderstand.IwasmadforalongtimethatIhadtodropoutofcollegeforflowers,ofallthings,butthiswasmygrandad’sshopbeforeitwasmyfather’s,soitwasalwaysgoingtobemine,lungcancerornot,architecturedegreeornot.Butlight,water,andattention—thatIcoulddo.It’salmostinstinctualnow.Idon’tthinkIhavethemagictouchmyfatherhad,butafterawhile,Istartedaddingmyownmagic.Likethishoop.Alittlebitofdesignandconstructiontobrightenuptheplace.Icangetlostforhoursmakingthingslikethis.
Sowhenmyfather’sbellonthefrontdoorchimesjustasI’mstartingtotieoffthepeonies,Ihuffasigh.
Mylipstighten.I’msoclosetofinishingthis.
“Yeah,onesec.”
Oncethesectionissecured,Igrabaragformyhandsandstepoutofthebackroom.Agirlisrunningherfingersoverthenewimportedflowersthatsitinthefrontwindow.Ihatewhenpeopletouchshit.
“What.”Iplacemyhandsonthecounterandleanforwardontothem.
Shespins.She’sfamiliar,butshelookstooyoungtobeoneofmymother’sblinddates.Hereyesslideoverthetattoosonmyarms,andI’mstilltryingtoplaceherwhenherexpressionnarrowsandherarmscross.
“‘What?’Isthatreallyhowyougreetsomeone?”shesays.
Thesoundofhervoicedoesit.She’sWhitney’sgirl.Irememberhernow.Hereyesaredarkoak-browntomatchherhair.She’sgotittossedupinoneofthoseridiculoushighbunssoyoudon’tknowhowmuchhairsheactuallyhas,butmine’scurrentlylongenoughtobetiedback,soIcan’tcomplain.MygazedipstotheswellofherhipsbeforeIcanstopit.
“Welcometomystore,”Isaydrily.“Youneedapromcorsage?”
Sheblinksrapidly.“A—apromcorsage?I’mtwenty-two!”
Ishrug.“Youlooksixteen.”Shedoesn’t.ButIbetit’sgonnamakehermad.
Shestepstowardtheregisterwithanarchedbrow,aswaggerinherwalk.
“Isthathowyoulookatsixteen-year-olds?”
Ipushawayfromthecounterwithasigh.Shewonthatone.“HowcanIhelpyou,ma’am?”
Iseethema’amhitherjustashardasthesixteen,butshestraightensherscarfandmovescloser.“MynameisAmaTorres.Youmightremember,IusedtoworkwithWhitneyHarrisonWeddings.NowI’vestartedmyownbusiness—”
“Congratulations.”Iturnmybackonher,fingersalreadypluckingupthepetalsleftoverfromthismorning.Ibusymyhandsandlistentohersputter.
“Yes,thankyou.Um,Iwantedtocomeinandmakeaconnection.I’vealwaysbeenafanofBlooming,andifIcanconvinceclientstohireyou,I’dliketo—”
“Whitney’shadadiscountforyears.”Imovefrombehindtheregisterandontothefloor,headingfortheStemBarIsetupsocustomerscanmaketheirownbouquets,pricedbythestem.Igrabsomeyellowbuttercups.“Myfathersetitupwithher.It’smuchhigherthananyoneelsegets,especiallynewweddingplanners.”
“Ididn’tcomehereforadiscount,Mr.Bloom,”sheallbuthisses.“Icametointroducemyself.”
“Great.Andnowyouhave.”Ifindthepetuniasandreturntothecounter,grabbingsomewaxylemonleaves.
Myfatherusedtodothis.Hewaskindaboutit,ofcourse,butheusedtogiveaboutonniereorsmallcorsagetopeoplecomingintoplaceanorder,likeitwasabitoflucktotakewiththem.Iexpandedonit.Icreateitwhilewetalk.Sometimesthey’resocharmedtohaveafreearrangementinspiredbythemthatiterasesthefiveminutesofrudenesstheyexperienced.
“Okay,”shesays,andIheartheexasperationbeingpusheddown.“I’dliketostartagain.I’mAma.”
Myeyesleavethetwineandpetals.She’sextendingonehandtowardmewithabrightsmileonherface.IrelishthefactthatminearestickywithstemsapwithdirtundermynailsasIreachforhermanicuredfingers.Herhandsaresmall.AndIrealizeshecan’tbemuchoverfivefeet,butshewearsheelstocoverit.I’mthinkingtoomuchaboutherbody,soIsay,“Emma?”
Herlipstighten.I’vehitanothernerve.“Ama.A-M-A.”
I’mstillholdingherhandinminewhenIsay,“WhatthefuckkindofnameisAma?”
Shetakesherhandback,andhereyesflicktothefloorbeforeshegainsherconfidenceagain.“It’sshortforsomething,obviously.”
Andthefactthatshewon’ttellmeisdelicious.Itrytokeepthegrinfromtwitchingmylips,butIthinkIfail.“Amateur.”
Shestaresatme,thenrealizesit’saguess,notanaccusation.Thenrealizesit’sboth.Thenfrowns.
It’safunjourneytowatch.
“No.”Shepushesherbaguphershoulder.“Mymotherdidn’tnamemeAmateur.”
“Amabella,”Iguess.
Shetiltsherhead.“YoureadalotofLianeMoriarty?”
“IhaveHBO.”
Shesnorts.Andit’snotcrassorunflattering.Istarttwistingthetwinearoundthestemsagain.“WhydidWhitneyletyougo?”Iask.
Shetakesasharpinhale.“Shedidn’tletmego.We’reongoodterms,Iswear.”
Ilookupather.Irememberheratvenues,herhandsineverypot.She’dbeonladderswiththesoundtech,refoldingnapkins,shiftingchuppahstwoinchesover.She’dspotawiltedflowerfromamileaway,andwhileIwasstillsettingup,she’dcomeoverandtearouttheoffenders.Shewasexcellentwithdesign,andprobablythetruebrainsbehindWhitney’ssuccess.ButIalsorememberherlaughingwithbridesmaids,gettingcloserthanIceQueenWhitneyeverdared.
AndIrememberthecrackofherfist.ThewayshetrembledwhenWhitneydughernailsintoherarm.
“It’sallthesame,isn’tit?”Isay.“Whitneydecideswhostaysandwhogoes.Whitneyletyougo.”Islipthepinthroughtheboutonniere,finishingwithathinribbon.Iwatchhermindwork,tryingtofigureitout.
“ItoldWhitneyitwasmydreamtoownmyownbusiness.Soshesupportedme.”
Iplacethepurpleandyellowboutonniereonthecounternexttoherhand.Shepicksitupandherfingersfeatheroverthepetals.IfeelthatbitofmagicthatDadusedtotalkabout—whenyoucanchangesomeone’sdaywithagiftofflowers.
SoIsaysomethingtoruinit.“TheonlyreasonWhitneyHarrisonwouldallowyoutocompetewithherinthemarketisbecausesheknowsyou’llfail.Sosheletyougo.”
Hereyessnapupatme.Iseeherfingerscurlaroundthetiedflowers.Andbeforeshecanchuckthematmyhead,Isay,“Iwon’tdoavendordiscountforthefirstsixmonths.”IpluckupouroldbusinesscardthatstillhasDad’sname,andIslideitacrosstoherbeforegrabbingtheragandheadingintothebackagain.
Iwonderifshe’lllookupTheLanguageofFlowersandfigureoutIjusttoldher,YouareimmatureandIresentyou.Goaway.6AmaMARCH
WithHazel’sschedulebeingwhatitis,we’resqueezingalotintooneweek.WegotoBloomingtomorrowafternoon,butmystomachisalreadyamesstoday,soI’mstickingtoicedteaatoursecondmeeting—thistime,lunchatCafeBernardo,acasualfarm-to-forkrestaurantinMidtown.
ItakeoutmyiPadandsay,“So,tellmewhatyouknowsofar.Listsize,colors,dresses—”
“Ah.”Hazelfinishesherbiteofsalad.“I’minawhitepantsuit.Jac’sinthedress.”
“Ilovethat.”Ileanforwardonmyelbows,smiling.“Bothwalkingdowntheaisle?JustJackie?”
“Well,it’sbeenmydreamtowalkdowntheaisleattheRoseGarden,”Jackiesayswithasmile,“butIwantHazeltohaveanentrancetoo.”
“Thatdoesn’tmattertomethough,babe—”
“Iknow,babe,butIstillthinkyourbrothershouldwalkyoudowntheaisle…”
Isipmyicedtea,lettingthembicker.It’sgreattogetasenseofpeopleearlyon.Hazelislaid-backandopentoanything,andJackie,whileshewantsherhandsineverything,onlyhasonerealdemand—theRoseGarden.HazelishappywhenJackieishappy.AdifferenttypeofplannerwouldhavecateredtoHazel,thecelebrity.ButnowthatI’vespottedthis,it’sgoingtosetmeahead.
“CanIaskabouttheproposal?Ilovehearingthestory.”
Jackie’seyesbrighten,andshebrusheshairoutofherface.“Itwasatmyparents’house.IbroughtHazelhomeforChristmas,butshehadalreadytalkedtomydad.”Jackiesmilesather,andIseehereyeswater.
“WhatIdidn’tknow,”Hazelsays,“wasthatJackiehadafuckingringinhersuitcasetoo.”
IgaspasJackieelbowsHazel.
“SoIhadtowaittherelikeanidiotinfrontofherparentswhensheshotoutofherchairandranupstairswithoutsayingyesorno.Ithoughtshe’dgottensickatthethought.”
Theylaughandleantogetherforasoftkiss.
Proposalstoriesarethebest,andthisisagoodone.There’snothingwrongwithafootballstadiumproposalifIfeelthebrideisasmuchasportsfanasthegroom.Andthesimplest“Wannagetmarried?”storiesthathappenwithoutaringcantellmealottoo.Sometimesit’sthattheyhaven’tthoughtitout,butalsotheymightbemorespontaneousthanothercouples.
Somepeoplecantellifamarriagewilllastwhentheywatchthegroom’sfaceasthebridecomesdowntheaisle;somepeoplecantellatthefirstmeetingwiththecouple;IcantellwhenIheartheproposalstory.
AndJackieandHazel?They’retherealthing.
Idon’tbelievelong-termcommitmentslikemarriageworkout,butIdobelieveinlove.Itcanbefleetingandundependable,rarelylong-lasting,butIdobelieveitexists.Iknowmymomhasbeeninlovewithmanyofherhusbands,butmarriagewasthequickestwaytokillit.I’vebeeninloveonce,andit,too,ended.
Isipmyicedteatohelpswallowthelumpinmythroatthatriseswiththatthought.Acrossfromme,JackiethreadsherfingersthroughHazel’sontopofthetable.
It’snotmyplacetohopethatJackieandHazelwillbetogetherforever,butIcanbehappytheyaretogetherfornow.Ibelievetheyareinlove,andthatthatlovewilllastalongtime.Endofstory.WheneverIfindthesekindsofcouples,Iputmoreofmyselfintothedesign,andthoseweddingsendupbeingmybestwork.
Igetmoreoftheirdetailsoverlunch,writingmyselfnotes:
?Jackiewalkingdownaisle;HazelTBD
?Jackieindress;Hazelinpantsuit
?BothcommissionedbyElleStone—friendofHazel
?Colors—TBD(Hwantsmutedfallcolorswithdrama;Jwantspink)
?Livebandatreception
?Cellistatceremony—XanderThorne—friendofHazel
?AMAACTIONITEMS
?Receptionvenue
?MakeinitialcontactwithElleStone
?ContactXanderThorne—don’tgothroughagent—afitzmusic@aol.com
WhenIfinishmybubblesandtiethemtoHazelandJackie,Isay,“Sowehaven’ttalkedguestlist.GivemeaballparkasIlookatreceptionvenues.”
JackielooksatHazel.“Well,Ithinkitcanbedoneunderonehundred.ButHazelisworriedaboutherpublicist’slist.”
“Ihaveafeelingthat‘HazelRenee’sWedding’isn’treallygoingtobemywedding,”Hazelsayswithagrimace.Inod,feelinglikeHazel’spublicistmaybetheequivalentofthemother-in-lawinthiscase.“Ithinktwohundred.”
Itrynottowidenmyeyes.Anextrahundredforthemother-in-lawisalot.Iwritedown100–200andbubbleit.“Well,then.Iguessit’stimeformoney.What’sthebudget?”
Hazelsitsforward.“I’dliketothinkofitasaDoNotExceednumber.”
“That’swonderfulforme.It’susuallysomethingIclarifyanyway!”Imakeanote.“Andyou’dlikemetocomeupwithageneralbudget,knowingtheDoNotExceed?”WhenHazelnods,Iaskforthenumber.
“Twohundredandfiftythousand.”
Tomycredit,mystylusdoesn’tslipoutofmyhand,rollontothefloor,tripawaiter,andbringatrayofdrinkscrashingdown.Butinmymindallofthatishappening.Anditismycareerswirlingonthefloorwiththemimosas.
That’smorethanI’veeverworkedwith,exceptunderWhitney.I’mfilledwithhalfexcitementandhalfdread.Numberslikethatusuallycomewithvendorswhoareoutofmyleague,venuesIhavenorelationshipwith,andhighexpectations.IshouldhavegottenthisinformationbeforeIagreedtothis,butJackie’sonlywishoftheRoseGardendidn’tindicatethatbudget.
“Isthatnotenough?”Jackieasksquietly,misreadingmysilence.
“No,it’sgreat,”Isay.“Itis…alot.Ihaven’tseenthatkindofbudgetsinceIwaswithWhitney,soI’mjusttryingtowrapmyheadaroundit.”
IthinkofthepromiseImadeWhitneywhenIresigned—thatIwouldneverintrudeonhermarket.Thewayshewavedherhandlikeitwasn’tevensomethingshewasworriedabout.Thehugshegaveme.Firm,caring,vanilla-scented.
ButwhatdoIdonow?Backout?SendthemtoWhitney,whocanhandlethissize,whoknowsthesevendors?
No.Absolutelynot.Thisweddingisawindowofopportunitythatwon’tcomemywayagain.
IknowIcandothis.I’mtherightchoiceforHazelandJackie.AndIcan’twaittoproveit.
IhaveafreemorningbeforeThursday’sappointmentatBlooming,soinsteadofstaringatthewallandsweating,IdecidetocheckinattheWHWoffice.It’sbeenafewmonthssinceI’vevisited,andI’dliketopickWhitney’sbrainaboutHazelandJackie’swishlist.
Withmysignatureboxofdonutsinonehand,Itugopenthedoortothebrickbuilding,neatlysituatedinEastSacramento—thehubofrichpeople.ThefrontdeskisoccupiedbyanewgirlIdon’tknow,butsoonenough,peoplearesteppingoutoftheirofficestogivemeahugandgrabadonut.
Itwashardtoleave.Itwasn’tthatIwantedtostopworkingwithWhitney,butIknewthatifIcontinuedthere,I’dstayforever.AndtheclientsthatWhitneytakesonarenotmypeople.ThebudgetweddingsI’vedoneinthepasttwoyearshavebeenmoresatisfyingthanthesix-figureonesIwasdoinghere.Igettoseethebride’sfacelightupwhenItellherwhatwecanachieve,evenwithfundsbeingtight.That’stheheartofit.
Whitneyhasacorneroffice—notthatitmatterswhenyou’renotdowntown—intheback,andasmyoldfriendsmunchonthedonutholesMr.Kwontossedin,Iraponthedoorandwaitforher“Yes?”
Islipinsidewithagrin,andI’mtransportedbacktomyfirstinterviewinthisoffice,freshoutofhighschool.MymotherhadaWhitneyHarrisonweddingtheweekendofmygraduation,andaftertossingmycap,IrantoherreceptionandsawWhitneyforthefirsttime.Shewasanintimidatingpresence—tallandblondanddisappointedwitheveryone.Iwatchedhergrabthewristofaserverashebroughtthefirstentréesouttenminutesearly,andwithabone-crunchingsqueezeandahoney-sweetsmile,sheguidedhimbackintothekitchen.Itwasfantastic.Ilearnedlaterthatherassistanthadcanceledonherthatday,whichwaswhyshewasrunningthewedding.Ididn’tevenwaitforthejobopeningannouncementtohittheirwebsite;IshoweduponMondaywithalookbookfrommymother’spastfourweddings,allofwhichIdesignedforher.Withacalculatinggaze,sheofferedmeminimumwagetoanswerphones.Twoweekslater,Iwaspromotedtoassistant;threemoremonthsandIwasthedesignandproductioncoordinator.Whilemyclassmateswerestartingcollege,Iwasalreadymakingaliving,doingexactlywhatIwanted.
Whitney’stheexactsameasshewas.Herhairissweptbackintoathickblondponytail.She’sstartingtogetlinesaroundhereyes,butIknowshe’sjustoverdueforaninjection.Herthinlipsaredownturnedasshelooksuptoseewhohasdisturbedher,andthemomentsherealizesit’sme,herteethshinepearlywhiteatme.
“Ama,hownice!”Shejumpsupandsmoothsoutherboatneckdress,sweepingmeintoherarms.“What’stheoccasion?”
Hersoftperfumeenvelopsme,andIbreathedeepbeforesaying,“Thoughtitwasoverdue.”
Isettleinthechairinfrontofherdesk,andwecatchup.Shehasfourweddingsthisweekend.Ihaveone,butshestillwantstohearallaboutit.
“How’sMom?”sheasks,crossingherlegsandsmilingatme.
“She’sgood.Shejustgotmarriedlastmonth.”
“Whatnumberisthat?”Shelaughs,andIfeellikeIhavetodothesame.“Hassomeonecheckedtheworldrecordyet?”
Mycheeksheat.It’snotthefirsttimeI’veheardthatjoke,anditwon’tbethelast.Mymotherhasneverbeenashamedofhermarriages,butafterthetenth,Istartedtorealizethatotherpeoplefounditwildlyentertaining.Asakid,Ididn’tunderstandtherewasanythingwrongwithit.Ididn’tknowpeopletalkedbehindherbackorthatshewasthebuttofjokesmadebythepeopleclosesttoher.Ilaughalongwiththemnowsotheydon’tseemydiscomfort.
Ichangethesubjectquickly.“SoIneedsomeprofessionaladvice.”
“Ofcourse!”Sheflicksherwrist,andherbraceletjangles.“What’sup?”
“IscoredtheHazelReneewedding.”GettingitoutofmeasquicklyaspossibleisallIcandotonotvomit.Thoughvomitmaystillcome.It’searly.
Herbrowsjump.“Ohreally?”Shesmiles,butasmalllaughpopsthroughherchest.“Howonearthdidyoulandthat?”
“Theyfoundme.”Ishrug,wincing.“Itriedtotalkthemoutofit—”
“Ama,no.”Sheshakesherhead.“You’reperfectlyqualified.Youtoldthemyourservices,yourstyle,yourscale,andtheystillwantedyou.”
Ichewontheinsideofmycheek.“Right.I’mstartingtofeeltheirscaleis…morethantheyleton.OrmaybeIdidn’tclarify.Idon’tknow.AndIwantedtobeupfrontwithyou,becauseIsaidIwouldn’tbeencroachingonyourlistoryourclients.”
Shewavesherhand.“Well,that’snotsomethingentirelyinyourcontrol.Iknowthat.”Shelevelsastareatme,asmilecurlingherlipswithoutreachinghereyes.“I’mproudofyou.It’sawonderfulopportunity.Whenisthedate?”
Iwince.“Octoberseventh.”
Sheblinksatme.“Ofthisyear?That’sverysoon.”
Inod,chewingonmylip.“It’sfast,butIcandoit.I’mpositive.Iwasjusthopingyoucouldpointmeintherightdirectionofvendorsthatmaystillbefree.”
Thecornerofhermouthtightens.“Ofcourse.But…letmejustadviseyoutobecareful,Ama.”
Itakeadeepbreath,knowingexactlywherethisisgoing.
“Hazelisyourage,Ithink?”WhenInod,shecontinues.“Thecelebrityaspectmaybedifficult.Itcanbeseductive.Sojustremembertokeepyourdistance.Anymisstepcouldbebroadcasttoherfollowers.”
Shesaysmissteplikeit’samissingweddingringorforgettingtohireaDJ,butIknowwhatsheactuallymeans.IwasoneweekintomypositionasdesignandproductioncoordinatorwhenItextedabrideoutofthebluetoaskwhysheneverbroughtinherPinterestboard.I’dbeensnoopingaroundandhadfoundhersocialmediapages.Thepinsshesavedwerenothinglikewhatwehadsettledon.Veronica,thebride,messagedmebacktosayshedidn’tthinkanyofitwaspossibleintheirbudget.Thenextday,I’ddevisedanentireplanofattackforthenewweddingdesignandpresentedittoWhitneyinfrontofthecouple.Veronicawasecstatic.Whitneysmiledandnoddedandheldhertongueuntilthecoupleleft,andthenreleasedmefromVeronica’swedding.
“Doyouhaveanyideawhatit’sliketocallyourrentalcompany,yourcaterer,andyourfloristatthefour-monthmarkandtellthemyou’reredesigning?Oh,right,ofcourseyoudon’t,becauseI’mtheonethathastodothat!”she’dhissedatme.
Inthemoment,Ithoughtitwasthetimelineandtherelationshipwiththevendorsthatshewasmostupsetabout.Butthreemonthslater,Iattendedabridalshowerforoneofourclients,andwhenWhitneyfoundout,shetookmeoffthatweddingtoo.
Itriedtobebetter.Itriedtodeclineinvitationstobridalshowersandbacheloretteparties,buttoWhitney,itwasaBand-Aidovertherealproblem—theylikedme.Theylikedmeenoughtowanttobearoundmeandtalkabouttheirweddingdesignprivately.Ibegantofocusnotonhowtokeepthemfrominvitingme,butonhownottogetcaught.IwasthebestdesignerWhitneyhad,andtokeepitthatway,Ihadtogettoknowthecoupleandtheirstyle.WhenshefeltI’dimprovedmyboundaries,Whitneypromotedmetodirectorofdesign,ahugepositionforatwenty-year-old.Andamonthafterthat,somethingworsehappened.IpunchedagroomsmanforputtinghishandonmyassandsuggestingthatIsuckhimoff.WhileIwascryingandapologizing,myfistswollenandmyclothestootightonskinthatdidn’tfeellikemineanymore,Whitneytuggedmetothesideandsaid,“I’msurprisedthisisthefirsttime,actually.”
Whitneyhandledit.Shesmoothedeverythingoverwiththecoupleandgotthegroomsmancleanedupandtothealtar.Sheconvincedhimnottopresscharges,whichwassomethingIhadn’teventhoughtabout.Oncethereceptionhadstarted,shehuggedmetoherside,pressedanicepackonmyknuckles,andwhisperedsoftly,“You’lllearn,sweetheart.Itookcareofeverything.Imadeitallgoaway.”
Ilookintohereyesnow,andforcemyselftosmile.Ondaysliketoday,IstillwishIhadhertakingcareofeverything.
“Absolutely,”Isay.“I’mgettingbetteratmyboundaries.”
Shenods,andI’mnotsureshebelievesme,butshepatsthedeskandreachesforhermouse.“Octoberseventh?I’llletyouknowwhichvendorsofminearealreadybusythatday.”
Itakeadeepbreath,steelingmynerves,andbringmychairaroundtolookathercalendar—likeoldtimes.7AmaMARCH
Ihaven’tbeentoBloomingintwoyears.Twoyears,twomonths,oneweek,andfourdays,tobemoreexact.Itriedtocalculatethehoursandminuteswhilecurlingmyhair,butthatwasoverkill.
AndIburnedmywrist.
I’vecutmyhairsincehe’slastseenme,andit’sstupidtowonderifhe’dnoticewhenI’mactivelyhopinghedoesn’tnoticeme—thatmaybeIcanhidebehindanespeciallytallorchidfortheentiremeetingandletJackietakelead.Butit’sstillonmymind.
I’mnotbringingdonuts,becausewithhim,it’sneverbeenthe“endearing”thingtodo.
Iparkdownthestreetinsteadofinthethree-carlotattachedtotheshop.MyAppleWatchwantedmetocall9-1-1sixminutesagobasedonmyheartrate,soI’mactivelymeditating,imaginingcreekstricklingslowlyoverrocks.IwaitforJackieandHazeltopullup,withtheintensefocusofahuntinghound,jerkingquicklywheneveracarwithtwowomeninitslowsdown.Mycheckenginelightisflashingatme,butIignoreitasusual.
Thisisthefirsttimewe’llbeinthesameroom,breathingthesameair,inovertwoyears.I’vedrivenoutofmywaytoavoidBloomingeverydayofthosetwoyears,andIcanassumehehasn’thadaglimpseofmeeither.Istartedworkingwithotherflorists,obviously,eventhoughitwasahugehittomystyleandcreativity.TherewereevensomeweddingsthatIneededtocuthimfromafter—well,after.Largely,Iamabletoputhimoutofmymindmostdays.Itgoteasierastimewenton,butit’sjustnowhittingmehowdifficultthisisgoingtobe.
AcutelittlePriusputsonitsblinkerfortheparkinglot,andassoonasIconfirmit’sJackiebehindthewheel,Igrabmybagandjumpout.They’reshuttingtheirdoorsbythetimeIwalkuptothem.Ithinkweallhug.I’mblackingout,sodetailsaregettingfuzzy.We’rechattinguptothemaindoor.I’mreachingforthehandle.
“Hey!”
Thebarkfreezesmelikeastatue.Thethreeofuswhiptotheright,andthereheis,aragbetweenhishands,blackHenley,blackjeans.He’ssteppingoutfromaroundthebuildingwherewejustcamefrom,outthesidedoorthatleadstothebackroom.Hishairislongagain.Hehashalfofittiedback,outofhisface.Icalleditamanbunonce,andhegavemethesilenttreatmentfortherestoftheday.
Icanfeelmykneeswobble.Myheartbeatiskickinginto“Isthereanintruderinyourhouse?”statusagain.
Iwaitforhimtopointatmeandsay“Shecan’tcomein,”or“Meeting’scanceled.”
Buthedoesn’tglanceatmeatall.Hejustjerkshisheadforustoenterthatway,anddisappears.
JackierollshereyesandsaystoHazel,“He’salwayslikethat.Rudeishisbrand.”
ItwouldhavebeenfunnytomeifIdidn’tfeelasuddenpaininmychest.JackieknowsElliot.Morethanjust“theboss’sson.”Forgetanythingaboutsexualorientation,butthere’sapersoninhislifewhoknowshimwellenoughtomakethatjoke,andIdidn’tknowsheexisteduntilthisweek.
JackieandHazellinkhandsandwalktowardthesidedoor,andIfollowthemlikeadogwho’sbeingledtoabathtub,coweringandshaking.ItaketheweightofthedoorfromHazel,andwhenIhearhersay,“Oh,wow!”Ilookupandstoponthethreshold.
Thebackroom—it’stransformed.Wheretherewereboxesandbrokenthingstobefixed,therearenowtwoworktables,eightfeetlongwithmarbletops.Wheretherewaspeelingolive-greenpaintandrustynails,therearenowwhitewallswithweddingarcheshangingfromthehighceiling,wreathsmounted,aten-footwallcoveredinroses—silks,maybe—spellingBlooming.Wheretherewasonebarebulbceilinglight,therearenowneonsandLEDspoppingclearvioletlightfromabove.
Myeyesflutterwithallthereistotakein,andIremember—
“Ifyouwanttodocustominstallations,you’llneedastudio,Elliot.”
Herolledhiseyesatme.“Imadeacouplethings.I’mnotconvertingtheshopjusttoplayballwithWhitney’shigh-endclients.Mydadwouldneverhavewantedthat.”
Ishrugged.“Whynotboth?Whataboutthebackroom?”
IhavetoplacemyhandonthedoorframebeforeIfalldown.I’veneverinmylifefeltunsteadyonheels,butmylegsdon’twanttocooperate.
“Shutthedoor,”hisgruffvoicecallsfromacrosstheroom.He’sstandingatasmallertableinthecornerthat’smoreofaworkbench.It’stheonlymessyspotintheentireroom.It’stheonlyElliotspotintheentireroom.
“Elliot,”Jackiesays,“thisismyfiancée,Hazel.”
Iletthedoorclosebehindme,andIwatchfromadistanceofthirtyfeetasHazelshakeshishand.Hemutterssomethingthatmustbe“Nicetomeetyou.”
Hazelgesturestotherosewall.“Thisisincredible.Yourwholeworkshopis,really.”
Henods,neveronetosaythankyou.“Thiswasmyfather’sshopforfortyyears.Heoperatedinbouquetsandsmall-scaleweddingpieces,butwhenItookover,Istartedexperimentingwithconstructionsandinstallations.Bloomingnowoffersboth.”
They’rethelongestsentencesI’veheardhimspeak—ever.AndIrealizeit’sascripthe’stryingtopretendisn’tmemorized.ThefamiliarityIfeelaroundhimsendsanelectricshockthroughmysystem,andIhavetoturnaway.Ifacethewallandexaminethewayhe’sarrangedthewreathsforspring.
Ihearthemgivehimtheweddingdate.IhearHazelstarttodescribeacoupleofherwish-listitems.Ihearthelowhumofhisapproval.
Ishouldbeoverthereinthethickofit.I’mdesigningthiswedding,andthatincludescollaboratingonthefloralarrangements.
Undertheguiseofstaringatthepottedflowersonhistabletops,Iwandercloserjustasheasks,“Where’sthereception?”
“I’mworkingonthatthisweek,”Isay.Myvoiceisscratchy.WhenIslipmygazetohim,he’sadjustinghissleeve,lookingatJackie.“OnceIknow,Icanemailyouaboutavisittime.”
“Rehearsaldinner?”hesays.
“Nodetailsyet,butI’dlovesomecenterpiecesforthat,”Jackiesayshopefully,clappingherhandstogether.Heonlynods.
Hisfingersreachforthestemofafuchsiacallalily,tuggingitoutofanarrangementashesays,“McKinleyParkRoseGarden.Arewestickingtorosesfortheceremony?Orareyouinterestedinseeingvariety?”
JackieandHazellookateachother,thenatme.“Ithinkvarietysoundsnice,”Isay,trustinghisintuition.
Hedoesn’trespond.Doesn’tnod.NoindicationthatI’vespokenorevenexist.Iswallowtightlyandwatchhimreachforthemutedorangechrysanthemumsattheothertable.Myheartskips,alreadyknowingwhathe’sdoing.I’mbuzzing,rememberingmyfirstboutonniere.Buttercupsandpetunias—immaturityandresentment.IshakemyheadfreeofthememoryasJackiesays,“Thisiscool.”
Iturnmyheadovermyshoulderandseewhatshe’slookingat.Leaningagainstthewallisalargeclearbox,splitintofourquadrantspackedfullofblossoms.It’saboutafootdeepandashighasmywaist,andit’scoveredwithaslabofclearPlexiglas.Itlookslikeitcouldbehungonthewallasafauxwindow.
Elliothums,andheleavestheflowersonthetable.Istepbacktogivehimawideberthashecomesovertothewindowbox.HegrabsawallplugIdidn’tseebefore,connectsittoanoutlet,andbeforeIcanmarvelathowsweetthefairylightslookinsidethatwindowbox,heflipsitflatontothefloorandstepsontop.
Itisn’tuntilheextendshishandtoJackietohaveherjoinhimthatwerealize—
“Isthis…”Hazel’seyesarewide.“Isthisadancefloor?”
Jackie’sjawdropsasshejoinshimonthePlexiglas.
“It’sone-tenthofadancefloor,”heclarifies.
HestepsdownandgesturestoHazeltotakehisplaceonthefloor.WhenHazeleyesitwarily,Jackiewhispers,“It’sokay.He’sanarchitect.”
Elliotdoesn’tcorrecther.Shestepsup,andheturnsthelightsoffintheworkshoptoletthemgetthefeelingofaneveningreceptionwiththelightsfrombelow.
I’mhonestlyspeechless.Whichisfine,becausehewouldn’twanttohearfrommeanyway.I’veseenLEDdancefloorsbefore,butthisisafloormadeoutofflowersandlight.It’snothingshortofmagical,andit’sonlyathree-by-threeslab.HazelandJackielookatmewiththeirI-want-a-fairytaleeyes,andIsay,“Includeitinthequote.”
Thelightsturnon,andastheychatterwithhim,hecontinueswiththecallaliliesandchrysanthemums,grabbingafeatherygrassandsomeboxwood.Henodswhiletheytalk,windingthetwineandgrabbingafrayingropetotieitoff.WhenheplacesthebouquetinfrontofHazelandJackieonthetable,theystopmidsentenceandstaredownatit.
“Freeofcharge.”Hemovestowardthedoorleadingtothemainshop.“Emailme,”hesaystonoone.Me.
Jackiepicksupthebouquetandrunsherfingersoverthepetals.“Wow.This…”
“Pinkslikeyouwant,fallcolorslikeIwant,”Hazelsays.Sheturnstome.“Didyoutellhimhowwewerearguingaboutcolors?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Hejust…knows.”Ishiftmybagonmyshoulderandgesturetowardtheexit.“Shallwe?”
Hazelsnapsapictureofhisstudiobeforeweleaveandsays,“CanyouaskhimifIcanpostit?”
I’drathereatglass.“Ofcourse.”
Whenthedoorshuts,andwe’rewalkingtoourcars,IrealizeIsurvived.Hedidn’tlookatmeonce.Hedidn’tspeaktome.ButIsurvived.
“Mygod,ifIwasn’tintogirls…”Hazelsayssuggestively.
“Orengaged?”Jackiepinchesherside.
“He’saggressivelyhot.”
Istarestraightahead.
“Hismothersayshedoesn’tdate.Isn’tthatsad?”Jackielooksoverhershoulderattheshopandlowershervoicelikehecouldbelisteningin.“Shesaidhislastgirlfriendbrokehisheartrealgood.”
Itripovernothing,lookingbacklikealargerockwillappear,andHazelsays,“Whenwasthat?”
Mystomachisinknots,butSenatorGilbertdidn’tknowaboutus,Ithought.Howcouldshepossibly—
“Lastfall,Ithink?Shewasagirlfromtheoffice—Kate,”Jackiesays.
Thetwistinginmystomachturnsviolent.Ilookbackattheshop.Therewasanothergirlthatbrokehisheart?Sinceme?It’sbeentwoyears,soIsupposeitmakessensethathe’sdated.I’veseenacouplepeople,butnotanyonewhocouldmeananything.HewasthefirstpersonI’dletgetthatcloseanyway—thefirstIbrokeallmyrulesfor—andIwasn’tinterestedindoingitagain.
Idon’tknowwhatfeelsworse.Theideathathemovedon,orthehopethathehadn’t.
“Ama?”
IjerktowardHazelandsmile.“Yes?Sorry?”
“Anythingelseweneedtoday?I’llbegonefortwoweeks.”
“No!We’regreat.Thatdancefloorisamazing.Ithinkitwillbeaperfectcenterpiece.”
Wesaygoodbye,andIwalkthehalfblocktomycar,lookingovermyshoulderlikeanidiot.Hopingsomeone’swatchingme.
8ElliotTHREEYEARS,SIXMONTHS,ANDSIXDAYSAGO
Idon’tdosocialmedia.Icouldtrytoexplainhowit’srottingmygeneration,orthatbasingyourself-worthonyourabilitytophotographyoureggsisuseless.Butthetruthis,Ineverlearnedhowtouseit.
AndIrefusetodoitwrong.IfI’mgoingtocommitanywherefromonetoeighthoursofmydaytoanewhobby,I’mnotgoingtomakeanassofmyself.
MydadwantedtheshoptohaveanInstagramaccount.Hehadmycousinsetitupseveralyearsago,butDadwasterribleataddingtoit.There’dbeallcapsinthedescriptions,andhe’dhavefertilizerbagsinthecornerofashotofsomedahlias.Ithasaboutahundredfollowersandgetsmaybesixlikesperpost.
Mysamecousin,Ben,worksattheshopondaysI’msettingupweddings,andIaskedhimforsomeadvice.Ibuiltachandelierbysuspendingarectangulartrayfromtheceilinginthebackroomwithalightweightchain.Ifilleditwithpinkbaby’sbreathandfeatheryblushflowersfromanastilbe.I’mnotevenembarrassed—it’safluffypinkcloud,andIthinkitlooksawesome.Benthoughtsotoo,andhelpedmeuploaditwiththerighthashtags.
Twohundredlikes,seventynewfollowers.
Ihatesocialmedia.I’minbed,staringatotherpostsfromfloraldesignersacrosstheworld.Idon’tcarethattheyhaveonethousandtimesthefollowersorlikes;it’sthattheydeservethem.Myskinisbuzzingwithinspirationandjealousy.
Oneofthemhasawallofrosesspellingabrideandgroom’snames.Awall.Ofroses.Howmucharethesecouplesshellingoutforthisshit?ButevenasIshakemyhead,I’mitchingtosketchtheconstruction.Whatkindofstructureistheflowerfoammountedon?Doesithavetobeaday-ofinstallation,oristhisactuallysustainable?
SomeotherpunkkidisdoingAliceinWonderland–themedbouquets,nakedunderneathhisgardeningapron.He’sgottwentymillionfollowers.HisMadHatterbouquetisdrivingmenutsbecauseheclearlycoloredthepeoniesforit.I’mabouttobecomeoneofthoseinternettrollsI’veheardabout,readytopost“blacksprayonyourpeoniesbro?”whenanewlikeandanewfollowercomesin.
@AmazingAmalikedyourphoto
@AmazingAmastartedfollowingyou
MyeyesflickbacktowhereI’mtyping,tryingtodecidewhetherIwantacommaafterpeonies,whenIrealizewhoitmightbe.
Ileavethenakeddude’spageandclickonmynotificationsjustintimetosee:
@WeddingsbyAmastartedfollowingyou
Iclickthefirstprofileandseeherhugeeyesstaringwideatthecameraunderahatbrim.Accountisprivate.MythumbhoversovertheFollowbutton,butIdecideagainstit.
Privateaccounts.Instagram’sversionofonlinedating,onerejectedfollowrequestatatime.
Thebanneratthetopoftheappdropsdown.WeddingsbyAmahassentmeamessage.
Isitupinbed,feelingoddlylikeIneedtobenotinmyunderwearforthis.ButIlookatthetimeandshe’stheoneDM’ingmeateleventhirtyatnight.
Iclickthemessage,andit’salinktomyownpostofthechandelierandamessagefromher:
Thisisfuckingbeautiful
Iswallow.Iknowitis.Butthat’snotwhatyou’resupposedtosay.I’mstillthinkingoftheannoyingwayshetalkedandthescentofherperfumethatcutthroughtheflowersevenaftershewasgone.
Idecidetosaynothinginsteadofbeingrudeagain.Orinsteadofbeingforcedtotypethankyou.IgotoherWeddingsbyAmapageandlookatherposts.She’sbeenusingRellesFloristinMid-town.They’regood.MyfatherusedtogetdinnerwithMr.Relles,andtheirentirefamilycametohisfuneral.
Anewmessagepopsup.
Canyoumakeitfora12-footheadtable?
Istareatthescreen,thinkingofthetraysIhave.Onetrayisthreefeet.Iwouldn’tdofourtraysbecauseitwouldoutshinethetableitself.Icanconnectthreetrays,maybeevenlinkthemtogethersothere’smorestability—
Fornextweekend?
Ifrownattheincomingmessage.It’sThursday.Ninedaysforaspecialorderisn’tunheardof.ButnotoverInstagram.At11:38p.m.
Inmyhead,Idraftaresponse—mycousinsaidtheycanseeyoutype—andafterabouttenminutesIdisregardit.Ijustwriteback:
Calltheshoptomorrowandwe’lltalk.
It’sninea.m.,andI’mstilltryingtoturnonthecomputerwhenthedoorswingsopen.Thatsamebrimmedblackhatfromherprofilepicisonherhead,andthere’sabroadsmileonherlips.Withherhairdown,nowIcanseethatit’slong—tohermid-back.Shelookslikeawitch.
“Goodmorning!”
IcatchmyselfjuststaringwhilesheapproachesthecounterandIgruntaresponse,turningtotheregister.Shedropsapinkboxbetweenus.Iglareatit.
“Donuts!FromJStreetDonuts.”
“Veryinventivename.”
Hereyestwinkle.“Well,ElliotBloomofBlooming,wecan’tallbeasblessed.”Sheflipsopenthelid,andIspareaglanceatthehalfdozen.
“Idon’teatsugar.”
ShelookslikeIjustburneddownherhouse.“God,seriously?That’snotpossible.”
“Itis.Idon’t.”
“Ever?”Sheleansforwardonthecounter.“Whataboutsoda?”WhenIshakemyhead,sheblinkslikeshe’shavingastroke.“Ihaveadonutalmosteverysingleday.”
Iglanceherover,searchingforsignsthatshe’stellingthetruth.Thecurveofherhipscatchesmyattention,justlikelasttime,butIrefocusquickly.“Itoldyoutocall.”
“Whywastetime?”shesays,pluckingadonutholeoutofthebox,poppingitbetweenherblush-stainedlips,andreachingforheriPadinonemovement.
Iwatchherchew,hertongueswipingouttocatchthesugar.IthinkofMadisonBaileyinmiddleschool,tellinganyidiotwhowouldlistenthatyoushouldalwayseatinfrontofaboy.Itwillmakehimthinkaboutyourmouth.
FuckingMadison.Ididn’tbelieveherbackthen.
“Okay,”shesays,swallowing,andIwatchthatmovementtoo.HerfingersarequickoverheriPad.“WeddingisnextSaturday.Theheadtableistwelvefeetlong,andtheceilingisabouttwentyhigh.I’mthinkingthechandelierlandsatseventoeightfeet.Canyoucometothevenuetodayortomorrowtomeasureandconfirm?”
Hereyesflickuptome.Thecomputerscreengoesdark,taskcompletelyforgotten.Ishakethemouseandpretendtolookatmycalendar.
“Nooneitherday.That’swhenmycousincancovertheshop.”
“Awesome.Today,please,”shesays.Shetellsmethelocation,thensays,“CanIseethepiece?Isitstillhere?”
Iheadtotheback,turningtoholdthedooropenforher.Shegrabsachocolatedonutfromherboxandfollows.
Thesinglebulbflickerstolifeinthebackroom.Iusedaworklightfortheinitialpicture.Italmostlookedwellstaged,withtherusticgreenpaintonthewallbehindthechandelier.
Shemovesrighttoit,reachinguptotouchthebaby’sbreath,steppingunderneathandstaringatthetrays.She’stiny,really.Shejustwearstallshoes.
“Inthepinks,right?”Isay,slidingmyaprononovermyhead.
“Yeah,perfect.”
“Istheclientcomingtoconfirm?”
“Iamtheclient,”shesaysabsently,steppingbacktoobservewhereitconnectstotheceiling.
Somethinginmychestdrops.Likeabirdshotdead.
“Congratulations,”Imutter,watchinghertakeabiteofthedonut.Watchinghermouth.
“Mm.”Shespinstome.“Sorry.”Sheeventuallyswallows.“Notme.Mymom.She’sgettingmarried;I’mdesigningit.”
Idragmygazetothemessofthebackroom,ignoringtheadrenalinepumpingthroughme,aswellastherelief.Iclearmythroatandcontinue.“Thetraysarethreefeet.IthinkI’lldothreeofthemtonotovershadow.Andthentheflowerswilloverflowtheendsandgivemorevolume.”
Shenodsandstaresatmewithagrin.“Youcanspeakmorethanthree-wordsentences.Cool.”
IrollmyeyesandstepuptoshowherwhereI’llconnectthetrays.Iseeherglanceatthetattooonthebackofmyleftforearm.
“Whichfloweristhat?”
Ibendmyelbowback.“It’saVietnameseorchid.It’sendangered.”
Shestaresatthetattoo,thewhitepetalsandreddish-pinkcenter.“Isityourfavorite?”
Idropmyarm,fingersreachingformyothersleevetorollitdown.“No,Idon’thaveafavorite.”
HergazeflickstomyrightarmasIcoverittothewrist,butshedropsthesubject.“Doyouhavemoretodoacenterpiecetoo?Justaesthetically,tomatchaboveandbelow.”
“Youdon’thaveyourcenterpiecesyet?”
“Ido.I’dratherhavethis.”
Imoveintothemainshop,headingtowardtheStemBarforthefeatheryastilbeandbaby’sbreath.“Whataretheotherflowers?”Icalltoher.“Icanmatchandfillthecenter.”
“Whitedahlias.”Shesurprisesmebybeingrightnexttome.
Shefollowsmeintothebackroomagain,andItakealowbasinfromashelf,startingtoarrangethesprigstofanoutofthesides.Icanfeelherwatchingmyhandsmove.Thecenterisbare,andIpullsomethickwhitecandlesasanoption.“Icanfillthecenterwiththedahliasorweavethemin.”
“Whatdoyouthinkisbest?”
She’slookingatmeexpectantly,andIfeellikethisissomesortoftest.
Istartweavingthemintothebaby’sbreath.Hopefullyintegratingthedahliaswillhelpthesecenterpiecesmatchtheotherfloraldesign.
“Doyouliketheguy?”Iask.
Shedoesn’tanswer,andIglanceup.“Theguy?”sheasks.
“Yourmom’snewhusband.”
“Oh.”Shesnorts,wavingherhandflippantly.“Itdoesn’tmatter.”Zeropointsthere.“Okay.”
“Sorry,Ijustmean—shedoesn’tstaymarriedforlong.SowhetherIlikehimornotisinconsequential.I’llspendthesummerwithhimandhiskids,maybeLaborDay,andthenIprobablywon’tseehimeveragain.”There’sadownwardtilttohermouth.
“Thatsoundshard,”Itry.
Hereyesflipuptomine.“Sometimes.”
“Isyourdadstillaround?”Shedoesn’tanswerrightaway,andIfeelmyskinheat.“Sorry,youdon’thaveto—”
“It’sokay.”Sheflashesasmileandsays,“He’sinConnecticut.Withanewfamily.Morestepsiblingsforme!”Shelaughs,likethere’sajokethere,butIdon’tgetit.“IusedtoflyouteveryotherChristmas,butit’sbeenafewyears.Hegavemehiscarformysixteenthbirthday,andwestartedjustcallingeachotheronholidays.”
Ilookupather.HereyesaregluedonthecenterpieceI’mmaking,butthere’snothingsadorembarrassedaboutherexpression.It’sfact.Ican’tquiteapologizeforfacts.
Shepivotstopicquickly,gesturingtotheflowersasIfinishup.“Thislooksgreat.Ifyouweren’tsuchanasshole,Iwouldhaveorderedtenofthesealready.”
“Oh,youdidn’tlikeyourboutonniere?”Iaskinnocently,mylipstwitching.Iwipemyhandwitharagandleadherbacktothecounter.
Shefollows.“Youmeanthebuttercupsforimmaturity,thepetuniasforresentment,and—whatwasthatotherplantyouused?”
“Poisonivy.”Igrabanordersheetfromthedrawerandsneakaglanceupather.She’sgapingatmelikeafish.WhensherealizesI’mjoking,Iseeherbitingtheinsideofhercheektokeepfromsmiling.
Iscribbletheorderdowninmychickenscratch.“Wechargeanaddedtenpercentforrushorders.”Shenodsinagreement.“Andthere’saPITAfee.”
Sheblinks,andthenshehumsheracceptance.Shelooksdownatherphone,butIwatchhereyesfocus,tryingtofigureoutwhataPITAis.
It’stheonethingmyfathereverdidthatconvincedmewewererelated.He’dchargeaPITAfeesometimes.Painintheass.Itwasonlyevertendollars,soheusedtodonateittothelibraryorthehighschool.
Iwritetheordernameatthetop.AmaTorres.AsIscribblethedate,Isay,“Amalgamation.”
Shepausestyping—probablylookingupPITA—andstaresatme.“YouthinkmymothernamedmeAmalgamation?”
Ishrug.“TherearesofewA-M-Awordsintheworld.Amaranth?”
“Youareconvenientlyforgettingamazing.WhatisAmaranth?”
“Ididn’tforget;Idisregarded.Amaranthisaplant.DroopingpinkflowersthatIuseinbouquetssometimes.”
Thecornersofhermouthtighten,andshehums.“Nope.”Hereyeslookawayquickly.
IleanforwardonthecountersoIcanseethesmalldetailsinherexpressionthatsayI’mtooclosetothetruth.
Myeyesflicktothefrontwindow—theflowerIcaughtherpawingthefirsttimeshecameintomyshop.The“RedPearl”I’dgotteninfromSouthAmerica.Thesecondbudjustopenedtoday,crimsonred.
Imovearoundthecounterandtakemyminishearsfrommybackpocket.Irunmyfingertipsoverthedarkpetals,thestamenreachingoutwardtome,sayinggoodbye.
“Amaryllis,”Isay,myvoicesoftinthequietshop.Iliftmyeyestoher,andshe’spressingherlipstogether,ablushonhercheeks,astainonherneckasvibrantastheRedPearlamaryllis.“Isyourmotherafanofmusicals,or…?”
Hereyessparkleagain.“HowdoessomeonelikeyouknowaminorcharacterfromTheMusicMan?”
“HowmanytimesdoIhavetotellyou?IhaveHBO.”Islidemyclippersoverthestemoftheolderbudandsnip.Movingslowlybacktothecounter,Igrababundleofthepinkbaby’sbreathfrommyapronandsay,“Amarylliswasameanlittlegirlwhowasveryrudetoalittleboywithalisp.Andasalittleboywhohadalisp…”Hereyeswiden,likeI’vegivenherayear’ssupplyofdonuts.“IvowedtotakemyrevengeonAmaryllises…bychargingatwenty-dollardeliveryfee.”
Shefightsasmile.Igrabapinkribbon,tieofftheamaryllisandbaby’sbreathwithaquicktwist,andsetitnexttohercopyoftheorder.
“Seeyouatnoon,”Isay,beforedisappearingintothebacktocleanup.
WhenIgettothecountryclublater,she’spinnedittoherblouse,abovetheswellofherbreasts.Idoaterriblejobofkeepingmygazefromdropping.9AmaMARCH
It’shardtofocusonotherweddingswhenIhaveHazelandJackie’sloomingoverme.OnSaturdaymorningattheGutiérrez-Montoyaceremony,Isketchedreceptionhalldesignswhilethebridalpartytaughtthewaitstafftheirchoreographyto“BeOurGuest,”whichthecoupledemandedtobeperformedastheentréescameout.Ihadtwoofmyex-stepsiblingsthereasplants,dressedlikethewaitstaffandlearningthedanceforfiftybucks.
Myfavoritesofmymother’shusbandsaretheoneswithkidswhoneedjobexperience.
ButnothingIsketchfeelsright.Itdoesn’tfeelElliot
Surprisingly,thethingIhateaboutworkingwithElliotBloomagainisthecreativepossibilityhealwaysmademefeel.Hecouldsendmeapictureofahalf-finishedpiece,anditwouldchangemyentiredesignforawedding.BecauseIhadtohaveit.Elliothasawayofcreatingsomethingfromnothingthat’sreallyaddictive.Youcansay,“Iwantaneight-footEiffelTowermadeofflowers,”andhe’llsendthedesignandthequotethenextday
It’sMonday,andI’malreadyonmysixthsketchofareceptionhallthatdoesn’texist,basedsolelyonhisfloraldancefloor.Ihavethreeindoorandthreeoutdoordesigns.I’mactivelyignoringtheotherweddingscomingupoverthenextsevenmonths,becauseIcan’tstopthinkingaboutthepossibility
IstandfrommydeskinthebedroomI’veconvertedintoanoffice,popmyback,andgofeedthecat.LadyCat-ryndePurrghflickshertailatmeandignoresherchow.Shewantstheleftoversushishesmelledinmyto-goboxafewdaysago.MartookmeouttodinneronFridaytotalkthroughthemeetingwithElliot.Iliedandtoldheritwentbetterthanexpected.SheaskedwhyIwaslying,andIorderedanotherroundofdrinksinresponse.
Despitethehugepaycutshe’dbetaking,I’mgoingtobegMartoworkasmyassistantfortheJackieandHazelwedding,becauseaswonderfulaphotographerassheis,Hazelisgoingtorequireawholeteamwho’veworkedtogetherbefore.Marworksprimarilyalone.Shemetherlastboyfriendthroughphotography,andshehadhimtagalongasassistantforhercontractedevents.Sincetheybrokeupinthefall,she’sbeendoingitsoloandinterviewingassistantsfromthephotographyprogramatcitycollege,butnoneofthemarereadyforthescaleofthiswedding.
Sighing,Ilookattheclock.IhavethreemorebusinesshoursifIwanttomakeanyheadwayonvendors.MyabsolutefavoriterentalcompanythatIworkedwithunderWhitneyisthefirstchoiceforanothercoupleIhave.Idon’tusuallygettoworkwithEverlastEventRentalsbecausetheirpricesdon’tmatchmyclients’budgets,butAshleyandDavinwanttosplurge.IwanttonailthemdownforJackieandHazeltoo.
IdialandhopethatVickiestillworksthere.WhenIfinallygetheronthephone,wecatchupforabitaboutherkids,hermom,mymom.Wehaven’treallychattedsinceIleftWHW,andit’snicetotalktoher.
“Okay,IhavetwoweddingsIwanttogetEverlastonthebooksfor,”Isay.
“Hitme.”Ihearherlongfingernailsclackingonthekeyboard.“We’rereallybookedforthenextsixmonthssoIhopeyou’reearly.”
“Ihopesotoo.IhavetheDawsonsonDecembersecond.They’relookingforastandardpackageandaheadtablekit.”
“Yep.Wecandothat.Plentythatday.”
“Awesome.PencilmeinandI’llbringthecoupleinsometimethisweek.AndthenIhaveareallybigweddinginOctober.FYI,it’sprobablygonnabecoveredbythemedia.”
“Oookay,Iwillmakeanote.Nochippedplates.”
Ilaugh.“Octoberseventh.We’llneedawholepackage,butI’mnotsureaboutthedetailsyet.Icanbringtheminthisweek.”
“Hm.”Vickiepauses.“Octoberseventhiscrazybusy.Ama,I’mnotsurewecandoit.”
Myheartstops.“Really?WhatamImissing?Whyisthatdaysopopular?”
“Itlookslikewehavesevenoreightthatdayalready.We’regoingtobewipedout.”
Mymindisrunning.Whatifthisisvendor-wide?WhatifI’malreadybehindonbookingsbecauseit’ssomeonelikeTimothéeChalamet’sbirthdayandalltheChalamaniacswanttogetmarriedthatday?
“I…Wow.I’vegottacheckwithmyothervendorsonthistoo.ButVickie,Iwasn’tkiddingabouthighprofile.Isthereanychanceofmovingthingsaround?Or…?”
Shesighs.“Well,Iwouldbringitupwiththeowner,butfouroftheseweddingsareWhitney.You,ofallpeople,knowIcan’tcancelaWhitney.”
Iblinkatthewall,mymouthhangingopen.“FourWhitneyweddings?OnOctoberseventh?”
“Yep.Doyouhaveanythingelseyouwanttogetonthecalendarnow?Justincase?”
Ishakemyhead,butshedoesn’tseeme.“No,thankyousomuch,Vickie.KeepmeonthereforDecembersecond,andI’llcallforameetingASAP.”
I’malreadyreachingformypurseasIhangup,fumblingtograbmyiPad.IpullupthenotesappandsearchforthelistImadeinWhitney’soffice.Thelistshegavemeofvendorsshewasn’tusingonOctoberseventh.
Everlastisatthetop.
It’sbeenfourdayssinceIwasatWhitney’soffice.It’shighlypossiblehercalendarbookedupinthattime.Butit’salsosuspicious.
Icrackmyneck,shakingoffthatthought.Thatwouldn’tmakeanysense.NotwiththewayshetreatedmeonThursday.Shewashappytoseeme,happytohelpme.NowI’mworriedIgaveherthewrongdate—thatallofthesevendorsonthislistarenotbeingutilizedbyWhitneyonadifferentday.
IlookupthenumberforFreeportBakeryinarush.Ihaven’ttalkedcakewithJackieandHazelatall,butIneedtogettheseconsultsgoingquickly.
Icallsixbakeries.TheyallhaveweddingsonOctoberseventh.Twoofthemdon’tknowwhoIamatallbecauseIneverworkedwiththemunderWhitney,andtheotherswouldn’ttellmeifitwasWhitneyHarrisonWeddingsthatbookedthemevenifIasked.
It’snottheendoftheworld.TheycanstilldoanotherOctoberseventhwedding,butscalemaybeanissue.
ItextJackietogetareadonwhatthey’rethinkingforcakes.Shedoesn’tgetbacktomeuntilafterfourofthesixbakerieshaveclosedfortheday,butitdoesn’tmatter.Shesays,Noideayet!Whatareyouthinking??
Well,I’mthinkingthatyou’vemadeabigmistakehiringmeandthatwemightevenhavetodoaSanFranciscobakeryatthispoint,andIhavenocontactsthere.
LadyCat-rynjumpsonmyshoulderandtearsintomyskinasthesunissetting—aperfectreminderthatIcan’tjustsitherealldaystewing.Iunrollthesushi,putitonaplate,anddropitonthefloorforherasItakemyjacketandgoforawalk.
Istuffmyhandsinmypockets,staringatthetreetopsbillowingandthinking.MaybeIcancallWhitneyforhelp?MaybeIcanaskifshe’lltalktothesebakeriesonmybehalf,ormaybegivemetheSanFrancisconamesshe’sworkedwith?Butthatlooksweak.And—
Andunprofessional.
Ishouldbeabletodothismyself,butitreallyfeelslikeI’vebittenoffmorethanIcanchewhere.
Myfeettakemearoundtheblockandpastthebookstoreontheedgeofthepark.ThenI’mheadedfortheRoseGarden.It’sstartingtogetdarknow,butIstandonthesidewalkstaringatthespotwherethearchusuallygoesduringweddings.Theunhingedpeoplewhocanrunacouplemilesafteralongdayatworkarenowout,takingthedirttrailaroundthepark.IalmostgetclippedbyoneasIstepintothegardenandplopdownonthegrass,imaginingHazelandJackiegettingmarriedhereinjustundersevenmonths.
TheRoseGardenisn’treallythatgreat.It’sbeautifulifyouloveroses.Andwhodoesn’t?Exceptforangryfloristswhohaveendangeredflowerstattooedallovertheirbodies,butIdigress.TheRoseGarden…Well,it’snotreallyJackieandHazel.JackieandHazelarewineries.Rusticbarns.Oldfactorieswithflowerssproutingoutofmilkpails.
IhatethatIdon’thavethereceptionvenueyet,becauseitfeelslikeIwantthereceptionvenuetomakeupforwhattheRoseGardenlacks.ButmaybeIjustdon’tknowwhatJackiewantsfromthis.WhytheRoseGarden?
IusedtoaskthesequestionsunderWhitney,andshe’dtellmelatertotrynottogetcarriedaway.ButWhitneydoesn’tunderstandthatinordertodesignsomeone’swedding,youhavetoknowwhy.Youhavetoknowhowtheymet.Youhavetoknowtheproposalstory,andhowclosethebride’smotheristoher,andwhyshebecameavegan,andwhyshedoesn’teatdonuts
Youhavetoknowthesethingsorelseyoumightaswellbedesigninganyone’swedding.AndWhitneydidn’tlikeitwhenIcrossedthatline.ButWhitneywasn’ttheonespinningoutideaslikegoldfromstraw.
IhearElliotinmyhead.SomethinghesaidtometwoandahalfyearsagothatIburiedandtoldhimtodrop.
MaybeWhitneydidblacklistmefromhervendorsforOctoberseventh.Idon’tknowwhyshewould,butmaybeshedid.AndmaybethatmeansIdon’thavetobeherkindofprofessionalanymore.
IpulloutmyphoneandcallJackie.
“Hi,Ama!”
Herenthusiasmisseriouslysocute.ShereallythinksthatIcanactuallypullaweddingoutofmyass.AndmaybeIfuckingcan.
“I’msittingattheRoseGarden.Areyoufree?”
Jackiemeetsmeinfifteenminutes.Thestreetlampsarestartingtoflickeronaroundthepark,andtheneighborhooddogsareontheireveningwalks.Whenshewalksup,Jackieisbouncinginexcitement,likeI’mabouttocastaspellandallherwisheswillbegranted.
Shesitsnexttomeonthegrass.Iask,“WhytheRoseGarden?”
“Gosh.”Shesniffsandthinksaboutit.“Iusedtohavesoccerpracticeoverthere.”Shepointsacrossthepark.“Andsometimestherewouldbeweddingsontheweekends.IfeellikeI’vealwayswantedmyweddinghere.”
Inodandtwistmynecklacethroughmyfingers.“Sothere’sasenseofnostalgiaforyou.Beingyounganddreaming.”
“Yeah.Ohgod.”Hereyespopwide.“Isthatnotgood?Isitnotagoodenoughreason?”
“Stop!”Ilaughandnudgeherwithmyelbow.“Ofcourseit’sgoodenough.It’swhatyoudreamtof.I’mjusttryingtovisualizeJackieandHazelintheRoseGardenastwelve-year-oldJackiedid.”
Istandandhelphertoherfeet.Wetracethepathwaywe’veseendozensofbridestakethroughtherosebushes.Weframetheweddingpartyoneithersideofthemainentrance.Istilldon’tseethis.Shestartstosensemyhesitation,Ithink.
“What’swrong?”She’swincing.
“IthinkyouandHazelarespecial.Notjusthighprofile,butendearingandfun.SoIwanttoutilizetheRoseGardeninthatsameway,andit’sdifficult.Nottomention”—Isweepmyhandoverthegrounds—“there’snowaytwohundredpeoplearefittinginhere.”
It’ssomethingI’vehadinthebackofmymindforawhile.WhilepermitsfortheRoseGardenareforuptotwohundred,theseatingreallyonlyfitsonehundredbeforetheviewsareobscured.Iturntolookoutoverthewholeparkandthebusystreetattached.Thatwastheotherproblem.There’salwaysacarhorninthemiddleoftheweddingvideowhenyou’reattheRoseGarden.
Andthat’swhenithitsme.I’veneverhadthismuchmoneytoplaywithattheRoseGarden.Ihaven’thadthiskindofbudgetforoverthreeyears.Whenyouhavemoney,youcanthinkoutsidethebox.
“Whatifthealtarisoverthere?”Ipointtotheoppositesideofthegarden,wheretheguestsusuallysit.
“Okay…”Jackiestandsnexttome.“Whereiseveryoneelse?”
“Whatif…”Itakeabreath.Iknowthisisalittlecrazy.“Whatifwerentoutthisentiresectionofthepark?Weblockthestreet.Wehiresecurityfortheperimeter.”Ilookatherandhereyebrowsareinherhairline.“Youguyswantashowstopper.Let’sstopthetown.”
IseethemomentsherealizesthatIcandowhatI’msuggesting.Sheblinksquicklyagainstthefadingsunlightandsays,“That’s…that’samazing.Therewouldn’tbeanyconcernsaboutseating.”
Theideasarecomingfasttomenow.Ispintowardoneofthehousesliningthestreet.“Thattwo-story?That’sanAirbnb.Wecanrentitfortheweekendandhavetheweddingpartystaythere.Thenwhenit’stimetocallHazeltothealtar,shegoesaroundthatway”—Ipointoutthepatharoundtheedgeofthegarden—“hidden,andyoucomestraightfromthehouse,acrossthestreetthatwe’veblockedoff,andimmediatelydowntheaisle.Youbothwalkdowntheaislefromoppositesides,tomeetinthemiddle.”
Herfingerscometoherlips,watchingthepathI’velaidout.“Canyouactuallydothat?Canyoublockoffthestreet?”
“I’vedoneitbefore.It’lltakesomemoney,butwehavethat.Nottobecrass…”
“Becrasser.”Shesnorts.“Whataboutthereception?”
“Istillthinkthat’selsewhere.Ithinkwepullupourtransportationalongthatsidestreet,andfiletheguestsin.Wecould—”Icutmyselfoff.IthinkI’mmovingtoofast,butJackie’shangingonmyeveryword.“Wecoulddosomethinginthesamestyle.Pop-upwedding—butpermitted,ofcourse.There’salotofabandonedbuildingsinMidtown.Andbeforeyousay‘yuck’—”Isay,butshe’sbouncingonherheels.
“There’sonenexttoWeatherstone,thecoffeeshopwemetat.ItusedtobemydancestudiowhenIdidballet.”
Iholdupafinger.“Okay,we’recomingbacktoyoubeingaballerinaandasoccerplayer,butfirstofall,ifyou’retellingmethere’sanabandoneddancestudionexttoWeatherstone,thenIthinkI’mcallingthecitytomorrowtomakesureit’snotcondemned.It’sthebuildingontheleft?”
“Yes!There’sastudiowheretheyusedtorehearseforNutcracker,soitmayfittheguestlist.Highceilingsandeverything.Weusedtosneakuptotheroof,andIthinkitwasatleastthreestorieshigh.”
Ifilethataway.ApossiblerooftopweddingvenueinMidtownSacramento?That’saweddingplanner’sdream.
I’mbitingbackasmileasIlookupanddownthestreet.“Youknow,it’stechnicallywalkingdistance,but…wecoulddosomethingreallycutewiththetransportationtothereception,especiallysincethisstreetwillbeclosedoff.”
“Areyougivingmeahorse-drawncarriageatmywedding,Ama?”Jackiesqueals,andItakeherarmsandshakeher.
“Ican’tbelieveyoustolemysuperexcitingthingIwasgoingtosay!Howdareyou!”
Shelaughsandthrowsherarmsaroundme.MymindisracingasIthinkofallthepermitsIneedtolookinto,buthangingoverallofthisistheknowledgethatwhateverIdreamup…itcanbedone.IhaveElliotBloomworkingit.
I’mfinallylookingforwardtothisdesign.Tomorrowcan’tcomesoonenough.10ElliotTHREEYEARS,FIVEMONTHS,ONEWEEK,ANDONEDAYAGO
I’maddictedtomyphone.Onedaywewillhavesupportgroupsforthis—ourbackscurvedlikecroissants,ourthumbstwitchingwiththeneedtoswipe,allblindedfromthebluelight.
Ipostedapictureofadeconstructedfloralarchtenminutesago,andI’malreadycheckingonTwittertoseeifInstagramisbroken.Afterfiveminutes,Ifinallygetasetoflikes.Butbecausemyself-worthisnowintrinsicallytiedtothispicture,I’mthinkingofdeletingit,thenmyself.
Theshopphonerings,andIthankgodIhavesomethingelsetothinkabout.
“Hello,”Imumble.
“Areyouserious?Deletethat.”
Irecognizethevoice.“EmmaTorres?”
“Youknowit’sAm—forgetit.That’sthemosthideousthingI’veeverseen.Youhaveabagofpottingsoilinthecorneroftheimage.”
IfumblemyphoneoutofmypocketandopenInstagram.Damnit.I’mnobetterthanmyfather.
“Yeah,Iguessit’snotthatgood.”Mythumbwistfullytapsthedeletebutton.
“Well,Imeanthearchisgorgeous.Arethosehydrangeas?”
Iwatchthepicturedisappearwithitsfourlikes,andsomethingspinsinmychestfromhercompliment.“Yeah.Hydrangeasandwhiteroses.It’sbasic.Andbeendonebefore.”
“Notbyyou.”Shescoffswithit,likethere’ssomethingI’mmissing.“Whatareyoudoingthisafternoon?”
Thespinninginmycheststops,andI’mallvibration.Mymouthopenstosaynothingatall,butjustbeforeIdo,Icatchmyself.“Theshop—”Iclearmythroat.“We’reopenuntilfive,butafterward…”
Iletithangawkwardly,butshejumpsin.“Cool.I’llcomebyaroundtwo.Don’tdoanythingwiththatarch!”
Thelinedisconnects.ShameburnsinmygutthatIevensuggestedseeingherafterbusinesshours.She’sprobablybringingacouplebytolookatthepiece.Igointothebackandstartmovingthingsaround,gettingthesoiloutofthereandbackintothecupboards.IsmelllikeI’vebeenworking,unfortunately,soatnoonIclosetheshopfortenminutes,runtothetwenty-four-hourgymIbelongto,andtaketheshortestshowerofmylife.Ihaveonespareshirtinthebackofmycar.It’swrinkled,butitdoesn’tsmelllikeIjustspentfourhoursbuildingadeconstructedfloralarchjusttogetrejectedbyInstagramandAmaTorresinunderanhour.
Whentworollsaround,thedoorswingsopen,andIpretendIwasn’twaitingforit.Iturntogreetherwithmyusualscowl,butinstead,themostbeautifulgirlI’veseeninmylifeisstandinginthedoorway.She’stallandlong-limbedwithdarkhairandbigeyes.She’sthekindofgirlthatguysfalloverthemselvesfor,butwhoIdecidedlongagoisn’tforme.Idon’tlikefallingovermyself
Amasqueezesthroughthedoorbehindher,andeveninbootswithheels,she’scomicallyshortnexttothisgirl.Hereyescatchonmebythelilies,andeventhoughI’mfrowningatthepinkboxinherhand,hercheekstugintocutelittlecirclesasshebeamsatme.Herhair’sdown,andsherunsahandthroughit,rufflingittofallinloosetendrils.
Ifeelmyfingerscurl.
“Hi!”Amachirps.“ThisisMar!Mar,thisisElliotBloom.HeownsBlooming.”
Marstepsforwardwithademuresmileonherfulllipsandshakesmyhand.JustasI’mabouttoaskifshe’stheonegettingmarriedthistime,Amasays,“Ithinkyoushouldgetashotofthefrontcountertoo.”She’ssweepingherhandthroughtheairlikepaintingalandscape.
Marnodsandreachesintoabagonhershoulder.“Totally.Wecanstageacoupleofthese.”Shepullsoutacamera.
IstandinconfusionasAmamovestothecounter,dropsthedonutbox,andgrabsachocolateonebeforedisappearingintotheback.Ihear“Ohmygod,wow”aroundamouthfulofdonut,asMarstartsattachingalensandmovingthroughtherowsofbouquets.
Mymouthopensandcloses.IfollowAmaintotheback,whereshe’sdroppingdonutcrumbsonmyfloor.
“Don’teatbackhere.I’llgetbugs.”
“Yeah,thisisbeautiful,”shesays,takinganotherbiteandignoringme.“Marwillhavetogetsomeequipmentfromhercar,butthiswillbegreat.Maybewe’llputitintheparkinglot.Isthereafencebackthere?Iforget.”Shestartsmovingtothesidedoor.
“What’shappening?Who’sMar?”
Shespinstomewithahugesmile.“Mysister!Well,ex-stepsister.She’saphotographer.”Sheexitsthesidedoorlikeallmyquestionsweresuccessfullyanswered.Thedoorclosesbehindherasshechatterstoherselfabouttheparkinglot,andwhenshetriestoopenitagain,Ialmostdon’tmovetounlockit.Sheknockssoftlyinoneofthoseshave-and-a-haircutpatterns,andIrollmyeyes.
Iopenit,andshepushespastmewithoutathank-you,callingforMartocomesee.
Istandinacornerasthetwoofthemmovearound,rearrangingflowerpots,movingpaperworkfromthefrontcounter,andbringinginlightsandscreens.I’mnotneededuntilit’stimetomovethearch.Amatriestotakeoneside,andIshakemyhead,liftingitbymyself.Sheholdsthedooropenforme,andit’sthefirsttimeI’mgladIwastedallthattimeshoweringasIpassherclosely.Shesmellslikesugar.
Marcomesovertoshowmeafewoftheshotsofthearch,andIagree,itlooksbetter.Professional.IseeMarcheckmyfaceformyopinion,andhereyesdarttomymouth,mycollar.She’sstandingclose,andIshiftaway.
“Hey!”Amaappearsinfrontofus.“Let’sgetElliotatthecounter,infrontoftheBloomingsign.”
Ifrown.“Why?”
“Youcanputitonthewebsite!OronInstagram,”shesaysassheheadsbackinside.Then,underherbreath:“God,thenumberoffollowersthatwouldgetyou…”
IscowlatthefloorasIholdthedooropenforMar,tryingtofigureouthermeaning.“I’mnotgoingtopostapictureofmeholdingaflowertotheInstagramaccount,”IyellafterAma.She’salreadyatthefrontcounter,stealinganorchidtosetnexttotheregister.
“Oh,comeon,I’llletyoucrossyourarmsandglare,”shesays,andIletmyarmsdropfromwheretheywerecrossed.“Elliot,you’dbesurprisedhowmanypeoplewouldliketoseethemanbehindthesestunningarrangements.Andyoulooksogoodtoday.”
ThelastpartissooffhandandquickthatIbarelyhaveasecondtocatchitbeforeshe’sdraggingmetostandbehindthecounter,undertheoldwoodensignthatmydadpaintedhimself.MylimbshangawkwardlyandsuddenlyI’mbackinschool,forcedintothebackofeverypictureandaskedtosmileabitlessstrangely.
Amastandsontheothersideofthecounterandtiltsherheadatme.“Leanonthecounter.”Sheshowsme,pressingherpalmsagainstthetopandpressingherweightintoit.Shelooksridiculous,likeanangrymouse.ButwhenIdoit,shereachesup,andherfingerspullsomeofmyhairforward.She’sstaringatthewaveofblackhairasherfingerstrytotwirlit,andIcan’tgetoverhowclosesheis.It’snotuntilthesecondclickthatIrealizeMaristakingpicturesalready.ItearmygazefromAma’sfocusedexpressionandseeatwisttoMar’slipsthatIdon’tlike.
“Pushyoursleevesup.”
IlookdownatAmaagain.Shemimesit,likeIdon’tunderstandEnglish.“Why?”
“Sowecanseeyourtattoos.”
Ihesitate.“Ikeepthemcoveredsomoreconservativeclientsaren’tprejudicedagainstme.”
Amasnorts.“Trustme,we’regoingforawholenewdemographichere.”Hervoiceissly,asiftheyhaveasecretshe’snotlettingmeinon.Behindher,Marchucklesatthecamerascreenasshereviews.
Ipushmysleevesup,andAma’seyesdrop,catchingonthefloweronmyrightarm.“What’sthatone?”sheasks.
I’mgettingannoyednow,soIjustsay,“Lookitup.”
Sheflashesmeabrilliantsmile,cheeksroundandteethwhite.AndthenshebitesherbottomlipwiththoseteethandIhearanotherclick.
IlookuptoMar,resumeleaningonthecounter,andAmamovestoMar’sside.“Iwon’tsmile,”Isay.
“Iwouldn’tdreamofaskingit,”Marsayswithafakegrin.
Martakesafewshots.Theytalklighting.Amagoestofusswithmyfrontwindowblinds.I’machingforthephonetoringoracustomertocomein.MarshowsAmaoneofthepicsandtheybothgiggle,whispering.
Fuck.Iambackinhighschool.
“Arewedone?”
Theylookupatme,maybeshockedatmytone.Marrecoversfirst.“Yep!Letmeemailthemtoyou,andthenIshouldrunacrossthestreettoRiteAid,actually.”
“Oh,okay.Wantmetocomewith?”AmagrabsmybusinesscardfromthecounterandletsMartypeintheemailaddress.
“No,no,”Marsays,andthecornerofhermouthtwitches.“Whydon’tyouhelpElliotchoosewhichonetoposttoday.”
IpullmysleevesbackdownandhelpMarpackupherlightingequipmentinsilenceasthetwoofthemchatter.WhenIcomebackfromsettingthelightsinMar’scar,Amaissittingonmyfrontcounter,swipingthroughpicturesonherphone.She’sgotonelegcrossedovertheother,likethat’sanybetterthannot.Herdressisuptothetopofherthigh.
“Offthecounter,”Isayroughly,butshejustjumpsdown,landinglikeacat,facestillfocusedonthephone.
“Isentthemtobothofyou,”Marsays.“Ama,I’llbebackintenorfifteen.”
“WhatdoIoweyou?”IsaytoMar.
Shetiltsherheadatme,blinking.“Oh,no.Thiswasfun.JusthaveAmatagmeinthepostsasthephotocredit.”
Andthenshe’sgone.
Andit’sjustmeandAma.
“Okay,there’slike,enoughherefortwoweeks’worthofdailyposts.”
Iturntoher.She’sleaningbackonthecounter,legscrossedattheankles.
“Ican’tkeepthatkindofconsistencythough.”
Shewavesherfreehand,stillstaringatthephotos.“Justgetagallerygoing,getsomefollowers.Therestwillcome.I’dliketogetthedeconstructedarchpostedfirst,soIcansendittoafewclients.”
Inod.I’mstillstandingatthedoor.ItfeelslikeI’mthecustomerandshe’stheshopowner,withhowcomfortablesheis.Forlackofanythingbettertodo,Imoveintothebackroomtomakesureeverythingisbackinitsplacethere.
WhileI’mresettingthethingstheymovedaround,hervoicecallsfromthedoorway,“Okay,gotoyouremail.”
Sighing,IpullmyphoneoutandopentheemailfromMarianaJaswal.
“Downloadthatwholealbum,andI’llhelpyoupostit.”
“IknowhowtoposttoInstagram,”Isnap.
Shesnorts.It’sstillcute.Ihateit.“Notreally,no.”
Idownloadthepictures,IopenInstagram,andIhandhermyphone.Whichimmediatelyfeelslikeamistake.Sheshowsmewhichfilterstouse,whichhashtags,andhowtoproperlycreditMar,butnoneofitmattersbecausesheproceedstoscheduletenmorepoststhesameway.Iseeoverhershoulderthepictureofmeatthecounter.
“Don’tusethatone.”
Shelooksupatmeforthefirsttimeinalmosttenminutes.“Whynot?”
I’mcloseenoughtoseewherethedarkbrownofheririsesmeetsherblackpupils.
“It’sridiculous,”Isay,reachingformyphone.
Shejerksitaway.“You’reridiculous.Hey,what’sthisflower?”Shepointstothephone,wheremyrightforearmisexposed.
“It’saFranklinia.Franklintree,namedafterBenFranklin.”Ifeelmyselfreachingformysleevetopulldownwhat’salreadypulleddown.
“AreyoulikeaBenFranklinfanboy?Or…?”
Myeyessnaptoher.“WhatthefuckisaBenFranklinfanboy?”
Sheshrugs.“Youtellme!Doyoutakeakiteoutinlightningstorms?Doyouworkexclusivelyinhundred-dollarbills—”
“TheFranklinTree,”Istopher,“isextinctinthewild.”
Iseehereyessparkle.“So,youtattooyourselfwithflowersyou’llneversee?”
Mymouthopenstocontradictherbeforeherwordsregister—beforeIhearhoweasilysheexplainedit.Iswallow,neitherconfirmingnordenying.
“Howmanydoyouhave?”
“What?”Myvoiceisragged.
“Tattoos.”
“Six.”Iseehereyesscanme,searchingforhintsastowheretheyare.Thebloodthat’sbeenstainingmyfacerushesdown,andIclearmythroat.“Doyouhaveany?”
Sheshakesherhead.Herlipsarecurvedinasoftsmile,andhereyesareimpossiblybigthisclose.“I’vebeenwantingone,though.WhereshouldIgetit?”
Icanfeelmyheartbeatinmyfingertips.Therestrainttokeepfromscanningherbodylikeshescannedminecomeswithsuchconcentration.There’ssandinmythroatwhenIrespond,“Whatdoyouwant?”
HerlashesfluttersoquicklyIthinkIimaginedit.Ifeellikeshe’scloser,butIdidn’tseehermove.
“Maybesomeonecouldtalkmeintoaflower.”Hervoiceislow.Vowelsroundandslow.
“Youalreadyareaflower.”Iregretitthesecondit’soutofmymouth.It’snotsmooth.It’snotsexy.
Buthermouthlifts,expressionblossoming.“Iamaflower,”sheagrees,teethgleamingatme.Hertongueflicksout,andshemustknow.MadisonBaileymusthavetoldhertodothat.ShehastoknowthatI’mstaringathermouth,thatI’mhalfhardfromjustthisconversation.Thatit’stakingeverythinginmetonotmovecloser.
Thebellabovethedoortotheshopcrackslikeiceovermybody.“Ama?”Mar’sback.
Shestepsawayfromme—maybeshewascloser—andIrunahandthroughmyhair,tugginghardattherootstofocusmyself.
“Yeah,we’rejustschedulingposts!”shecallsback.Shefinishestypingacaptionforthepictureofmeattheregister,hitsSchedule,andhandsmebackmyphone.It’swarm.“Markmywords,thatpicturewillgetthehighestengagementofthemall.”
Ifrown,andshebeamsback.
“I’llsendmyclientsthedeconstructedarchpic,andhopefullythey’llwanttoswingbysoon.”She’swalkingbackwardtothedoor,sendingmealittlewave.“I’llcall!”
Theoxygenreturnstotheroom,andIhearthetwoofthemwhisperingasthebellchimesagain,thedoorclosingbehindthem.Myphoneislightingupinmyhands.Thepictureshepostedalreadyhasonehundredlikes.Ihavetwentynewfollowers.
Ispendtherestofmydayputteringaroundtheshop,andbetweenphoneordersandsomedrop-ins,IlookthroughallthepicturesattachedtoMar’semail.
SheincludedtheonewhereAmaisplayingwithmyhair.Herbodyisstretchedtoreachmyhead,bentslightlyatthewaistoverthecounter’sedge.Herdressispulledhighuptothetopsofherthighsandsettledperfectlyoverthecurveofherbackside.ShehasblacknailpolishonthatIdidn’tevennotice,butitmatchesmyhaircolorasshethreadsherfingersthrough.
I’msoconcentratedonher,thatit’snotuntilmythirdtimelookingatthepicturethatIseeme—staringatherface,fascinated.Hungry.
AndAmaisCC’donallthesephotostoo.Igroananddropmyheadinmyhands
Fuck.11AmaAPRIL
NowthatJackieandIhavetalked,thedesignsrunlikeafaucet.Withtheideaofaluxuriousweddinginsideanabandonedbuilding,suddenlytheinspirationisclear.It’sgoingtobeIndustrialLuxe—withashittonoffloraldesign.
OnceHazelisabletoflyinnextweektotakealookattheRoseGardenideasandballetstudiolocation,we’llbeoff.I’malreadyincontactwithmyfriendatthecityofficetoseehowoutrageousitistoblockoffthestreetaroundthepark.Prettyoutrageous,butit’sapossibility,hesays.
I’mheadedtoacaketastingtodayforadifferentwedding,butI’mhopingIcansweet-talktheownerintoconsideringafifthweddingonOctoberseventh.ThiscoupleisMichelleandMitch.HeproposedonadrunknightinVegas,butwhatIloveaboutthemisthattheyranaroundtheMGMGrandthatnighttellingeveryonewhowouldlistenthattheyweren’tallowedtogetmarriedthatnight—Michelle’sdadhadtowalkherdowntheaisle,Mitchinsisted.Theywentsofarasaskingworkerswhichwaythechapelwas,justsotheycouldavoidit.
Yeah,they’lldoalright.ItwasmewhosuggestedthattheyhoneymooninVegasasajoke,buttheyendedupfallinginlovewiththeideaanddroppedtheHawaiibrochures.
I’dbelyingifIsaidcaketastingdaywasn’tmyfavoriteday.Withmysweettooth,it’seasilythereasonIbecameaweddingplanner.MichelleandMitchchoosethethree-tieredalmondbuttercream,andIsetitupwiththeowner.
“Betty,canIaskagainaboutOctoberseventh?”Isay,loweringmyvoice.“Iknowyou’reswampedwith—Ithinkyousaid—fourWhitneyweddingsthatday?”
“Hm,they’renotallWhitney,butI’msorry,Ama.It’sgoingtobereallytight.”
Iforcemyselftosmileandthankher,butIjustconfirmedthatWhitneyeithergavemethewrongday’savailability,orshepurposefullysnatchedupdatesatallthehigh-endvendors.Idon’tknowwhattodowiththatinformation.She’sonlyburningherselfifshetriestocancelthesedateswithhervendorsatalaterpoint.
WhenI’mdonewithMichelleandMitch,IseeIhaveanewtextinmychatwithHazelandJackie.
AmarememberthebrunchatJackie’sparents’housethedaybeforethewedding?Weshouldhaveflowerstheretoo,right?
Isitinmycaroutsidethebakery,watchingcarswhizzbyasIchoose:emailorcall.
I’macoward,soemailitis.
Elliot,
Hazelisintownnextweekforsomeweddingprep.Canwemeetattheshoptostartfinalizingflowertypeandcolors?
Also,theyarehavingabrunchattheparents’housethedaybefore(FriOct6).They’dliketoincorporateitasaweddingeventwithfulldesign.
Tosum:
?Ceremony
?Reception
?RehearsalDinner
?Brunch
?Possibletransportationdesign
?PossibleAirbnb/hotel
Iwillscheduleallthesewalk-throughsASAP.Fornextweek,JackieandHazel’savailabilityisopen.Ifthere’sanythingyouneedfromme,don’thesitatetoask.
Best,
AmaTorres
Justlookingatthelistoflocationsismakingmedizzy.It’snottheamountofwork;that’sthefunpart.It’sknowingthattherewillbenosafespacefromElliotforthenextsixmonths.
Whentheresponsecomesin,allitsaysis:
10amTuesday.
You’dthinkaftergettingthelastmeetingoutoftheway,I’dbebetterpreparedforTuesday.
Whilegettingready,Ialmostputlipglossonmyeyelashes.
OnceIproperlylocatethemascara,thingsgodownhillfromthere.I’malreadyinmycarwhenIrealizeIdidn’tfeedLadyCatryn.WhenIgobackinsidetograbheracan,she’salreadyknockedmyvaseoffreshflowersoffthecounter,ontothefloor.
Shestaresatmeinarrogantfelinedisdain,tailtwitching.Ishakemyhead,wrenchopenthelidofaFancyFeast,andleaveitonthecounter.Shecanfigureitout.
AftercleaningupthemessasbestIcanandreturningtomycar,everysinglewarninglightturnson—morethanusual.Apparentlymytiresareflat,myoilneedschanging,andmywindshieldwasherliquidislow.Theonlythinggoingformeistheneedlepointingtoahalftankofgas,buteventhatisquestionablewiththelowfuelindicatorglaringatme.Asmyengineputters,Iconsiderjusthowbaditwouldbetodrivefifteenblocksinacarthatisclearlyscreamingfordeath.
Ilookatthesky.It’sclearenough.IgrabmybagandhopeIcangetthereinthefifteenminutesIhave,butmaybethatwouldbeablessing.I’mneverlate,buttheideaofbeingearlyandalonewithElliotisworththechanceoftardiness.
SpringinSacramentoislovely,ifallergy-infested.We’renotcalledtheCityofTreesfornothing.Branchesoforanges,greens,andredspoponeveryblock,asdotheirpollens.Ipower-walkdownbusyJStreetinthree-inchheels,ignoringthestrangelooksfromdogwalkersandthetwohornshonkedfornotraffic-relatedreason.
Elliotusedtoteasemeabouttheheels.Whenhefinallysawmewithoutthem,heconcededthatyes,Iamshort,andyes,Iammoreintimidatingwiththemon.OfcourseIwaswearingapairoffuzzyfrogsocksatthetime,sotherewasnowheretogobutup.
It’stwominutestoten,andI’mthreeblocksaway.IshootHazelandJackieatextthatI’llbethereshortly,andthenstabthepedestriancrosswalkbutton.Idon’tlovethesweatpoolinginthecenterofmybackorinmyarmpits.AndIdon’tlovethewaymyscalpismoist,flatteningalltheworkIputintothesebeachwaves.IthankthefatesthatatleastIdon’thavelipglossonmyeyelashesasIfinallyarriveatBlooming.
I’mdamp.Andpanting.IfIdidn’ttrustmyHazelReneesettingspray,thenIprobablywouldbecheckingmymakeupbeforegrabbingthedoorhandle,buthereIgo.
Thebellringsaboveme,andI’mhopingIcanjustslipinwhilethethreeofthemarediscussingcolorsandcenterpieces,buttheshopisquiet.Ilooktothecounter,andthereheis,loomingovertheregister,glaringdownattoday’snewspaper,andignoringme.
Myheartbeatstuttersandjumps.DidIgetthewrongday?DidImissdaylightsavingtime?Itugoutmyphoneandthere’sthetextfromJackie—
we’relatetoo!don’tworry!betherein10.
Thatwasfourminutesago.Ihavesixminutes.SixminutesthatIcouldhavespentinRiteAidorwanderingthealleylikeastraydog.Butnow—now—IhavesixminutesalonewithElliot.
“Theyshouldbehereshortly,”Isay.
Heflipsapageofthepaper,dismissingme.Iconsiderwaitingoutside,butItakeadeepbreathandmoveawayfromthefront,lookingattheflowersondisplayinthefrontwindow.He’sgotpottedliliesandspringwreaths—alwaysbestsellers—butalsolargebouquetsintallvases.Sunflowersandorangemarigolds,wheatypampasgrassanddustypinkroses,crimsonchrysanthemumsandrustycallalilies.He’sreallysteppeditup.Theseareenoughtomakeanypersonstopandthinkaboutflippingaroundtobuysomeflowers.
Ilookathimthroughabouquetofhydrangeas.Hisfocusisstillonthepaper.Hishairistiedbackagain,andIcanseehowlongit’sgotten.Theyearsdidn’ttouchhim.He’stwenty-ninenow,buthe’salwayslookedtwenty-nine.He’salwaysbeenonthebrinkofsomething.Alwaysahair’sbreadthawayfromachange,adefinition.WhenIwastwenty-two,Ithoughttwenty-sixwasgrown-up.You’reastepawayfromneedingyourownhealthinsurance.You’veprobablyfiguredoutwhatkaleis.Butnow,almosttwenty-sixmyself,IstareathimandwonderifIwastedayearofhislife.Hecouldbesettleddownbynow.Hecouldhavechildren.
There’sapinchbehindmyeyes,andIhavetolookaway.Ibitemycheektocenterthepain.I’mthinkingofJackie’sfriend—Kate?AndIalmosthopetherewassomeoneafterme,someonewhobrokehimdifferently.BecauseI’mnotworththreeyearsofsomeone’slife.
Asidefromafewhookups,Ihaven’tdatedseriouslysincehim,butthat’sdifferent.Idon’tdateseriously.Icouldhavebeendoingone-nightstandsifI’dwanted.Hecouldn’t.Hewouldn’tbeableto.IcanmatchwithguysonBumbleormeetoneofMar’sfriendsfordrinksonenightandkeepthingslight.Casual.That’snotElliot.
Ifthere’sonethingElliotBloomisnot,it’scasual.
Icheckmyphone.It’sbeensixminutes.WhenIstilldon’tseeaPriuspullingintotheparkinglot,Iglanceathimagain.He’ssittingwithhisarmscrossed,staringatthecounter.
IfIweretotalktohim,Iwonderifhe’dcontinuetoignoreme.Maybeifitwasaboutwork,he’dhaveto.
“Doyouhaveanyquestionsorconcernsaboutthelocations?”Myvoiceissmallinthequietshop.
Hisjawtightens,andhiseyesfallclosedasheshakeshisheadonce.
IsupposeIcouldhavemadeitworse.Icouldhaveattemptedtoapologizeforwhathappenedathismother’swedding.I’msorrythatyourwordshadthesameeffectonmeasabeeswarm.Wasitterriblydifficulttobreakdownyourmom’sreceptionwithoutme?Suchaprofessional.
Thedooropens,andI’msparedtheinsanityofmythoughts.
“Sorrywe’reabitlate!”Jackiesayswithahugesmile.Hazelisrightbehindherwithacoffeecupinherhands,andIthinkIcouldscream,butIguessthisissomethingIneedtofactorinforthefuture.
Hazelpullsmeintoadeephugandallisforgiven.“I’msoexcitedforthisweek,”shesays,pushinghersunglassesuptositonherhead.“Jackie’sbeentellingmethatyouareagenius,butnotwhy.Shewantsmetobesurprised.”
Ilaughnervously.“Well,Ihavesomeideas,butifthey’renotclicking,thenwe’llmoveontosomethingelse!”
OverHazel’sshoulder,JackieischatteringtoElliot,droppingafolderonthecounterandsqueezinghisarminhello.Henodsbackatherwithasmilethatlooksmorelikeagrimace.
JackieturnstomeandHazelacrosstheroomandsays,“Aretheredonuts?Ama,I’mcravingthem.”
“No!God,I’msorry.Mycarwasfreakingout,soIhadtowalktoday.”Irunahandthroughmylimphairtofluffit.“Butit’sliterallydownthestreet.Wecanswingthroughafter,”Isaywithawink.
“What’swrongwithyourcar?”
Hisvoicecutsthroughtheroomlikeasharkinaschoolofminnows.He’sflippingthroughthefolderJackiebrought,eyesdown.
MythroatisdrywhenIrespond,“Allthelightscameon.It’sfine.Asensorprobablytripped.”IrollmyeyesatHazel,likeCars,amIright?
“Theywouldn’tdothatifyoutookitinformaintenanceeverytwelvethousandmileslikeanormalperson.”
He’sactuallytalkingtome.Beratingme,tobeprecise,butstillit’slanguage.Jackiemustmisreadmyshockedexpressionbecauseshe’sshovinghisshoulderandsaying,“Ifyou’reanexpert,thenmaybeyoushouldoffertotakealook.”
That’shorrifying.That’sliterallythecherryontopofmyshittasticday.Mymouthisopentosuggestanyotherscenariowhensuddenlyheshrugsandsays,“Sure.”
HisgazeisstillonJackie’sfolder—acollageofflowerideas,Icanseenow—anditdoesn’tleavethepictures.
“That’sokay,”Isayweakly.“Elliothastoruntheshop,andwehavetositdownforvenueplanningafter.”
“Wecandoitall,”Hazelsuggestsinnocently.“Wecandriveyoubackhometolookatyourcarbeforewehavelunch.”
Jackienodsaggressively.Elliotflipsapage.Islipintoasmallcoma.
“Sure.Yeah.Let’sgetchatting,shallwe?”Maybewe’llallconvenientlyforgetaboutthisconversationinanhour.
JackiestartstotalkElliotthroughthingsthatshewantsandwheresheneedsinspirationfromhim.Shewantsaconsistencyofdesign,butalsoforboththeirpersonalitiestoshine.
“Isitcrazytowantadifferentkindofbouquetforeachofus?”Jackiewinces.
“Babe,Itoldyou,”Hazelsays,takingherhand.“Icandopinks.Icandoanykindoffloweryouwant.”
“Ijustwanttofeellikewe’recomingtogether,”Jackiewhispers.“IwantyoutowantthecolorsandflowersIlike.”
I’mthinkingofhowtocapturethembothinsomethingaslargeasfloraldesignwhenElliotsays,“Youwantyourweddingtoreflectyourpartnership.There’sHazel,there’sJackie,andthenthere’sHazelandJackie.Itcanbeallthreeofthosethings.”
Jackieturnsherbodytowardhim,likeaflowerlookingforsunlight.
ElliotlooksatHazelandsays,“Whatkindsofthingsdoyoulike?Whatbouquetsorcenterpieceshavecaughtyoureye?”
“Mutedfallcolors.Cooltones.Butatthesametime,tropical.Ilovebigleavesandexoticflowers.Maybetypesthatarehardtocomeby.”
“Wecanorderfromothercountries.That’snoproblem.Whatkindoftropical?”hesays,movingaroundthecountertowardthemoreexoticflowersalongthebackwall.“Wehavedendrobiumorchidsandcallalilies.Theymakenicebouquets.Hibiscus.There’stheamaryllis”—hewaveshishandatmenoncommittally,andIfeelmybloodstoppumping—“andanthuriums.”
IfeelHazelandJackieturntome,morethanIseeit.I’vestoppedseeing,infact.HearingthesibilanthissandlullingLsfromhismouthagainhaverenderedmesenseless.
“Oh,wow!IsAmashortforAmaryllis?”Jackieasks.
Ismileandnod,likeadisembodiedhead.
“That’ssounusual.Iloveit.Didyourparentslovetheflower?”
“Um,mymom.Andotherconnotations,”Imumble,pushingmyhairovermyear.“Inmythology,Amaryllisfellinlovewitha—withamanwholovedflowers…”
IthinkthisiswhereI’lldie.IthinkI’lljustliedownandwaitfordeath.Hecanusemetofertilizetheflowers.Ican’tlookathim,butHazelissmilingatmewitharomantichazeinhereye.
“What’sthemyth?”sheasks.
“Well…”Ihesitate.“Shestoodinfrontofhishouseeveryday,carvingagoldenarrowintoherheart.Onthethirtiethday,acrimsonflowersproutedfromherchest.Andhefinallynoticedher.”
“Oh,that’sbeautiful,”Jackiesays.“GottalovetheGreeks.Allthatunrequitedloveandsacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?”adeepvoiceresonates.Hishandsarehardatworkatabouquetwithoutournotice.“Hedidn’twanther,soshecarvedherselfintosomethingheliked,somethinghewanted.”
Ifeelthatgoldenarrownow,carving,carving.
“Ofcourseyouwouldidentifywiththeman,”Jackiescoffs.It’ssupposedtolightenthemood.Iforcemylipsupward.
Theskinpeelsawayunderthesharparrowatmychest.
Hereachesforalargeleaf,tuggingtheanthuriumsoutofavase.
“What’sanamaryllislooklike?”Hazelsays,turningtowhereElliotpointedoutthecallalilies.
“Idon’tkeepthemintheshopanymore.”
Thearrowhitsbone.
Heletsithangawkwardly,soIsay,“You’replayingwiththeanthuriums?”
“Anthuriumscomeinseveralcolors.Theyhaveatropicalfeelthatcanbekeptveryclassy.Theycanbeacenterpiece,theycanbeamainevent,butmostly”—hetiesoffthebouquetandhandsittoJackie—“theycanbeanunderstatedpieceofalargerbouquet.”
IwatchJackie’seyesglisten.Therearepinkrosesclusteredamongthebundleofanthuriums.Theyhaveasingularpetalthatisleaf-likeandwaxy-lookingwithasolitarystamenspringingupfromthecenter.Jackie’santhuriumsarewhitewithhintsofpinkseepingintotheedges.
“Idon’thavethemhereintheshop—they’dhavetobeordered—butanthuriumscomeingreen,”hesaystoHazel.“Theycanbethecomplementtoyourbouquet,orthecenterofit.Theyalsocomeinburgundy,forsomethingmoredramatic.”
Hazel’slipstwitchatdramatic.“I…wouldbeinterestedintalkingmoreaboutthat.”Hereyesslidetome,andIfeellikeIgetaglimpseoftruth.Hazelwantsdrama.Shewantseleganceandstatements.Butthat’snotJackie,soshe’sbeenholdingitback.
ElliotpullshisphoneoutofhispocketandopensInstagram.Heshowsthetwoofthemafewanthuriumbouquetshe’sdone,andotherstagged#Anthurium.
Ihaveburgundyandpinkdancinginmyheadastheystarttotalkabouthowcenterpiecescanbebuiltaroundanthuriums.IseeJackie’spinksalongtheinsideoftheceremonychairs,andHazel’swine-redsalongtheoutside.Iseepinkandburgundyeveryothertable.
Bythetimewe’releavingBlooming,I’msofocusedonthedesignideasinmyhead—sofocusedonignoringthebehemothofafloristthreefeettomyright—thatIdon’thearJackierightaway.
“Isaid,shouldwedriveyou?Becauseofyourcar?”
Ihesitateforonlyamoment,thinkingofWhitneyandhowunprofessionalitistobechauffeuredbyyourclients.Ifyouhavetodriveanywherewiththem,youneedtobethedriver.Butbythetimemybrainisworkingagain,HazelisgrabbingJackie’selbow,hereyesdrillingbrilliantideasintoherhead.
“Isn’tElliotgoingtolookathercar?Maybewe’llmeetyoutwooverthere.Elliot,youcandriveAmarealquick,right?”
“No,er,no.”Thewordspouroutofme.“No.Ican…Elliotshouldn’tleavehisshop.Icantakethecarintomorrow.”
“It’ssuperdangerousthough,”Jackiesays,gettingtheidea.“Elliot,doyouhaveaminute?”
“Elliot’snotacarperson,really,”I’mmumbling.“He’s—he’saflorist,notamechanic.”
Iseehimcrosshisarmsinmyperipheralvision,andthenthere’sanedgetohisvoice:“Icantakealook.‘Carperson’ornot.”
“Cool!”Hazelgrabsthedoor.“Ama,textJackieyouraddressandwe’llbethereshortly!”
“Ican—Icanridewithyou!”Myvoiceisdesperate.“Elliotdoesn’tneedagirlinhiscar,”Isaywithalaughandanoddswoopinggesturefrommyhand,thatmaybepartpirate,partchimneysweep.
“It’sfine!”Jackiesays,fullyontheinsideofthisschemebynow.“HazelandIwillbuyyoudonutsforachange.”
Andthenthefrontdoorisclosed.AndIwishI’ddriventhatdeathtrapoverhere.Havingitexplodeatastopsignisbetterthanthis.Toavoidlookingathim,ItextJackiemyaddress.Followinginstructionsiseasy.
Hecleansupafewthingsandgrabsthebackin15signthathisfatherpaintedbyhand,andthenIfollowhimtothedoor.Iwalktohistruck,becauseIknowhistruck.JustlikeIknowthatthedoorhandlesticks,andyouhavetojiggleit.JustlikeIknowhowthewindowsfogupwitheverymoanandtheleatherontheseatsisn’tcomfortablewhenI’mkneelingonit.
Ihoistmyselfup,slipinside,andputmyseatbelton,allbeforeheevenopenshisdoor.Icanhearhisheavyfootstepsapproaching.Theyankofthedriver’sdoor.Theoomphofhisbody.
Hepullsoutoftheparkinglotandontothestreet,andIstareatthedash.Iwishhehadsomethingridiculouslikeahuladancer—somethingIcouldfocusoninsteadofthewaymyheartispoundingorhisloudbreathing.
“Didyoutellthem?”heasks,turningeasilytowardmystreet.
He’slookingstraightahead.It’sthefirstthinghe’ssaidtome.
“No.They’rejust…intuitive,maybe.”Istareatmyknees,madthathewon’tlookatme.“You’llhavetoberudertometoreallygetthepointacross.”
Heflicksonhisblinkerdismissively.“Noted.”
Iwatchanoldercouplecrossinthecrosswalk.Theystarttoblurinmyeyes,andIbitemylip,tearingmygazetotherightsohewon’tseeme.Ittakesalotofconcentrationtokeepmybreatheven.
Hepullsupinfrontofmyhouseandisoutofthetruckbeforetheengineisfullyturnedoff.Iscrambleinmypurseformycarkeys,hittheunlockbutton,andslowlyexitasheliftsthehood.Ilaythekeysnexttohimandgositonmyfrontporchstep.
Elliotfixingmycarisnormalforus.Heisn’ta“carperson,”buthe’sright:Icouldjust—Idunno—changemyoilorlearnevenonethingaboutengines,andIwouldn’tbeinthismess.It’smydad’scar.Theonethinghe’sreallyevergivenme,asidefromtoysandsweetswhenIwasakid.Mymomhasofferedtobuymeanewoneseveraltimes,butIcan’tgetridofthiscar.AndIreallythinkifItakeitintotheshop,thiscarwillnevercomeback.
Butit’sbeenyearsnowsincethelasttimethiscarhashadanElliotBloomtune-up.Noonehasmadefunofmeforthenailinmytirefortwoyears.NoonehasskulkedoutofmyhouseoneSaturdaymorning,draggedmedowntotheopenengine,andshoutedaboutoillevels.NoonehascommentedontheexactlyzeroamountofwiperfluidIhave.
Ifeellikethiscarnow.AsElliotstompsaround,turnsovertheengine,shovestheseatbackafullfoot,andshakeshisheadatmylittleCamry,Ifeellikemaybenothing’sbeenworkingrightforawhile.
BythetimethePriuspullsup,Elliotisclosingthehood.IpasteonasmileasJackiecomplimentsmeonthehouseandtheyard.Sheoffersmethepinkbox,andIinhaleachocolatecakedonut,desperatetohavesomethingtobedoing.
“CanIuseyourbathroom?”Hazelasks.
IthinkofWhitneyagain.Howentirelyinappropriatethiswholethingis.InodandtakemykeysfromElliot.“Downthehallontheleft.Iftherearetowelsonthefloor,justpretendIhaveaterribleroommate.”
ShelaughsandopensthefrontdoorwiththekeyIpickedoutofthebundleforher.Afurrydemondartspastherlegsassoonasthedoorisopen,andbeforeIcancheckthestreetforcars,LadyCat-rynisrubbingherheadbetweenElliot’sshins.
HazelapologizesandIwaveheroff.AirleavesmeentirelywhenElliotbendsdowntoscratchherhead,clearlydecidingforappearancestopretendthatthiscatisn’tamenace.Iscoopherup,andshestartstoclawatme.
“Ohmygod,she’sbeautiful!”Jackiesays.
“She’sokay.She’snotworththetrouble.”LadyCat-ryntwirlsinmyarms,fightingme,andIstraightupgrabthescruffbehindherneckandjustletherhanglikeadoll.
“Youneedtotakeitintotheshop,”Elliotsays,andafteramomentIrealizehe’stalkingaboutthecar,notLadyCat-ryn.“Youroilneedstobechanged,yourpowersteeringfluidislow,andthere’sanail…inyourbacklefttire.”Hesaysthelastbitwitheffort.Becausewebothknowit’sthesamenailIhadtwoyearsago.
“Thankyou.”It’sstrained,andnotjustbecauseLadyCat-rynisfifteenpoundsandcurrentlybeingheldLionKingstyleawayfrommybody.
Hepivotstowardhistruck.“I’llgetyoupicturesofthoseanthuriumsthisweek,”hetossesoverhisshoulder.
HazelisjustcomingoutofthehousewhenElliot’struckpullsaway.IgrabanotherdonutfromJackie’sarms.
“HowoftenhaveyouandElliotworkedtogether?”Hazelasksinnocently.
Iswallow.“Acoupletimes.He’sgreat.”
LadyCat-rynhisses,andHazelandJackie’slipscurveintomatchingsecretsmiles.
12AmaAPRIL
WithHazelintown,weburnthroughourto-dolistquickly.Iwanttogetalotsettledbeforemybusyweddingseasonisinfullswing.AfterourmeetingatBlooming,wegototheRoseGardentotalkthroughmyideasaboutclosingthestreetandrentingtheAirbnbacrossfromthepark.Hazelnodsalongwithme,buthergazekeepsslidingtotheRoseGarden.
WhenJackiewalksdowntheparktolookattheareawe’dbeusingforguestseating,IsaytoHazel,“Whatareyouthinking?”
Shetakesadeepbreath.“Thegardenisbeautiful.It’sveryJackie.”
Isay,“Maybewecanaddaflairofdrama,”echoingElliot’scommentaboutdramaticbouquets.
Shefake-glaresatme,andweshareasmileasJackiecomesbacktous.
Thenextday,I’vesecuredavisittotheoldballetstudiofrommyfriendatthecitypermitoffice.WhenIsayIhaveafriendatthecitypermitoffice,it’snotasglamorousasitseems.HisnameisHal.Hehasthekeys,andIhavethedonuts.
ItoldHazelandJackietomeetatten,buthalfanhourbeforethat,I’matWeatherstonegettinganespressoshotandcoldbrew.Ihaveabagofdonutsinonehand,andassoonasIopentherustedfrontdooroftheoldballetstudio,IrealizeIshouldhavelefttheminthecar.
Somethingskitters.
Igositinmycarfortenminutes,eatingmychocolateold-fashionedtocalmdown.
Jackiedidn’tsayhowlongtheballetstudiohasbeenclosed,butwhenIthinkaboutit,I’vebeengoingtoWeatherstoneforalmosttenyears,andI’veneverseentutusorpointeshoes.
Maybethisisamistake.Creatingareceptionhallfromnothingisahugetask.Nottomentionelectricityandplumbing,allthecatering,thesoundsystem,theback-upgenerator—it’sallbroughtin.It’sbuildinganewreceptionhall.
Itakeadeepbreath,stuffthedonutsintothebag,andgoreopenthefrontdoor.Ipropitopensothey’llknowI’minside.
NowthatI’mpreparedforrodentsandroaches,it’seasiertojuststandstillandlookaround.
Andit’snotbad.Truly.
There’snoindicationthatanyone’sbeensquatting.There’snotrashortoddler’sforgottenballetslipperlyingdramaticallyasasymbolofthedyingarts.Haltoldmethatsomeoneboughttheleasefiveyearsagobutneverdidanythingwithit.Itexpiredafewmonthsago,butclearlyinthattimethey’dcleaneditatleastonce.Idon’texpectthelightstowork,butIfliptheswitchuselesslyanyway.
Alongthesidewall,therearesixorsevenwindowscoveredwithavelvetycurtainmeanttoresembleagranddrapeatatheater.Istarttuggingthemback,andlightanddustspillintotheroominahaze.Myeyestravelupthetallwalls.Therearemarkswheretheballetmirrorsandbarresusedtobe,butabovethat,therearedancerspaintedalongthewall—astrongmanperformingasplitjump;agirlinawhitetutumid-pique,awomaninasimplerehearsalleotardandskirtstandinginfourthposition,fingersdelicatelyreaching.
It’senchanting.Ismileatthesilhouettesofthemall,wonderingwhoIcouldcalltocleanandrestorethem.
There’saroomattheback,andImakemywaytowardit,openingcurtainsandlettingthelightinasIgo.Thedoorisajar,andIturnonmyphone’sflashlighttomakesureI’mnotdisturbinganythingasIenter.It’sasmallerdanceroom;still,probablythreehundredsquarefeet.
IrememberJackiementioningarooftopandgolookingfortheway,hopingtherearestairsandnotafireman’sladder.WhenIopenthedoortowhatIthoughtwasacloset,Ifindstairs,thanktheheavens.ThevenueneedstobeADAcomplianttoclearpermits,though,whichisaproblem.Fornow,Ifocusonclimbinguptoseeifthisisevenanoption.Withoutfindinganyricketystepsorbrokenfloorboards,Imakemywaytothedooratthetopandheaveitopen.
Thewindfloatsacrossmyface.ThesunshineslikeI’vefoundnirvana.MymouthopensinahugesmilewhenIseeaflatindustrialrooftopwithbrickhalfwallsaroundtheedges,primedandreadyforaparty.There’snothinghere,butIcanseeeverything.TheLEDfloraldancefloorinthecenter,twinklingasduskfallsontheparty.Abartotheright.High-toptablesscattered.Boxwoodhedgesliningtheperimeter.AndsomekindofmagicElliotcancreate.Maybeaddedheight?
Andalongwithallofthis—theSacramentoskylineisrightthere.Ipropthedooropenandcheckeveryangle,makingsurethereisn’tanythingunsightly.AllIfindismyhometown.Jackie’shometown.
Thisisthekindofvenuepeoplewouldkilltohave.
IseeaPriuspulluponthestreet,andIheaddownstairs.Mymindisspinningwithideasastheirfootstepspattertothedoor.
“Oh,wow,”Jackiesays,steppingthroughthethresholdwithHazelbehindher.“ThisiswayyyyyworsethanIthoughtitwouldbe.”Hereyesareonthefloorandthedirtywindows.“I’msosorryforsuggestingit.”
“Iloveit,”Isay,andshelooksatmelikethere’saratonmyshoulder.Which,therecouldbe.“So,listentothis.”
Hazelstepsinsidegingerly,likemaybethefloorcouldgivein.Icometostandnexttothemintheentrance,fanningmyhandsandpaintingapicture.
“Wecreatesomethinghere.”Ipointtowherethesmalllobbyusedtobe.“Somekindofwelcomingarea.Aseparationbetweenhereandthemainhall.Maybeaphotobooth,butsophisticated?ElliotcouldmakearosewallthatsaysJackieandHazelandtheweddingdate.Asignhereremindingeveryoneofthehashtags.”Idon’tevenhavetoconsultwithhimonwhat’spossible.Wehavemoneytothrowaround.
IseetheireyesfollowingmyhandsasIweaveastory,notlookingatthedustorpossiblevermindroppings.
“Sotheflowthroughthedoorishere”—Ipushmyhandsforward—“aroundtheflowerwall,andintothediningarea.”IwalkJackietothecenteroftheballetfloor,andHazelfollows.“Wecanusetheentirespaceforroundtablestoreallyopenitup.Wesetupabarinoneofthecorners.Caterersstationinthesmallroombackhere.”
Hazelliftsadoubtfulbrowatme.“Andwebreakeverythingdownbeforedancing?Idon’treallylikethat.”
“NeitherdoI,”Isay,grinningbroadly.Igestureforthemtofollowandleadthemcarefullyupstairs.
“Noway.”Jackielaughsasshestepsontotheroof.“Noway.Canyoureallydothis?”
“Idon’tknowyet,tobehonest.ButI’dliketotry.”IwatchHazelmovetoeachofthecorners.Ican’treadherface.“Elliot’sdanceflooriscenterhere,lookingamazingatnight.Asecondbaroverthere.”
Jackieisnodding,lookingaround,butit’smoreofajerky,nervousthing.Hazelturnsandshe’ssmirkingatme.“Ilovethis,”shesays.
Ibreatheinthespringairandlaunchonward.
“Ineedtowarnyouthatbuildingaspacefromnothingcangetexpensive.Plumbing,sewers,checkingformold,rewiringelectrical,ADAcompliance.Thefoodwillnowbeonehundredpercentoff-sitecatering,whichisneverabadthing,butjustnotallinclusivelikeotherlocationscouldgiveyou.”
Igivethemallthewarningsandfineprint,butHazelisfloatingacrosstherooftop,hardlylistening.“Let’slookatdownstairsagain,”shesays.ShetakesJackie’shand,andIseeJackie’sshouldersrelax.
Oncewe’redowninthedancestudioagain,Ipointouttheexposedbeams,theheight,thebrickwalls.Thisspacemighthavebeenadancestudio,butitwasneverbuiltthatway.
“DoyouthinkElliotcoulddosomethingnicewiththeseceilings?”Jackieasks.
“Absolutely.Hehasbeautifulchandeliers.Youcouldhaveflowersabovedownhere,andbelowontherooftopdancefloor.”
“Whencanhecomeseeit?”Hazelsays.“I’dlovetostartseeingthiswholethingcometogether.”
“Icandefinitelybringhiminthenexttimewevisit—”
“Canhecomebytoday,doyouthink?”Jackieinterjects.“Imean,we’realreadyhere.Wealreadyhavethekey.”
Istammerabitbeforesaying,“Lastminutemaybetoughwiththeshop.ButIcanofferit.”
Theynod—annoyingly—andthere’snothingleftformetodobutpulloutmyphone.Afteryesterday’sdisaster,IreallyhatethatI’mbotheringhimagain.Iwanttojusttexthiminsteadofcallingtheshopphone,butthatwouldbeadmittingthatIneverdeletedhisnumber.AndIreallydon’twanttoseethelastmessageshesentmeagain.
Ihitthebuttontodial,andlistentothering.Hepicksupquickly.Tooquickly.Likemaybehe’sattheregisteralreadyandhe’sbusy?
“’Lo?”
“Hi,it’sAmaTorres.I’mhereatapossiblevenuewithJackieandHazel,andtheywantedtoknowifyouhadsometimetosparetocomedown.”Myvoiceispitchedwaytoohigh,andmyfingersarelikeclawsaroundmyphone.“Totallyunderstandifit’stooshortnotice.”
Thelineisquiet.Iprayit’saneasyno.Cutanddried.
“Ican’tgotoeverypotentialvenue.TheydoknowI’mtheflorist,notthedesigner,right?”
BreathpuffsoutofmelikeI’vebeenpunchedinthestomach.God,it’ssomuchworsethanjusthanginguponme.IfeellikeI’mnineteenagain,andWhitneyisscoldingmeforbeingtoopassiveatthesetup.Areyouincharge,oraren’tyou?
“Ofcourse.Iassumeyou’dwanttobeloopedinlater,atamoreappropriatetime.Whenwe’vefinalized,I’llsendyoutheinitialdesigns,andwe’llworkoveremailfromthere.”
Myfaceisburning.IcanhearJackieandHazelchattingbehindmeabouttablesandlayoutandallthethingsI’minchargeof.Iwaitforthelinetoclickdead,butIdon’thearit.He’srustlingpapersaround.MaybeI’llhangupfirst.
“What’stheaddress?”
Theembarrassmentfromthelasttwominuteshascloggedmyearsorsomething.Myfirstthoughtisthathe’sgotacustomeratthecounter,andheneedstheiraddressforthedelivery.
“Emma?”
Myeyessqueezeshut.Iknowhedidn’tmeantosayitlikethat.Iknowthat’sjusthowhetalks.Butitsendsneedlespressingintomychest,puncturingeverything.
“It’sonTwenty-FirstStreet,nexttoWeatherstone.”
“I’llbethereinten.Icanonlystayafewminutes.”
InodtomyselfuntilIrealizehecan’tseeme.Isay,“Great,”butthelineisalreadydead.ForHazelandJackie’sbenefit,Iadd,“Seeyousoon.Bye.”Iturntothemwithapastedsmile.“Tenminutes.”
HazelandJackiearehappy,andthat’sallthatmatters.HazelasksifIneedacoffee,andbeforeIknowit,I’maloneinanabandonedbuilding,whilemyclientswanderovertoWeatherstone.
Itaketheopportunitytocentermyself.He’spartiallyright.IfitwereanyotherclientsbesidesJackieandHazel,Iwouldhavetoldthemwedon’tbotherthevendorsbeforealocationissecured.Ifitwereanyothervendor,Iwouldn’thavecalled.AndtheideathatHazelwantsElliot’sinputontheoveralldesigninsteadofjustthefloralaspectsisconcerning.Ishouldbetakingmorecontrolofthesemeetings,butI’vebeenfartoounderinvolvedattheonlymeetingsshe’sbeento—theonesatElliot’sshop.
Ipacetheballetfloor,takingpicturesofeverythingandgettingmythoughtstogether.I’mlostinmyownimaginationofdesignbythetimeashadowdarkensthedoorway.Hestepsinsidewithoutaword,takinginthescopeoftheworktobedone.I’mstandingacrossadarkballroom,holdingmybreath,waitingforhimtoscoffatmyidea,mockmeforthinkingIcouldcreateareceptionhallfromnothing.
Iwatchhimtilthisheadbacktotheceiling.Hesaysnothing,butpullsameasuringtapefromhisbackpocket.
Ibreatheinrelief.Hismindisworking,andthat’sallIneed.
Ifindmyvoiceandexplain,“There’sarooftop.Ihavenoideaifitcanwork,butthegoalwouldbedinnerdownhere,dancingupstairs.”
“Who’syourrentalcompany?”Hebarelyraiseshisvoice,butIcanstillheartheclatterofconsonantsacrossthewoodfloor.
“Idon’thaveoneyet.Everlasthasfourotherweddingsthatday,soImighthavetoworkwithanout-of-towncompanyandshipitup.”
“WhitneyhasfourweddingsonOctoberseventh?”Hescoffs.“Didyougiveherthedate?”
Ihatethathe’spinneddownmyexactfears,buthe’stalkingtomeforonce.“Shedoesn’thavetoworkaroundmyschedule—”
“Butyouhavetoworkaroundhers.”He’sstretchingthemeasuringtapedownthelongwallontheright,makingnotesonascrapofpaper.
“She’sWhitneyHarrison,”Iargue.
Helooksupatmeforthefirsttime.Thefirsttimeintwoyears.Iwanttofusswithmyhair,myjacket,mymakeup.Heactuallyseesme.
“AndyougottheHazelReneewedding,”hesays.
Alight,featheryfeelingfillsmychest.It’slikeacompliment.It’slikeareminderthatI’malsoamazing.
ButthenIhearitagain,asawholesentence,asacauseandeffect.
She’sWhitneyHarrison,andyougottheHazelReneewedding.
I’msuspiciousagainifWhitneydidthisonpurpose,likehe’simplying.
Hiseyesleaveme,andhelooksdowntohisnotes.“WhataboutMichelangelo’s?”
“They’reblacklisted.”
ThewordsareoutofmebeforeIcanstopthem,andIseehimshakehisheadindisdain.
Theyareblacklisted.ByWhitney.Theyworkonbabyshowers,graduations,andquincea?eras,barelyscrapingtheweddingcircuitbecauseWhitneyHarrisonownstheweddingcircuit.
“That’sagreatidea,”Isay.“I’llcallthemtoday.Thankyou.”
Hedoesn’tsayyou’rewelcome,likeanormalperson.Butheneverdid.
JackieandHazelstepintothedoorway,andIfeellikeIcanbreathe.Theygreethim,andIlaunchintomyspielagain.Ifocusonprojectingconfidence,layingoutmyvisionbeforeHazelcanturntoElliotandaskforhis.Iwatchhisface,searchingforresistance,waitingforthatcurlofhislipthatmeanshe’sfeelingputout.It’snotthere.
Iseeafamiliarintensitybehindhiseyeswhenwegetuptotheroof.He’smeasuringthesquarefootageandcheckingtheheightofthesidewallswhileItalk.ButIknowthatlook.He’sinspired.
Heinterruptsmeonce.“Thedancefloor.It’sgoingtoberaisedaboutafootofftheground.IcanmakeitasthinasIcan,butyou’lllosethedepthofthepiece.Ifit’saboveeightinches,thenweneedastepallthewayaroundit,topassinspection.”
“Canweraisetheflooreverywhere?”Hazelasks,likeraisingthefloorisaneverydaything.
“I…IsupposeElliotandIcanlookintocreatingafullartificialfloorfortheroof.”
“Whatdoyouthink,Mr.Architect?”Jackieasks,nudgingElliot’sarm.
Iwaitforhimtocorrecther,tosaythatheneverfinishedhisdegree.Hewasalwayssosensitiveaboutthat.Buthejustadjustshiswatch.
AndIblurtout,“Didyougetyourdegree?”
Hiseyessnaptomeforthesecondtimetodaybeforequicklydartingaway.
“Yeah,”Jackiesayshelpfully.“Lastyear,right?Andhislicense.He’safullylicensedarchitectnow!”
Hazelsayssomething—somethingabouthownicethat’llbeforourpurposes.ButIcan’thearanythingbutwhitenoiseforamoment.
Irelaxedbackinmychair,staringathimacrossatablesetfortwo.“Ithinkyoucouldgoback,ifyouwanted.Theyhaveabunchofonlineoptionsfordegrees.It’suptoyou,but…youjustsaidityourself—yourdadwantedyoutogetyourdegree.Andwhoknows?Maybeitwouldgiveyoualegupinsomeway,whenyouinevitablyopenashowroom.”Iwinkedathimslyly,andhiseyesdroppedtomylipsasIbroughtmywineglasstothem.
“Yeah,it’spossible.”Hisvoicecutsthroughmymemories.Iblink,andhe’stellingHazelwhattheoptionsare.Iblink—andhe’sfinishedhisdegree.There’sapulsingpaininmystomach,likeanoldwoundthatneverquitehealedright,butIrefocus.
“Itwon’tbecheap,”Iadd.
“Well,runitbyme.Maybewecanwigglethebudget,”Hazelsays.
JackieturnstoHazelandwhisperssolowIcanbarelyhearoverthebreeze.“Areyoucomfortablewiththat?Imean,wecanseeotherplacestoo.”
“Otherplaceswon’tbeyourolddancestudioinyourhometown,”Hazelsays,andkisseshersoftly.
Ifeelmyarmpitsstarttosweat.It’salwaysamazingwhenthecouplelikessomethingsomuchthattheywanttomakeroominthebudgetforit,butyouneverwantthemtoregretgivingyousomuchmoneytoplaywith.Ithastobespectacular.
Whenwegodownstairsagain,IsaytoElliot,“Wewantedyourthoughtsontheceiling.”
Iwatchashisthroattipsback,eyesmovingoverthebeams.“Doyouwantafullfloralwonderland?Aboveinthedownstairs,belowintherooftop?”heasks.
It’sremarkablehowwellwefinisheachother’sthoughts.Mystomachtwistswiththenostalgiaofitall.
“ChandeliersiswhatIwasthinking.Buttellmewhatyousee,”Isay.
“Wehavethepinkrosesinthedesignalready.Wecandochandeliers.Addinbaby’sbreath.Makeitcloud-like,likeyourmom’swas.”
Hesaysitcasually.Likethatwasn’tthebeginning.Likeitwasjustajobtohim,notthefirsttimeIwasinthebackroom,orthefirsttimeIaskedhimabouthistattoos.
Hazellooksatmehungrily,eyesleavingtheceiling.Jackiesays,“Elliotdidyourmother’swedding?That’ssweet.”
“Yeah,oneof’em.”Iclearmythroat.“What’syourotheridea?Ifnotchandeliers?”
Hepointstothetallbeamsrunningupthebrickwalls.“Structures.Tree-like.Largecolumnsthatpulltheeyeupward,withlargepiecesontop.Maybeyoudon’twanttogiveupspace,butthere’salsotheoptionofrentingwhitecurtainsortentpiecesfromMichelangelo’s.”
“Afauxoutdoortent,”Isay,lookingovertheroom.“Withlightsabove,itcouldfeellikeanightsky.”
“IthinkImaypassout.”Jackielaughs.“Youguysaredescribingsuchbeautifulthings.IfeellikeIneedtoseeit.”
“Ofcourse,”Isay,squeezingherarm.“We’llletElliotgetgoing,butI’llmockupafewdesignsandsendthemtohim,thenhe’lladdthefloraldesigntothem.It’srough,butwecanseeitalltogetherthatway.”
Ilookathimtomakesureouroldwaystillworks.He’slookingupattheceiling,hisfingersscratchingathiscollar.
That’swhenIseeit.Ink.Myheartstops.Ican’ttellifit’scomingfromhischestorhisshoulder,butthere’satattoocreepingoutofhiscollar.
Anewone.
It’sbarelyaglimpsebeforeIhavetolookaway.MymindisrunningamileaminuteasJackiesayssomethingtohim.
Ithurtstoknowthatthere’satattooIcan’tlookatortouch.ThatIcanneveraskwhichextinctflowerlivesonhisskin.
Iswallowdownthisacheinmythroat,agreeingwiththemthatit’stimetogo.Ifeelempty.IwishI’dneverknown.
I’mdiggingthroughmybagforthekeytolockup,andthere’satouchtomyelbow.Myheadsnapstotheside,andit’sElliot’sfingersstoppingme.HeletsHazelandJackiewalkoutintothesunlight,beforetiltinghisheadbacktotheceiling.Iwait,hangingonastringforhim.Forwhateverhe’dneedtosaytomeinprivate.
“You’llneedtodosomethingaboutthebats,”hesays.
Istareatwherehe’sstaring.Andyep.Thosearebats.Itakeadeepbreathandthankhim.
Forgettattoosandfeather-lightfingertipsonmyelbow.
Ihavemyworkcutoutforme.13ElliotTHREEYEARS,FOURMONTHS,TWOWEEKS,ANDTWODAYSAGO
Shemighthaveoutdoneherself.I’vedoneafairnumberofweddingsandeventsattheOldSugarMill,butnonequitelikethis.
She’srentedtentsandsilksthatseemtoaddtotheheightoftheroominsteadoflimitit.Therearelampshiddensomewherethatarecastingenoughlightovertheceilingtodrawyoureyeup.Shedidfarmhousetablesinsteadofrounds,andI’mjustheretosprinklesomemagicin.
I’mdraggingthedollyintothereceptionvenuewhenIfinallycatchsightofher.She’sgotaBluetoothinanear,andshe’sdistributingastackofnamecardsontothetable.Shewavesatmebutdoesn’tmovetocomesayhi.
Whichisfine.
Whatever.
We’reworking.
Itakemyhandtruckbacktotheparkinglottoloadupmoreflowers.I’mjuststoppingattheforkinthepathwhereabasketofflowerswillsitnexttoasigndirectingtheguests,whensheappearsoutofnowhere,movingquickly.
“Oh,good!Canyougrabthesandwichboardandsetitup?It’sagainstthewall.”Shepointsandruns.
BeforeIcansayno,she’sgone.Sighing,Iheavethebasketintoonearmandgrabthetopofthesandwichboardwiththeother.WhenIflipitover,thenameoftheweddingandthedatearebeautifullydrawninchalk,alongwiththesocialmediahashtags.Ikickitopenandsetitonthepath,positioningthebasketinfrontofit.I’mfixingthearrangementasIhearherheelsclickbackfromtheparkinglot.
“Great!Moveittotherightofthepath?”
Iglareatherovermyshoulder,butbythetimehershortlegshavereachedme,I’vedraggeditalltotheotherside.
“Awesome.Canyoucomebetallforme?”
Andthenshe’sgoneagain.
“Betall?”Icallafterher.
“Yeah!Twoseconds!”Shespinsinacircletorespond,butcontinuesherpaceinside.
“Ama,youneedanassistant!”Shewavesherhandoverherheadlikesheheardme.“Preferablyatallone,”Imumble.
Ifollowherbackinside,catchingupwithherquickly.Shesnatchesapoorlyfoldednapkinfromthetableasshewalksand,withoutbreakingstride,handsittothesetupcrewwiththeexactseatnumbershetookitfrom.
“Whitneywouldbeproud,”Isaywithabitofamockingtone.
Shedoesn’tpickuponit.“Really?Youthinkso?”Lookingmeover,shesays,“Youlooknice.”
Andsodiesmyfocusandconfidence,inonefellswoop.Irunahandthroughmyhairnervously.It’sjustaplaidbutton-upandmybestjeans,butthefactthatshenoticedanythingmeansit’stoomuch.IknewIdidn’tneedtoconstructanythinghere,justbringthedollybackandforthtounloadthecenterpieces.
“Okay,”Amasays,pointingupwardtothecanopy.“Thisstrandoflightsgottuggedandunplugged.”
“Ama…NotevenIcanreachthis.It’slike,tenfeetup.”
Shenodsjerkily.“Right.Okay.SomaybeyoucanliftmeandI’ll…”
“Getoutofhere.”Iwaveheroff.“I’llfindaladder.”
“Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou,”shesays.Shesqueezesmyarm,andbeforeIcanwonderwhatshe’sdoingsoclosetomyface,herlipspeckmyjaw.
She’sgonebeforeshecanseetheheatspreadacrossmyneck.Irunmyknucklesoverthespot,hopingthere’snolipsticktherenow,andwatchhersnatchtwomorenapkinsonherwayoutsidetotheceremonyseating.
BythetimeIfindaladder,fixtheplug,andcarryitbacktothestoragecloset,she’shotonmyheels.
“God,Elliot.Ifuckedup.”
IlookatherovermyshoulderasIwalktheladderbackintothecloset.“Fuckedup?”
“There’snotenoughofthem.”She’sfrazzled,hereyeswildandhervoicebubbling.“Thecenterpieces.”
MyeyesmovepasthertowhereIcanjustmakeouttheedgeofthetables.“Youcan’tspreadthemout?”
“They’retoospreadout.”Herhanddragsthroughherhair,andItrynottowatchthewayitfallsoverherfaceagain.“It’snotthefloral.Honestly.It’stherental.Theglobesandlights.Ineededthreemorepertable.”
Ishuttheclosetdoorandmovetogetabetterlookatthereceptionarea.It’ssomethingIwouldseeonlyifshe’dpointeditouttome.Whichshehas.Andnowit’sallIsee.
“Ijustdidn’twanttooverwhelmthetables,sincethisismuchmoreminimalistic.Lettheroomshine,youknow?”shesays.“ButnowIthinkIshouldhavejustgonewithfloral.Doyouhaveanysparevasesinthetruck?Tohijacksomeofthearrangementsandspreadthemoutabit?”
“Whenthey’reglass,Ibringspares,butthesearebuckets,so…”
Shebitesherlip,staringattheroomindispleasure.“Canyourunbacktotheshopandwhipsomethingup?”
“Whipsomethingup?”Irepeatdrily.“Doesn’ttheweddingstartinanhour?It’sthirtyminutesbacktotheshopalone.”
“Theceremonywilltakeaboutforty-fiveminutes.”Hereyesarewideandbegging.“Please,Elliot.Thisissoembarrassing.IthoughtInailedit.Ireallydid.I’vebeendreamingofdesigningthisvenueforthreeyears—”
“Yeah,yeah.”Igrabthedollyandwheelittotheparkinglot.She’syellingherthank-yousandapologiesafterme,andsomesickpartofmybrainwondersifshe’llkissmyfaceagainwhenit’sdone.
TheOldSugarMillisonanarrowroadthatrunsalongtheSacramentoRiver,sothere’snotalotofwiggleroomforspeeding.Igetbacktotheshopwithideasspinninginmymindalready.Idragaboxdownwiththerestofthebucketsandtakeanotherboxthathassmallerversions.Shehadgoodinstinctsaboutminimalism,soIthinkpepperinginthesmallerversionsalongtheemptyspacesactuallycomplementstheoriginalideawell.
Myhandsworkonautopilotfortwentyminutes,pullingwhiterosesandeucalyptusstemsfromalldirections.BythetimeI’mloadingupthetruckagain,theweddingistenminutesfromstarting.
WhenIarriveback,Icanhearsomeonereading“Loveispatient,loveiskind”overthemicinthebackgardenasIloadthecart.Therustywheelisn’tmeantforsneakingintoaweddingthat’salreadystarted,soImoveslowlytothesidedoorofthereception.OnceI’mindoors,IseeAmanoticemefromherpostoutsidetheglassdoors,watchingtheceremony.SheslipsinsideandspeedstomeasIpullthecartuptothefirsttable.
“Smallerversions.Theywon’toverwhelm—”
“Thisissoperfect.God,itlookslikeIhadaplanallalong.”Shetakestwofrommeandcrossestotheotherendofthetable.
“Youdidhaveaplan.Itwasgood,”Isay.
Shetossesmeasmile.“Throwtheseonaseparateinvoice?Imayhavetopayitmyself.”
I’mabouttodotheverygentlemanlynochargething,butthenIseeherfingersripoutapetalfromoneoftheroses.Thentwomore.
“Thisone’sdead,”shesays,yankingthewholebloomandstemoutofthebundle.
“It’snotdead.It’safungaldisease—”
“Youwantmetoleavethedisease-riddenones?”
“I’msayingthey’releftovers.”
“AndI’mjustmakingthemnotlooklikeleftovers,”shesaysmatter-of-factly.HereyesjumptotheceremonyonthelawnandherhandcomesuptotheBluetoothinherear.“Gotit,”shesays.“I’llbethereinthirtyseconds.”Shespinstome.“Canyouspreadthem?Getthesmalleronesinthemiddle,largerontheends?”
Shepushesopenthedoorandisgone.Imovethroughthetables,respacing.Whensheducksherheadinagain,I’mjustaboutdone,butshesays,“Doyouhavetwodouble-Abatteries?”
Iblinkather.“No.”
“Canyouaskthestaff?Theremotefortheslideshowisn’tworking.IusedallmyAAslastweekandforgottorestock.”
Iscowlandsay,“Ama,youneedanassistant.”
“Ihavetwotoday!”shesayscheerfully,asifthatanswersmyproblem,thenshutsthedooragain.
Irollmyshouldersbackandheadintothecateringroom,askingalltheworkerswhattheymighthavewiththemorintheircar.Finallythevenuemanagertakespityonmeandopensthesmallflashlightshekeepsinherpurse.ShepourstheusedbatteriesintomyhandandImeetAmaatthedoorwiththem.
“Okay,isthatit?”Iaskwithasmuchsarcasmaspossible,butshejustsmilesandthanksme.
Whensheshutsthedooronme,Ijogtodragthecartaroundthesideofthebuilding,makingasmuchnoiseasIwant.Igettothebacklawnjustastheguestsarecomingtotheirfeetforthewalkdowntheaisle,andIbarelywaitforthelastpersontoclearthechairsbeforestartingtobreakdowntheceremonyfloral.Someofitgetsrepurposed,somejustgetsdonated.
Onceit’sloadedinthetruck,Ipauseintheparkinglot.Ishouldjustjumpinandheadbacktotheshop—comebackforcleanup.IgetsomeguysintheafternooncominginforflowersforSaturdaynight,butgenerallyit’sslow.Nophoneordersuntilweekdays.I’donlybemissingthevendormeal,asgoodasitis,butgettingawayfromAma’sinsanerequestsandburgundy-tintedmouthseemslikeabiggerpriority.
I’mclosingthetailgatewhenmyphonebuzzes.It’satextfromAma.
Isavedussomecanapés
Icouldleaverightnow.Ishouldleave.
Butinstead,I’mtextingBentoaskifhecanswingbytheshop.I’mwalkingbacktothesidedoorandtrekkingthroughthenowswarmingwineryastheguestsruntodrinkasmuchfreewineastheycan.
She’sjustbeyondthedoortothekitchenandhasanapkinwithafewquiche-lookingthings.Hereyeslightupwhensheseesme,andmaybethat’sworthit.IeattheappetizerandhuminsurprisewhileshetalkstosomeoneonherBluetooth.
“Sogood,right?There’smore,too.I’llgrabthem.”
I’mstillchewingwhenshedisappears,tryingtofigureoutifI’mherplusonetothiswedding.
Ihoverinthekitchenandlookthroughthewindowtothemainhall.It’sgorgeous.Oncethehappycouplehavemadetheirwayintothereception,Amamovesbacktowardme,jerkingherheadformetofollowherdownahall.She’scarryingalargetotebag.
“Doyouthinkitlooksnice?”shesays,openingadoortoaroomwheretheystorethewine.It’shugeandempty,exceptforthebarrelsstackedinpyramidsagainstthewall.
“Yeah.Youwererightaboutthecenterpieces.What’s…what’sthis?”
“Ineedtoputvotivecandles”—shetakesaWalmart-sizedbagofcandlesandabundleofpaperbagsoutofhertotejustthen—“intothesepaperbags.Kindalikealanternthing.They’llbeoutsidewhenthesungoesdown.”
“Whydon’tyouhaveanassistantforthis?”
Sheripsopenthebagofvotivecandlesontheflattopofabarrel.“They’remonitoringthecatering.Andthey’remostlymyyoungerstepsiblings,soIdon’tfullytrustthemwithfire.”
Ifeelwrungout,likeallmyenergygotsuckedfromme.AndIfeelincrediblystupidforsomereason.EventhoughIwascontractedtobehere,ashervendor,I’mnotactinglikehervendor.
“Ican’thelpwiththat.”Myvoiceisgruff.Hereyessnapuptome.
“Okay.Youneedtogetback,huh?”
Herhandsarestillmovingquicklytoopenbagsandtiltupwicks,andI’mirritatedthatshecan’tjustpauseforasecondandhearmebemadather.
“Youneedanotherassistant.Probablyatallone.BecauseIcan’tshowuponSaturdaysandhelpyourunthings.”
“No,yeah.Ofcourse!”Shesmilesbrightly,andthatpissesmeoffmore.
“AndbillmeforthepublicityandmarketinglessonsyouandMargavemelastmonth.IappreciatethenewshotsIgotforthewebsiteandInstagram,butIcan’thaveyoujustdroppinginandtakingovermystorelikethat.”
Mywordsaresharp,andshefinallystopswiththecandles.“Okay—”
“Andstopbringinggoddamndonutstomyshop.”Ipointmyfingerinherface.“Idon’teatthem.They’redisgusting.Andyouleavetheboxeverytime—”
“Maybeyouneedtotryonetoknowifthey’redisgusting!”Sheplantsherhandsonherhips.
“They’reunprofessional,Ama.Idon’twanttheminmyshop.”
Somethingclicksbehindhereyes.Herjawtightens.
“Well,youwon’thavethemormeinyourshopanymore,”shesayshotly.“Thereareplentyofflorists—”
“Oh,please,”Isnap.“Youthinkthey’llbendoverbackwardforyourattitudeatRelles?RunerrandsbacktotheshopandletyouslideintotheirDMsateleveno’clock?”
Shelaughs,andthere’sasparkingofflintbehindherdarkeyes.“Ifyoudon’twantmemessagingyouinbed,Elliot,youcanjustrespondinthemorning.”Myeyesnarrowather,butshecutsmeoff.“Whatyoudoisn’tthatspecial.IcangetweddingarchesandchandeliersmadeinSanFranciscowithmuchlessfuss.”
“Fuss?I’mthefuss?You’rethefuss.”
“Idon’tfuss!”
“You’refussingrightnow!”
Shestepsaroundthebarrel,pokingherownfingerbackatme,andIwanttograbher.“You’retheonewho’sthrowingatantrumaboutafewvotivecandles.Justgo.Sendmeafuckingbillforallthetimeyouwastedtoday.”
I’mabouttopivotandstompoff,butIfindmyselfsteppingtowardherinstead.“Getafuckingassistant.Don’taskwhateverchumpyoucanbatyourlashesattograbladders”—shegasps,outraged—“orredesignyourreceptiontables.”
“Oh,boo-hoo.Addyouremotionaldamagetoyourinvoice.I’llpayyouonehundreddollarsforskulkingaroundtolookforbatteriestoday.Andhey,”shesnarls.Mybloodispoundinginmyears.“Here’saprotip.Don’tgiveeverygirlwho‘batstheirlashes’atyouarareSouthAmericanflower.You’llgooutofbusiness.”
Mybreathisheavinginmychest.I’msoclosetoher,IcouldkissherifIonlysteppedforward—
AndIguessshe’sthinkingtheexactsamethingbecauseherhandsreachupformyshouldersasIgrabherwaist.Twoarmswindaroundmyneckasshepushesherselfagainstme.
Thepressofherlipsonminesetseverythinginmychestonfire,andmyfingerscurlintoherhairlikealifeline.Westumblebackward,andmyshoulderslandonthebrickwall.Ihearmyselfgroan.
She’stuggingmyheaddowntohersgreedily,pressingherselfcloseandkeepingmybackagainstthebricks.Herlipspuffairagainstminebetweenroughkisses,andIwanttopauseandaskher—Whichofusdidthis?Butherfingersareinmyhairandhertongueisslippingintomymouth,andmyheadspins.
Ihearasoftsoundfromherthroat,amewl,amoan,andmyhandtiltsherheadback,anglingtokissherdeeper.Ithappensagainwhenmyotherarmslipsoverherwaist,ourtonguesdancingandlipsnipping.
Herbreathishotagainstmymouthwhenshepauses,andasIopenmyeyes,Ipreparefortheworst—forherpanickedexpressionorevenlaughingatme.Butbeforemyeyelidsflutteropen,hermouthisonmyjaw,justwhereshekissedmeearliertoday.
Mycocktwitches,andIknowshecanfeelit.Shecanfeeleverythingwithhowcloseshe’spressed.
Whenherteethrunacrossmypulse,agroanpoursoutofmythroat,andmyarmswraparoundherback,pullingherimpossiblycloser.Shestartssuckingonmyneck,justabovethecollar,andImaypassout.
“Ama…”
Herfingerscurlintomyshoulders,andawhinepopsfromherthroat.Myhandsmovealongherspine,lowerandlower,andwhenherbacksidecurvesperfectlyfromherlowback,myhipsrollintoherwithoutpermission.Shegaspsagainstmyneck,andquicklyforcesourmouthstogetheragain.
Ican’tbringmyselftoslidemyhandsdowntoherass—herspectacularassthatshedoesn’tevenknowIwantineveryway.I’mkissingherbackwithlittletonofinesse,completelyoverwhelmedbyherbodyonmine,hermouthonmine,hertongueeverywhere.Herteetharebecomingrougher,hermouthmoreinsistent.Icanhardlybreathe.
Herhandsdisappearfrommyshouldersandstartruckingupmyshirt,pressingithigheruntilshehasherfingersonmystomach.
I’msofuckinghard.Myhandssliplower,andjustmyfingertipsarecurvingoverherbackside,andthenIfeelImightdissolveintosyllablesandmoansfortherestofmylife.
Ifeelherhandsdancingagainstmywaist.Andthentheharshclickofmybeltopening.
Igripherhipsandpushherback.Hermouthtugsfrommine,andIswiftlyturntotheside.“Okay,okay,okay,”Imutter.“Yeah,okay.”
“What’swrong?”She’sbreathless.AndIwishIcouldseeherface—seeifhereyesarebright,ifshe’sflushed,seewhatherlipslooklikeafterI’vekissedthem.ButI’mgonnacomeifIlookather.IfIhavemyhandsonherbodyforonemoresecond,I’llbedonefor.
SoIsaythefirststupidthingthatcomestomymind.
“Areyouinchargeofthisweddingorwhat?”
I’mtryingtocatchmybreathwhenIhearherscoff.“Excuseme?”
“Don’tyouhavetogetback?”
Fuck,mydickishard.Pressingagainstmyzipper.Myopenbeltmocksme.
“Areyoujoking?”Hervoiceissharp.Angry.
Ipressmyeyesshutandtwistbacktoher,leaningbackonthewallforsupport.“I’msorry.I’mjust…I’mgonnacome.”
I’mbackinfreshmanyear,findingoutfromMadisonBaileyandaroomfullofherfriendsthatcompletionduringSevenMinutesinHeavenisnotimpressiveatall.Fuck,IreallygottagetoverthisMadisonchick.
Sheshifts,andI’mhalfhopingshe’sleaving.IfeelherwarmthbeforeIseeher.
“That’skindathepoint.”Herbreathishotovermyneck.
Myeyesflutteropentoher,andit’sworse.She’sflushed,she’selectric,she’sbeautiful.Herlipstickisn’tevensmeared,butthere’ssomethingabouthermouththatmakesitclearI’vekissedher.
Herhandsrisetomybuttonandzipperslowly.
“It’sgonnaberealquick,”Iwarnher.
Shesmiles.“Good.’CauseIhaveaweddingtogetbackto…”
Shetiltsherheaduptokissmeagain,andmyzipperslidesdowninthesilence.Mybreathisquickandheavy,butIkissherslowly,maybeabitsloppy.Shereachesdownintomyjeansandmyairstuttersoutofme.
“Oh,”shewhispers.Myeyescanbarelyopenwiththesoftpressofherfingersovermybriefs,butIpanicnow.
“What?Whatisit?”
Hergazeisaimedatmychin,butoutoffocus.Herlipsarepulledintoabeautifuloh,andifIwasn’tafraidshe’sabouttotellmesomethingiswrongwithmydick,I’dbekissingheragain.Herfingersstretch,glidingdownthelengthofmyshaft,andIseehereyelashesflutterjustasmineneedtodothesame.
“Everything’sgood,”shesayswithasmile.“Everything’sreallygood.”
Shelooksupatmewithsomekindofsecretsmile,andImustbetellingherIdon’tgetitwithmyexpression.
“You’reagoodsize,”sheclarifies,ablushstaininghercheeks.Shestartstorubmethroughmybriefs,softbutfirm.She’sstaringrightatme,andIcan’tlookaway.Notwhileherhandisdoingthattome.
“Oh,good.Yeah.Great,”Istammer.
Andthenshereachesintomybriefs,andwe’rebacktotheedgeofclimax.Igrabherfaceandpullhertokissme.Icanfeelhersmileagainstmylips.Shewrapsherfingersaroundmeandstartstopump.
I’mgonnafuckher.I’mgonnafuckheroneday,andI’lldriveherjustascrazy.She’sgothermouthopen,acceptingmeasItasteheroverandover.Myhipsarestartingtojerk.Shehasn’tevenbegunandI’mgonnapop.Imoanintohermouthandshesqueezesmeharder—faster—
“Elliot,”shewhimpers,andthat’stheend.
Whiteflashesbehindmyeyes.Mymindburstswithcolorandsound.I’memptyingmyselfintomyjeanswithherhandpumpingmequickly,hersweetbreathonmyface,herlipsbrushingsoftlyoverthecornerofmymouth.
WhenIcanopenmyeyes,she’spullingherhandoutofmyjeans.Igrabherwristandcleanherfingersontheinsideofmyshirt.Beforeshecansayanything,Iturnusaround,pressherintothewall,andpushmytongueintohermouth.Shegasps,andIkissherdeeper.Myhandsreachfortheedgeofherdressandrollitupherthighs.
ShesmilesagainstmycheekasImovetokissherneck.“Ihavetogetback.”Shesoundswistful,undetermined.
“Icanbequick,”Iwhisperintoherear.Islideherdressuptoherwaist,andfinallyfillmyhandswithherass.Shegroans,andIsuckatherpulse,slippingmyfingersaroundtodipintothelace.
Asoftbeepbeepsoundsfromsomewhere,andbeforeIcanputtogetherwhatitis,shereachesuptotheBluetooththat’smagicallystillinherear,andtapsit.“ThisisAma.”Ican’thearwhattheotherpersonsays,butshereplies,“Great.I’monmyway.”
“No,don’t,”Isayoncesheendsthecall.“Letmebequick.”
“Ihavetogo.Cateringneedstomovetheirasses,apparently.”Shesmilesandbrushesherhandthroughherhair.
Irunmyfingersoverthebandoflaceacrossherbelly.“IpromiseIcan—”
Shegrabsmyjawandkissesmedeep.It’sgoodbye,butIhavetotry.
“Ineedtoknowhowwetyouare,”Iwhisperagainstherlips.“Ineedtoknow…”Myfingersdanceoverthelace.
Hereyesarewarm,andherlipsaremischievouswhenshesays,“Nexttime.”
Shepushesmyshoulders,andIstepbackreluctantly.There’samessinmyjeansIneedtodealwithsoonerratherthanlater,butIdon’twantthistoend.
Withbarelyatugtoherdress,she’sreadytogobackout.AndI’msuddenlyashamedhowdifferentourexperienceswere.Ishouldn’thaveletherhandinmypantsuntilI’dgottenheroff.
Buttheechoofnexttimehumsinmybloodasshetossesasmileoverhershoulder,tugsthedooropen,andwaltzesout.
Istandaloneforafewminutes,tryingtofigureoutwhatjusthappenedandhowtomakeithappenagain.Isetuptwentyofhervotivecandlesbeforegingerlywalkingbacktomytruck,hopingmygymclothesarestillundertheseat.14AmaMAY
Ijerkawakefromaverypleasantdream.ElliotandIwerebackattheOldSugarMillfortheRobinsonwedding.Butinsteadofmegettinghimoff,he’dgonetohiskneesfasterthanabullet.MyfingersarestillclenchedaroundthebedsheetsthatIhadbeensubstitutingforhishair.
Islapmycheekswithbothhands,thenrubmyeyes.Maybeit’sbecauseIhaven’tseenorheardfromhiminthreeweeks.ReintroducinghimtomylifeinsuchastressfulsituationliketheJackieandHazelweddingreallydidn’tgivemetimetoprocessmyemotions.Ormylibido.
Ialwaysthoughthewasattractive.EvenwhenIwastwentyandfollowingWhitneylikeapuppy.Hewouldunpackallthecenterpieceswhilehisdadchattedwitheverybody,andsometimesI’dgetinhiswayonpurposejusttoforcehimtosay“Excuseme.”Ididn’tknowhimwellenoughbackthentoknowthosewordsaren’tinhisvocabulary.Heusuallyjustsaid“Move.”
Butnow—beingnearhimagain,hearinghisvoice,smellinghisaftershaveorbodywashorwhatever—itfeelslikeitdidbackthen.Hewasbackinmylifeforahandfulofweeksandthengoneagain.Anditwillneverbethesame,clearly.I’llhavetolivewiththefactthatI’llneverfeelhisfingersinmyhairagain,andthatthere’sinkonhisskinthatmymouthwillnevertouch.
Noneofthisishelpful,Iremindmyself.Iseehimagainthismorning,andthespectrumofhornytomournfulisanabsurdwaytostarttheday.Ithrowbackthecoversandjumpinacoldshower.
Todayisvenueday.IhaveafewofmytopvendorsmeetingmefirstatJackie’sparents’house,wherethebrunchisplanned,thentotheFirehouseRestaurantinOldSacramento,wheretherehearsaldinnerwillbe,andthenaquickstopatthereceptionvenuejustformeandGeorgefromMichelangelo’sEventRental.Noneedtoscaretheothersawaywiththestateofthebuilding.
IgotthepermitssettledwithHalalready.Theonlythinghe’sgivingmetroubleonisblockingoffthestreetaroundthepark,butI’llworkitout.
I’mgettinginmycarwhenmyphonerings,soIpopinmyBluetoothandanswer.
“Hi,HoneyBear,”Mom’svoicesings,softandsweet.
“Hey!How’sitgoing?”
Icanalreadytellwhatthisis,seeingastheshitshowthatwasEasteratherhusband’shousestillhasmereeling.
“SoIjustwantedtoletyouknowthatmeandCarlaren’tgonnaworkout.”
AsIbackoutofmydriveway,IslipintoascriptI’veperfectedovertheyears.“What?Oh,no.Mom,that’stoobad.Whathappened?”
“Youknow,somethingjustwasn’tright.Iwasstrugglingtoseeit,butIfeelalotbetternowthatwe’vetalkeditout.”
“Hewasoneofthegoodones,butyaknowwhat?Soareyou,”Isaybyrote.
“Yeah,yeah.”Hervoiceisabitwistful.“AndJakereallylikedyou,too.Hesaidhe’dliketohelpwithmoreweddingsifyoueverneedhim.”
“Sure,”Isay,rollingmyeyes.He’llgointheRolodexwiththerestofthestepsibs.
“So,listen,”shesays,“I’mmovingouttoday,justtakingafewthings.CanIcomeoverforacoupledaysuntilIcanfindanewplace?”
Itakeadeepbreath.Thisisthepattern.Mommovesinwithmeforaweek.Mombuysanewhouse.Mommeetsanewmanandabandonssaidhouse.Mommarriesnewmanandsellshouse.Momdivorcesnewman.Mommovesinwithme.Etcetera.Onandon.
“Ofcourse.I’mswampedtoday,butI’llbehomearounddinner.WecandoChinesetogether.”
“I’dlovethat.I’mgoingtocomebyinaboutanhour.Ihavemykey,”shesays.
“Awesome.Don’t…cleanmyroom.Andwhenyouignoremeanddocleanmyroom,don’thidemyvibratoragain.”
“Ididn’thideit,Ama.Iputitintheclosetwherenoguestscouldbeoffended—”
“Okay,pleasedon’ttouchmysextoys,loveyou,bye!”
Ihanguponher.CynthiaJones,thewomanwhoneedsnovibrator.Becauseshe’sbeenwithamanforninetypercentofheradultlife.Andanewmanatthat,sothere’snospacetogetboredwithaperson.
IpopintoseeMr.KwonatJStreetDonuts,andhepliesmewithabaker’sdozenbeforethedoorswingsclosed.
Jackie’sparentsliveabouttwentyminutesfromtheRoseGardeninaratherclassyboroughofSacramentocalledCarmichael.Ipulluptoalavishtwo-storyandremindmyselftoaskJackiewhatherparentsdo.Yowza.
Hermother,Kim,dragsmeintoadeephugandcomplainsaboutprocessedsugarassheselectsaBostoncream.Jackiegreetsmeinthekitchen.
“Beautifulhouse,girl!Yougrewuphere?”Iselectadonutholeandleanonthekitchenisland.
“Yes!ButI’msureit’snothingcomparedtowhereyougrewup,MissSt.Joseph’s.”
Ishrug.Mychildhoodhomewasn’tanythinglikethis,butitwasnice.Kimsneaksanotherdonutasshetakesmyelbowandthanksmeforeverything.
“Jacquelineisabsolutelyenamoredwithyou,”Kimsayswithasmile.“Ihopeyoudon’tmind,butIjusthaveoneteeny,tinyrequest?”
“Ofcourse.Please!”
Kimplacesahandoverherheart.“WehaveafamilyheirloomthatI’dloveincorporatedsomewhere.It’satubthatIwasthinkingcouldbeusedasabasinofsorts?”
Jackiepipesup,“Ithinkmaybethereception?Wefillitwithiceandplacethedrinksinit?”
“Thatsounds…somuchclassierthanaplasticbarrel.You’reon.”Ilaugh.“Hazelwasalreadytalkingtomeaboutcraftbeerbottles,somaybewedisplaytheminthebasin.”
Kimclapsherhandstogetherandlookslikeshemightalmostcry.“Thatwouldmakemesohappy.Myfatherpassedjustafewyearsback.”
Isqueezeherhandandlethertellmeafewstoriesabouthim.Whentheovendings,Kimgoestograbthecinnamonrollsshewenttothetroubleofmaking.IturntoJackie.
“Okay,walkmethroughwhatwe’rethinkingbeforeeveryonegetshere.”
IignorethestabofanxietyinmychestwhenIrememberElliotispartofthateveryoneandfollowJackiebacktotheentryhall.
“Iwasthinkingwestationeverythingintheliving-slash-diningroombecausewehaveFrenchdoorsthatopenup,”Jackiesays,leadingmeintoaroomwithtallceilingsandfurniturethatlookslikeitjusthadtheplastictakenoff.
“Wow.Gorgeous.”Myeyesdriftoverthebrickfireplaceandtheperfectlyprimpedthrowpillows.TheFrenchdoorsdoindeedopenintotheformaldiningroom,whichinturnconnectstothekitchen.“You’respoton.Longtabledownthecenterofthesetworooms.”
Aswe’retalkingparkingandnumberofpeople,there’saknockonthefrontdoor,anditswingsopenhesitantly.Iseehislargehandcurledaroundthedoorandlookawayintothediningroombeforetherestofhimappears.
Tenminutesearly,justashisfathertaughthim.
Jackieleavesmysidetogreethim.IcanhearKimaskingafterhismother,andbeforehecanevenrespond,she’ssteeringhimaroundthehouse,talkingaboutwhereshewouldlikeflowers.
Jackiecomesbacktome,shakingherheadplayfully.“Whatevershe’saskingfor,giveherhalf,”shesays.“Okay,wherewerewe?”
“I’mlovingyourmother’staste.Theflowinhereisgreat.Ijustneedtospeakwiththerentalcompanyaboutwhattobringin.”
Elliotchucklesatsomething,andmyattentionisstolen.Kimiswalkinghimthroughthefulltour,andIcanfinallyseehimoverJackie’sshoulder.Hesmilessorarely.It’sbeenforeversinceI’veseenit,andIacheforittobedirectedatme.Iclearmyheadandmovetothebackwindowtoseewhatoptionsthereareforthebackyard.
Jackiesidlesuptome.“So…areyoudating?”
MyheadsnapstohersofastIcanhearacrack.“Us?No.God,no.”Ilaughmanically.“Why—whywouldyousay…Nope.Notus.”
Jackieblinksatme,hermouthopening.“Uh,no,Imean—areyoudating.Likeasintheconceptoftheword.”
Myshouldersdroopwiththelossofadrenaline,andIrubmybrowinembarrassment.
Shesays,“Butifthat’swhereyourmindgoes,thenI’dbesuperonboardwiththat.He’ssingle—”
“Sorry.I’m…”Iwavemyhand,searchingforwhichneurosistoblamethison.“Tense,Iguess.Uh,no,I’mnotdatingrightnow.”
“Badbreakup?”sheguesses.
Igiveherahalfsmile.“Somethinglikethat.Idon’tdolong-termrelationships.”
“Well,yaknowsomethingthatcouldhelpwiththat‘tension,’”shesaysjoshingly,andIfollowhereyesastheycomicallyslidetoElliotlisteningintentlytohermothergoonaboutchrysanthemumsversuscarnations.Hefeelsourgazeandglancesover.Isnapmyeyesaway,andJackiewaves.“Sorry,ifI’mbeingridiculous.HayandIhaveabetonwhenyoutwowillbone.”
Lovely.Myabjecthorrorandpetrifiedsilenceoverthepastfewmonthshasbeenmistakenforflirtation.Ihumweakly.“Youwillbothlose.Iguaranteeit.”
“Notyourtype?”
Myveryunhelpfulbrainsuppliesmemoriesofmydreamthismorning,withmykneeoverhisshoulderandmybackagainstthebrickwalloftheOldSugarMill.Andthen,nottobeoutdone,myveryrealmemoriessurface—crushedrosepetalsstickingtomyskin,leavesinhishair,histongueeverywhere
“Idon’thaveatype,”Isayperkily,turningonmyheelandendingtheconversation.It’sinappropriateanyway.IfElliotorKimnoticetheflushtomycheeks,theydon’tsayanything.
AfterGeorgefromMichelangelo’shasseenthelayoutofthehouse,andI’veheardsomethoughtsfrombothhimandElliotastowhattheycanoffer,weleavetheNguyenhome,andjumpinourcars,headingtotheFirehouseRestaurant.IoffertodriveJackie,andIcantellshe’slookingforagoodreasontoputmeandElliotinthesamecaragain,butshejustcan’tfindone.
GeorgehasdoneoneeventattheFirehouseandknowsthebasicsofwhattherestaurantwillprovide.Elliothasdroppedoffcenterpiecesbefore,butnotworkedinstallations.He’sreadywithhismeasuringtapefordoorwaysandcorners.
Iloveacut-and-driedrehearsaldinner.Fewerguests,feweronce-in-a-lifetimemoments,morealcohol.Infact,boththebrunchattheNguyens’andtherehearsaldinnerareshapinguptobelovelybecausetheydonotincludeHazel’sagent’slist,whichisalreadygivingmeaheadache,despitemyexcitementatthepossibilityofmeetingAnyaTaylor-Joy.
TherosewallElliotisbuildingforthereceptionwillbebroughtherethedaybefore,andhe’llbringincenterpieces.Georgewillbringinblackandgoldballoonsandsignage.It’seasy.
Nowcomesthehardpart.
We’restandingintheparkinglotoftherestaurantwhenIturntoElliot.“Okay,thethreeofusareheadedtothebuildingonTwenty-FirsttoshowGeorgewhatwe’reworkingwith.”Iblinkagainstthesunlight,bringingmyhanduptomyeyes.“Soyou’refreetogo.Iknowyou’veseenit.”
“Oh,butyou’rewelcometostaywithus!”Jackieaddshelpfully.
“Uh,yes,ofcourse.You’rewelcometocome.ButIknowyou’rebusy.”ImovetothecarsbeforeJackiecanwheedlehimanyfurther.“George,doyouwanttodrivetogether?Parking’salittlerough,andIcandropyoubackhereafter.”
“Yeah,I’llcome,”adeepvoicesays,cuttingoffGeorge’sresponse.
Mykeysfumbleinmyfingers,scratchingthecardoor.IglanceoveratElliot.He’sshruggingwithhishandsinhispockets.Jackielookslikeshe’sgoingtoburst.Georgehashismouthopenlikehe’sreadytorespond,ifonlysomeonewillpayattentiontohimagain.
“Great!Awesome.”Isoundlikeacartoonmouse.Mykeysfinallyopenmycardoor,andIwatchinhorrorasGeorgeandElliottrytoout-gentlemaneachotherforthefrontseat.Georgeisarounderman,butElliothaslongerlegs,soreallyitwasgoingtobefifty-fifty.Georgetakesthefront,Jackieslipsinthebackseatonthepassengerside,andIseeElliotreachingforthedoorbehindme.
GeorgeandJackiearetalkingaboutradiostations,andI’mjustwaitingforthefourthclickofabucklesoIcangetthisthefuckoverwith.Icanseetheedgeofhisjawinmysidemirror.
“Whoa,yougotalottalightsonyourdash!”
Shutthefuckup,George.Myeyessqueezeclosed,hopingIcanjustlaughandsay,Yeah!Crazy!
“Areyoufuckingserious?”hisvoicecomesfrombehindme,andIcanfeelhimsittingforward,lookingovermyshoulder.Thehaironmyneckdoesn’tknowwe’reintrouble,soitstandsonendwhenhesays,“Whatthehell,Ama?”
Iputthecarinreverse,andbackoutoftheparkinglot.“Theshopsaysthere’snothingtheycando!”IsqueakintheI’monlyagirl!voiceIusetogetoutofthings.
Jackieislaughingatme,butineveryglimpseIgetofElliotintherearview,hiseyesareglaringintothebackofmyskull.Georgeisquiteoffendedtohearthatashoptoldmetheycouldn’tdoanythingandwantstoknowwhichshopitwas,becausehe’dliketoavoidit.
Wegettothebuildingwithoutdyinginafierywreck,thankyouverymuch,andasidefromthewaysomeonerefusestolookatmeagain,itgoessmoothlyinside.Georgeisveryworriedwhenhefirstseesthestateoftheplace,butItellhimtheplanaboutthepermittingandthehealthinspections,andhe’sstartingtosmilebythetimeweleave.HedoesthesamethingElliotdidandquietlymakessureIknowaboutthebats.
ThehardthingabouttodayisthatwhilethisisthefirsttimeI’vehadtobeinhispresenceinseveralweeks,it’salsothelasttimewe’llneedtoseeeachotherforalmosttwomonths.Nowwejustgoourownwaysforawhile.It’sMay,andtheweddingisinOctober.AsIdrivethefourofusbacktotherestaurantparkinglot,Ican’thelpbutcheckmymirrorsmoreoftenthannecessary,searchinghisstoicfaceforsomesignoflife.
Hedoesn’tsaygoodbyeoncewe’rebacktothecars,andI’mstillfirmingthingsupwithaverytalkativeGeorgewhenhistruckstarts.HepullsoutoftheparkinglotasI’msettlingJackieandmebackinmycartodriveherhome.Andthenhe’sgone.Idon’tknowwhyhecametothebuildingonTwenty-Firstagainwhenallhedidwasscowl.
Ifallgoeswell,that’sthelastI’llseeofhimforawhile.Ifeellikeanaddict,startingtomournhimevenashisscentlingersinmycar.
IhaveanupcomingweddingthatIknowhe’dbeperfectfor,butI’mafraidtoaskhimaboutit.Arewebacktopartneringonweddingsafterthisone?OrisJackieandHazel’sweddingjustspecialcircumstancesforcingustogether?AndwhichwouldIprefer?IknowI’matmyabsolutebestwhenworkingwithhim,andI’dliketosaythesamegoesforhim,butthatdoesn’tmeanit’sworthit.
Wecan’tgobacktobefore—notevenbeforethesex.Becausetherewasalwayssexbetweenus,eveninthosemonthswhenherefusedtomakeamove.Itwasmymistakethinkingtherecouldonlybesexbetweenus.
Idon’tknowifthere’safuturewherewecanworktogetherwhileforgettingtherestofit.
IjustknowIdon’twantthisweddingtobeoveranytimesoon.15ElliotTHREEYEARS,FOURMONTHS,ANDTWOWEEKSAGO
Towardtheendoftheirmarriage,myfatherandmotherwereclearlynotseeingeyetoeyeonmuchanymore.Hewantedtosendmetosciencecamp;shesignedmeupforaset-buildingapprenticeshipatthelocaltheater.Hewantedtobuyalargerhouseinthesuburbs;shehadapoliticalcareertakingoffandneededtobeclosetothecapitol.Helikedscrambled;shelikedovereasy.
ButtheonethingtheywouldhaveagreedonisthatIshouldhavecalledAmaonSunday.
DadwouldhavearguedSaturdaynightonherwayhome,justtobeornery.AndMomwouldhavecounteredthatInevershouldhaveleft—Ishouldhavebeentheretowalkhertohercar.
EvenwithDaddeadandMomclearlynotbeingtoldaboutthehandjobIgotatastranger’swedding,IamtheirsonenoughtoknowthatbyMondaymorning,I’vefuckedit.
Idragmyselfintotheshopearlytotrytogetmyheadonstraight.Callinghertodayisbetterthancallinghernever,sothat’sonmyto-dolist,butthere’samessageontheshopvoicemailalready.It’seighta.m.
Hi,it’sAma.
Mymusclesfreeze,andIturntotheblackboxthatholdsmyfate.
IhaveacouplewhowantsachandelierfortheirweddinginJune.It’sshortnotice,again,andI’msorry.I’mbringingthemintodaytohopefullysweet-talkyouintoit.
Icanhearthesmileinherwordsbeforethemessageends.Irunmyhandthroughmyhair,lookingaroundtheshopabithelplessly.IlookupatthechandelierIhavehangingabovemyhead.ShouldIrefreshsomeoftheflowers?
Instead,Ireplaythemessage,hopingtogetareadonhowshefeelsaboutwhathappenedonSaturday.Maybetheliftinhervowelssaysshecan’twaittoseemeagain.MaybeI’mnotimaginingthehumofsweet-talkpouringoutofhersmilinglips.
It’sonlyfiveminutespastopeningwhenthedoortugsopenandmyfather’sbellannouncesvisitors.Ayoungcoupleenters,lookingaround,andAmashutsthedoorbehindthem.They’recommentingonhow“cute”theshopisasImeanderbacktothecounter.
“Iknow,right?”Amasaystothem.“ThisisElliotBloom.Itwashisfather’splacebeforehetookover,andhe’stransitioningintocustominstallationstoo.”
I’malmostannoyedthatshe’stalkingaboutmeinsteadoftome,butthenshestepsuptothecounterandproducesapinkdonutboxwithaslygrintomeetmyscowl.Likesheknowsthedonutspushmybuttons,andshebroughtthemanyway
Imeetthecouple,declineadonut,andtrytohaveanormalconversationwiththebrideaboutababy’sbreathchandelierwhileAmaleansagainstmyfrontcounter,doingsuggestivethingswithacinnamontwistbar.EitherthatorI’vecompletelylostmymindandshe’sjusteatingadonutlikeanormalperson.
Asthebridetellsmehowmuchshehatesbaby’sbreathandcanwefindanalternativeinthechandelier,myeyescatchonAmaasshelooksmedeadintheeye,partsherdark,fulllips,andslipsthelongdonutbetweenthemslowly—waymoreofitthannecessary.
“Doyouthinkthatwouldwork?”thewomanasksme,andIhavetotracebackthelastwordsIheardbeforeAmadecidedtodeep-throatadonutinfrontofme.
“Absolutely,”Icroak,thenclearmythroat.“Thereareoptionsbesidesbaby’sbreath.”Itakeherthroughafewpossibilitiesbeforewesettleonhydrangeasinwhite.
OnceIconfirmthatthechandelierisalltheyneed,Amastartswalkingthemtothedoor,andIfeelmymomentslippingthroughmyfingers.Iseethepinkboxstillopenonthecounter.
“Takeyourdonuts,”Ibarkafterher.
Shespinstomeatthedoor.“Oh,Iknowhowmuchyoulovethem.”Herlipscurveandherlashesflutter.Andthenshesays,“I’llberightback,”andletsthedoorswingclosedbehindher.
Iglareattheoffendingbox,temptedtojustthrowitinthetrashandlockthedoorbehindher.It’snotthatIhaveanirrationalhatredofdeep-frieddough;it’sthatLauraGilbertdidn’tkeepsugarinthehouse.Therefore,Idon’tdrinksoda,eatHalloweencandy,orordericecream.Itmademearealpopularkid,clearly.
Ipickuponeofthefrostedmonstrosities,andIcanfeelthesugarseepingintomyskinthroughosmosis.I’lltryitsoIcantellherIhateit,andthatwillbetheendofthat.
Ishovethedoughintomymouth,andthesecondIchew,Iknowit’samistake.Iseethevirtues.Ido.Butforsomeonewhodoesn’tputcreamintheircoffeebecauseitmakesittoosweet,Icanbarelygetitdown.Ithrowawaytherestofthedonutanddomybesttoswallow.Itwasfilledwithsomethingtoo,andnowthat’sonmytongue.Iclosethebox,pushittowardtheedgeofthecounter,andhopeshejusttakesthemwithher.
Istartcleaningup.I’mnotjustgonnastandaroundandwaitforhertocomebackin.I’minthebackwhenIhearthebelloverthedoor,anditshouldirritatemehowshejustwaltzesintothebackroom.
“Youshouldconsiderashowroom.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’mserious.”Shemovestothesolitaryworktableandpullsherselfuponit.“Ifyouwanttocontinuedoingcustominstallations,you’llneedastudio,Elliot.”
Ilookawayfromtheflutterofherdressonherthighsandgrumble,“Imadeacoupleofthings.I’mnotconvertingtheshopjusttoplayballwithWhitney’shigh-endclients.Mydadwouldneverhavewantedthat.”
Sheseemstothinkaboutit.“Whynotboth?Whataboutthebackroom?”Shelooksaround,andIcanseeherdesigningthespacelikeshedesignsareception.“Ifyouhadsomecleverstorageinhere,youcouldhavewhateveryouwantwhilestillusingthewallsandfloorspaceforashowroom.”Sheturnsbacktome.“DoesWhitneyevenknowwhatyou’vebeenmaking?Shereallyshouldcontractyoumore.”
“WhitneyHarrisonWeddingsfollowsmeonInstagram,butIknow—”
“Thatmeansnothing,”shefinishesforme,nodding.“It’sallassistants.Youcanreachout?Tellherwhatyou’reintendingtodomoreofincasesheeverwantsmorethanjustcenterpieces.”
Ireachforaleftoverbundleofastilbenexttowhereshe’ssittingonthetable.“You’restillreallyloyaltoher,huh?”
Hereyesglitterbackatme.“Yeah.ShemademeeverythingIamtoday.”
Ihavetodisagreewithherthere,butthat’sforanotherday.“WhathaveItoldyouaboutwalkingaroundmyshoplikeyouownit?”Isaysoftly,lookingdowntowhereshe’ssittinginthemiddleofmyworkstation.
Herlipspresstogether.“Hm.Thatyouloveit?”
Ishakemyheadandstepcloser.Shepartsherknees,andIalmostdroptomine.
Shehumsagain,tappingherchin.“Wasitalongthelinesof‘Thankyouforbringingdonutstomyplaceofwork,andthankyouforthefreepublicityyouandyourphotographergaveme’?”
Iplacemyhandsonthetableoneithersideofherhipsandleanforward.She’stallerthanmelikethis,andIthinkshelikesit.
“You’llhavetoforgivemeforgetting,”shesays,reachingforwardtofingerthebuttonatmycollar.“Youwereinthoseskinnyjeansandthatplaidshirt.Itmadeyoulooklikeamissionarycometosavemyfilthysoul.”
Shepressesforward,andherlipsbrushovermytemple.
“Thosearen’tskinnyjeans,”Iargue.
“Icouldbarelygetmyhandinthem,”shewhispersagainstmycheek.
Iswallow,andIknowshehearsit.Iliftmyhandsfromthetableandplacethemgentlyonherknees.Theyopenwider.
“Tellmewhereanothertattoois,”shesighsintomyneck,featheringkissesalongmyjaw.“Oneoftheotherfour.I’mdesperatetoknow.”
Myeyesflutterclosedasherteethskateovermyear.“There’sacryvioletonmyribs.”
“Howendangeredisit?”HerbreathhitchesasIglidemyhandsupherthighs
“Very.Extinct.”
“Iwanttosee.Iwanttoseethemall,”shewhispers,andtheairsendsshiversacrossmyshoulders.“Iwanttoputmymouthoneverylastoneofthem.”
I’mhalfhardagain.Igripherthighs,watchingmyhandsasIdragtheedgeofherdressuptoherhips.She’ssuckingatmynecknow,whimperingpuffsofairasIreachthelaceofherunderwear.Iskimoverthem,roundherhips,uptoherwaist.Icanalmosttouchmyfingertipsaroundherback.
Myhandsstretchupward,spanningoverherstomach.Ipushthepaddingofherbraasideandfindhernipplestightandhard.Shewhinesandgrabsmyneck,pullingmymouthtohers.Icanfeelhershiftingforward,bringinghercenterclosertomine.Mytonguesweepsthroughhermouth,andmycockhasgottenthemessagethatyes,I’mgoingtofuckheronthistable.
Iflickatherbreasts,rubbingsoftlyoverthetightskin.Shegasps,andherkneesbracketmyhips.She’spantingintomymouth,wheezing.Herfingerscurlintomycollar,andjustasIgettheideatopullherpantiesdownandtasteher,shepullsbackfrommymouth.
Hereyeslookbetweeneachofminequickly.“Didyou…Youhadadonut?”
Ilaugh,slidingmyhandsdownherstomachtoholdherwaist.“Caughtme.Itwasdisgusting.Ihatethem.”
She’sbreathinghard,andthere’ssomethingbehindhersmile.“Okay,okay.”Shelooksdownattheground.“Okay,so—”There’sarattleinherthroat.“Everything’sgood.Butyouneedtocall9-1-1andgrabtheEpiPeninmypurse.”
Iblinkather.AndbeforeIcanaskifshe’sjoking—ortakemyfingersoutofthewaistofherpanties—hereyesrollbackandsheslumpsagainstmyshoulder.
I’mfrozen.Isshejoking?
“Whatthefuck?”
Ishakeher.Itipherbackandpullhereyelidsbacktocheckhereyes.Myheartisstrugglingtopumpbecauseallthebloodisstillinmycock,butIthinkshesaidsomethingaboutanEpiPen?IlayheronthetableasgentlyasIcanandsearchtheroomforherpurse.MyphonefliesoutofmyhandsasIyankitoutofmypocket.ItclattersonthefloorandIhavetogodiggingforitunderastorageshelf.IcomebacktoherandcheckherpulsewhileIdial9-1-1.
“What’syouremergency?”
IstareatthisbeautifulgirlI’veclearlykilledandsay,“Idon’tknow,butshe’spassedout?ShesaidshehasanEpiPen?”
“Doesshehaveanallergy?”
“Idon’tknow!Idon’tfuckingknowher!”Istartdigginginherpurse,victoriouslygrabbingatubebeforeIrealizeit’satampon.“WhatdoIdowithanEpiPen?”
“Sir,what’syourlocation?”
ItellhertheaddressasIfinallylocatetheEpiPen.
“AndthisisherEpiPen?Sheindicatedshehadanallergy?Maybepeanuts?”
“Shedidn’teatanypeanuts!Iwaskissingher—”
Ijerkmygazetothefrontcounter,whereapurelyinnocentpinkboxsits.
“DidIjustkillherwithapeanutbutterdonut?”
“Sir,I’msureshe’snotdead,butsheneedsyourhelp.Canyoufollowinstructions?”
I’mthinkingofMrs.Taricointhirdgrade,whotoldmeIhaveaterribletimefollowinginstructions.
“No.Probablynot.”
Maybethisisshock.Maybethisisadream.Hasshebeenpassedoutfortoolong?
“DoyouhavetheEpiPen,sir?”
“Yeah,whatdoIdowithit?”
Thewomantalksmethroughsomebullshitaboutorangetotheskin,bluetothesky.Ipullbackthetab,shoveitagainstherthigh,andlistentoahiss.
AmasucksinairlikeaDisneyprincesswakingupfromacurse.Andthenpromptlyturnsoverandvomitsonmyworkbench.
Thehospitalisonlyeightblocksaway,sothereareparamedicsinmyshopbeforeIcanproperlyreacttothevomitandtheshaking.
Shewon’tlookmeintheeyesastheEMTsloadheruponagurney,andit’sprobablybecauseIjusttriedtokillher.Itmayputadamperonwhatwasturningouttobeatrulyincrediblefirstdate.
Theyhaveherwashhermouthoutoncetheylearnitwashertonguethatcameincontactwithanotherperson’stonguethatcameincontactwithpeanutbutter.Istandstupidlyastheywrapherinaspaceblanketandwheelherout.
“Areyoucoming?”oneoftheguysasks.
“Uh,yes.Yes.”Igrabmykeysandherpurse,flipthesigntoCLOSED,andfollowthemintotheambulance.
Whenthenursesaskmetofilloutformsforher,Ican’texplainthatIonlyjuststartedtouchinghertitsandI’mnotreallyherboyfriend,soIspendtwentyminutesinherpurse,lookingforinformation.Oncetheyhavehermedicalcardsanddriver’slicense—birthdayMay10—Isitinthewaitingroomuntilablondwomanapproachesmetwohourslater.Shedoesn’tlooklikeadoctor,butIstandwhenshesays,“AreyouElliot?”
“Yes,ma’am.”
Sheextendsherhandwithawidesmile.“I’mCynthia,Ama’smother.”
Well,fuck.“Hi,good.Imean,goodtomeetyou.”
Ishovemyhandsbackinmypocketsassoonaspossible—thehandsthathadonlyhoursagobeenrubbingherdaughter’snipples—andsay,“Isshebetter?”
“Yes,she’sgood.They’llreleasehermomentarily.”Cynthia’ssmileissweetashoney,andI’mstaringathertryingtofindthepiecesofAma.Shegetsherdarkhairfromherdad,butIguessIcanseehermother’snoseandtheshapeofherjaw.“So,you’rethefloristthatdidmyweddinginApril!”
“Yes,uh-huh,yes,Iam.”Good.That’ssafe.
“Andyou’realso…datingmydaughter?”
Notsafe.“Um,no.NotasfarasIknow.”
“Butyouwerekissingher…”Cynthiarollsherhandintheairasifcastingaspelltomakeitso.
“Yeah.Yes.That’s…amedicalfact.”
“Onherchart,actually!”Shelaughs.
“Wonderful.”
“Mom,pleasedon’tmarryhim,”Ihearbehindus.IturntoseeAmabeingrolledoutinawheelchair.
I’veparalyzedher.
AndbeforeIcanstartmentallydraftingupplansforwideningdoorwaysattheshopandinstallingrampsatmyhouse,shestandsupgingerlywithhermother’sassistance.
“So,thanksforthatEpiPen,”shesayswithatightsmile.“Nicetoknowyoucankeepacoolheadunderpressure.”
Ifeelliketodaywasanythingbut“acoolheadunderpressure,”butIguesswe’llleavethatbetweenmeandJosephine,the9-1-1operator.
“Yeah.”Inod.“Soyou’reallergictopeanutbutter,butyoubuyapeanutbutterdonutanyway.”
“It’swrappedseparate.”Sheshrugs.Ibristleatthat.Liketoday’seventscouldbeshruggedaway.“SorryIthrewuponyou.”
“Right.Well,Ishouldgo—cleanthatup.”Ihandherpursetoherandstepbacktowardtheslidingglassdoors.There’snoformalityhereforendingaconversationinahospitalafteryourmouthhasgiventhegirlyoulikeanaphylacticshock,so—
“Elliot,wouldyouliketojoinusforlunch?”Cynthiaaskswiththesparkleofgrandchildreninhereye.
I’mabouttostammeraresponsewhenAmacutsmeoff:“He’sgottaruntheflowershop,Mom.Andit’snotlikeI’mquitereadytoheadoverforamartiniatBistro33.”Sheheavesherpurseupontohershoulderandsmilesatme.“I’llseeyouattheGordonweddingnextSaturday.”
“Right.SeeyounextSaturday.”Iwatchthemwalktowardtheparkinglot.Amalooksbackatmeoncewithasoftsmile.
Oncethey’regone,IturninacircleafewtimesuntilIrealizeIcameintheambulancewithher.IstickmyhandsinmypocketsandwalkbacktotheshopintheMaybreeze.16ElliotTHREEYEARS,THREEMONTHS,THREEWEEKS,ANDFOURDAYSAGO
Theproblemwithsaying“seeyouattheGordonwedding”wasthatitleftmeinthesamepositionasbeforeouralmostmouth-murderincident.Istillshouldbecalling.Istillshouldbetakingheronarealdate(preferablysomeplacetheyhaven’tevenheardthewordpeanut).Istillshouldbetryingtotellherthatplayinggrab-assinmybackroomisniceandall,butI’dliketoescalatethis.
BecauseIdo.Wantto.
SometimesIfeellikesheblewintomylifelikeahurricaneandbarelyleftmeasecondtocatchmybearings,butinreality,I’veknownherforalmosthalfayearnow.Andshe’sbeenrunninginmycirclesforafewyearsbeforethat.Mydadevenknewher—whichisastrangethingtothinkaboutasI’mtryingtonarrowdownmyexactfeelingsforher.Sheknowsapieceofmethat’sgone.WhenIthinkaboutspendingmoretimewithher,aboutescalating—there’ssomethingoddlyrightaboutDadhavingmether.
SoIputonmy(verywellwashed)jeansthatshecalled“skinny,”Ipullonadifferentplaidshirt,andheadtotheGordonweddinglikeit’saseconddate.IremindmyselfthatIaccidentallygotmyexpectationsupthelasttime,sodon’tcountonthisbeingdifferent,anddon’tgetfrustratedifit’sthesame
TheGordonsarehavingachurchceremony,sorightoffthebat,Itellmyselftherewon’tbeanyflirtinginachurch.
ButasI’munloadingthegarlandstostringalongthepews,shecatchessightofme,andevenfromthedistancetothealtar,Iseehereyesdripovermyclothes,mybody.ShesmilesinawaythattellsmesheknowsexactlywhyIdressedlikethis,whichimmediatelymakesmefeeltooeagerandlikeIshouldgohomeandchange.
WhenIbringinthegarlandtodrapeovertheeaselforthefrontofthechurch,smallwarmfingerstouchmywrist.She’satmyside,socloseIcansmellherhair.
“Looksgreat.CanIgetyouropiniononsomething?”Shecocksherheadtowardtheright,andInodandfollowher.Sheleadsmetooneofthecorneralcovesandasksoverhershoulder,“Youhaven’thadanydonutstoday,bychance,haveyou?”Shepushesherhairbehindherearandglancesbackatme.
“Nope,”Irespondabitshamefully.
“NoPB&Jforbreakfast?”
Irollmyeyesather.“No.”
Shespinsonhertallheelandsays“Great”beforewrappingherelbowsaroundmyneckandplantingherlipsonmine.
Ihuminshock.Myeyesarestillopen,andIsearcharoundus,realizingshe’stakenmesomewheresecluded.Inthischurch.
Hertongueteasesmylips,andIlaygentlefingersonherwaistasIopenmymouthtoher.Herhandsfistinmyhair,andsheanglesmyheadtokissmedeeper.Myhandsflexonherhips.
Ipullbackasfarasshe’llletmeandsay,“Isthisweird?AreyouCatholic?You’renotlike…gettinghotbecausewe’reinachurch,right?”
Shelaughsagainstmylips.“IgrewupCatholic,butovertheyearsIfiguremymomandIsideprettywellwiththatBritishchurch.Theonecreatedfordivorces.”
“Um,Iwouldn’tsayitwascreated—”
Shekissesmeagain,andIallowmyselftojustfeelherbodypressingagainstme.Beforemybraincanchantchurch,church,churchatme,shepullsback.
“Ihavestufftodo,butIwantedtosayhi.”Shesmilessoprettily,andherfingertipsgrazethebackofmynecksosoftly,mybodystartstoreact.“Isyourcousinallsetatthereceptionvenue?”
Mindstrugglingtocatchup,Isay,“Yeah,Ben’stherewiththecenterpieces.I’llcheckonthemonceItransfertheceremonyfloral.”
“Youshouldstayduringthereception,”shesayssoftly,imploringly.“IpromiseIwon’tsendyoulookingforbatteries.”
Herlashesflutterasshelooksupatme,andthat’sallIreallyneed.“Yeah.WhenI’mdonesettingup,I’llstickaround.”
Shekissesmycheek,straightensherdress,andwalksoutofthealcovewiththatswaytoherhipsthatI’vegrowntoadore.
Andthat’showIfindmyselfstandinguselessly,gettinginthewayofthecateringinthishistoricallypreservedmansioninMidtown.Myjobisdone.Floralhasbeentransferred,andBenhasbeenexcused.AndI’mjustshufflingmyfeet,waitingforthecouple’sentrance.Inanormalsituation,Iwouldgohomenowandcomebackforcleanup.ButI’mlearningthatnothingwithAmaisnormal.
It’snotlongbeforeAmasmilesatmeandmakesherwayover.Shesqueezestheelbowofthephotographer—Mar—andjerksherheadinmydirection.WhenMarlooksoveratmewithacoysmirk,Ipretendtoexaminethepatternontheceiling.
Amawalksbyme,brushingherfingersovermyhip,andafteramoment,Ifollow.Surprisingly,sheleadsmeintothekitchen.
“Doyouwantanapp?”Shegrabsacanapéandgesturestothetray.“Theyjuststarteddinner,sothesearegoingtobetossed.Oreatenbyme.”Sheturnsandgrabsonefromafartray,andI’mstruckwonderingathowcool,calm,andcollectedsheis.
Maybesheregularlyhooksupatweddings.Maybeshesneaksherboyfriendsinthesidedoorallthetime,andnooneneedstoaskfurtherquestionsaboutwhereshedisappearstoduringthereception.
AllthatisswirlingaroundmyheadasIdeclineanappetizer,stuffingmyhandsinmypockets.
“Doyouwantchampagne?”Shegesturestothetraysbeingfilled.
“Um,no.Doyouusuallydrinkduringthereception?”Iask.
Sheflashesmeasmileandbringsanothercanapétoherlips.“Istaysober.Iwasjustofferingyouaglass.Youlook…tense.”Herfingersbringthecrostinitoherwide,softmouth,andIknowshewantsmetostareandimaginefilthythings.
I’mtenstepsaheadofher.
Igrabherhandandleadheroutofthekitchen,intothehallwaybustlingwithservers.There’sasmallholdingroomforthebrideandgroomtowaitinbeforethey’reannounced.I’vedoneweddingshereenoughtoknowwhereitis.Idon’tlookbackather,butIknowshe’smovingquicklytokeepup.
Theroomisempty,andassoonaswe’reinside,Ishutthedoorandpushheragainstit.She’salreadysmilingasmymouthslantsoverhers.Ifeellikeshe’sbeeninchargethiswholetime.Fromthemomentsheaskedaboutthetattooonmyforearm.Evenbeforethat,she’sbeencallingtheshots.
Ibracemyhandsaroundherface,mythumbsonhercheekbonesandmyfingertipsslidingintoherhair.Shemoansintomymouth,andI’vehardlydoneanythingtowarrantit.Mytongueslidesagainsthers,pullingwhimpersfromherthroatasmyhipspressforwardagainstherstomach.Herhandsareonmyupperarms,andIfeelaflashofarousalknowingthatshe’sjustbarelyhangingonfortheride.
“Whendoyouhavetobeback?”Imurmuragainsthermouth.Beforeshecananswer,Idropkissesdownherjaw,anglingherneckopensoIcanfeelherpulseagainstmylips.
“ItoldMartocallmeifthere’sanissue.ButtheDJisgood,sothereshouldn’tbeanissue.”
Itiltherfacebacktomine,kissingherbruisingly.Myhandsdroptoherhips,andthoughherdressistighttoherbody,Icreepitupward,curlingmyfingersinthefabricandgentlytugging.
Thelightinhereisdim,justwhat’sfilteringinfromoutside,butwhenIpullbacktolookather,herlipstickisn’tevensmudged.
“Whatthefuckisonyourlips?”
Sheblinksquickly,andthenreachesupasifI’vetoldhershehasamustache.
“No,Imean…”Isigh.“Isthatsomedesignershit?Isthatwhyitdoesn’tgetmessedupwhenI’mkissingyou?”
“It’sHazelRenee,”shesayssimply.Asifthatanswersit.
“Idon’tgiveafuckwhoitis.IwantyoutolookdebauchedwhenI’mdebauchingyou.”
I’mirrationallyangryaboutthis,butshestaresatmelikeIjustturnedintoapuppywithabowtie.Shekissesmeagain,andIaimtomessupherhairifIcan’truinherlipstick.
Ipushherintothewall,onehandtuggingatherhair,theotherslippingherdresshigherupherhips.
“Showmeoneofthetattoos,”shewhispers.
“I’dratherdothis,”Isay,runningmyfingersoverthefrontofherunderwear.
Shewhinesbutgrabsmycollar.“Iwanttoseethem.Showmeone.”
“AndifIdon’twantto?”
“Well,”shesayswithawrysmile,“onlyoneofushasorgasmed?SoI’dsayitwasapolitegesturefromtheguiltyparty…”
Mycheeksburn,andIdropmyheadonhershoulder.Shelaughs,herfingersrunningthroughmyhair.
“Fine.”Istepbackfromherandtugmyshirtupward.Theonlylightisfromtheglitteringpatiolamps,butshestillglueshereyesonmyrightsideassoonasmyribsarevisible.
“Cryviolet,”shesayssoftly.I’msurprisedsheremembered.“Extinct.”
Hereyesflutteruptomineasshereachesforward,askingpermission.Inod.Herfingersarewarmastheydanceovermystomach.Shecatchesthepurplepetals,circlingaroundtheyellowcenter.“WhendoIgettoseeanotherone?”
Iwetmylips.“You’llhavetotakemetodinnerfirst.”
Shelaughs,andI’mshockedI’mdoingthiswell.ItakeherhandandleadhertotheloveseatthatI’mpositiveseveralnewlymarriedcoupleshaveputtogooduse.Itugherdowntositnexttome,andbeforeshecangetcomfortable,Iturnherjawandkissheragain.Reachingacrossmybody,Islipmyfingersoverherthighs,pushingherdressupagain.JustbeforeImoveherunderweartotheside,Ipullbacktolookinhereyes.Shenodsandgrabsmyneck,pullingmetowardher.
Thelacemovesasideeasily.AndIthinkIgroanatthefeelingofherfoldsagainstmyfingertips.Ican’tbesure.Myheadgetsalittlelost.She’swetandhot,andIslipthroughherlikebutter.ShepantsagainstmymouthasIdragmyfingersoverher,findingherclitwithmuchmorefinessethanI’maccustomedto.
Shehums,ourmouthssoclosetoeachotherthatIfeellikeI’mswallowinghersounds.
“Tellmewhereanotheroneis.”Hervoiceisreedyandhigh.
“I’llshowyouallofthemifyoucomewithmyfingersinsideofyou.”
Herheaddropsonthebackoftheloveseat,andshesighsasIpressmorefirmly.I’mwatchingherchestriseandfall,andIwishherdresswasn’tsotight,orelseIcouldjustmoveasidethefabricandwatchhertitspebbleanddarken.
“Tellme?Onemore?”shewhines.
“Youlikemytattoos?”Isay,leaningintorunmyteethoverherjaw.
“Yes.Yes.”
Isliponefingerdowntoherentrance,circlingitgently,andshemoans,grabbingmyshoulder.
“Why,Ama?”
Breathpuffsoutofherlips,almostalaugh.“Ilovethewayyousaymyname.”
“HowdoIsayit?”
“LikeEmma.Likeyou’retoofuckinglazytosayAma.”
Ipushmyfingerinsideofhertight,wetheat,andshechokesoff,scratchingmyneck.
“Whydoyouwanttoknowaboutmytattoos?”Iask,dippinginandoutofher,watchingherthroatworkandhereyessqueezeclosed.
“Ohgod,Elliot.I’mgonnacome.”
“Tellmewhyyouwanttoknow.”ItwistmyhanduntilIcancircleherclitwithmythumb.Shegasps,andIcanfeelhermusclesflutteringaroundme.
“B-becauseIwanttoknowyou.Iwanttoknowwhatyoulike,whatyouhate—evenifit’sme.”Istartpressingasecondfingerinsideslowly.“Fuckfuckfuck—Iwanttolovewhatyoulove,evenifit’sextinct.”
She’ssayingthemostinsanethings—thingsthatonlygetwhisperedtoyouindreams.Thekindsofthingsyou’dkillothermenfor.Ipressmymouthagainstherjaw,suckingatherskin,hopingtherearebruisesonherwhentheycutthecake.
Shedragsmetoherlips,andIpumpmyfingersintoherquickly,swirlingherclit.ShecomesquickerthananywomanI’veeverhadthepleasuretopleasure,andwhilethatnumberisn’thigh,it’sstillastonishingtowatchherbackbowandherhandslapoverhermouth.
Ithinkifshenevertalkstomeagain,Icouldprobablysurviveoffthefeelingofherflutteringaroundmyfingers,thechokedgaspbehindherhand,theimpossiblegripofherfingersonmycollar.
Tomycredit,Ikeepmovinginandaroundheruntilshefinallytakesashudderingbreathandgrabsmywrist.Ipulloutofhergently,andwaitforhertocatchherbreath.
Shelooksatmewithglassyeyes,andIthinkeventhoughherlipstickisstillperfect,shelooksperfectlydebauched.
“Showme,”shepants.“Icameonyourfingers.Showme.”
Ibarkalaugh,andshesmiles.“There’soneonmybackandtwoonmylegs.”
Shebitesbacksomethingthatsoundslikeagroan,andbeforeIcanquestionit,she’sswingingherlegovermine,straddlingmylap.Mycockisstrainingagainstmyzipperasis,butherlegsoneithersideofminemaydrivememad.
Shestartsunbuttoningmyshirtwhilekissingme,andmuttersagainstmymouth,“Back,thistime.”
Ihelpherwiththefinalbuttons,andquicklyit’sdownmyshoulders.Shestretchesuptoherkneestocurveovermyback,andIfeelherfingersrunningovermyleftshoulder.
“Whatisit?”
“Kadupul.”
“Tellmeaboutit?”
Fromthisposition,herchestispressedrightagainstmyjaw,soItaketheopportunitytodragmymouthovertheskinaboveherneckline.Ifeelhershiver.
“It’sfromSriLanka,andit’sthemostexpensiveflowerintheworld,becauseit’sliterallypriceless.Neverbeenbought.”
“Whatelse?”sheasks.Ifeelherhandsrunningdownmystomach.Whenshetugsatmybelt,Itrynottochoke.
“Itonlybloomsatnight,anddiesbeforethesuncomesup.”
Shehumsandstartsnippingatmyneck.Myzipperispulleddown.
“Youhadtowearthesefuckingjeansagain.”Shelaughsagainstmyskin.Ihelphertugthemopenanddownmyhips.
Myhandsareonherwaist,soIdon’tevenknowwhatshe’sintendinguntilshepullsmeoutofmyunderwear.Ifeelthelaceagainstmycock,andmyheaddropsback.
“Ama.Areyousure?”
“IhaveanIUD,”shesays,asifthatanswersit.Herlashesflutteratme.“HowlongdoyouthinkyoucantalkaboutflowerswhileIbounceonyourcock?”
Ifeelthetipofmepushagainstherheat.Myeyesglazeover.“Notverylong,actually.IthinkI’llprobablyget…easilydistracted.”
Sheshiftsherhips,andIwatchhertongueflickoutacrossherperfectmouth.Sheleansforwardtokissmeasherbodytakesmein.Ipantagainsthermouth,andshesucksatmylowerlip.I’monlyabitinwhenshecurses.
“What’swrong?”Igripherhips.
“Fuckinggod,Elliot,”shewhimpers.“Iforgothowbigyouare.”
Ihavetostareattheceilingandcounttotentonotloseitrightthen.Shepumpsherselfonme,takingmoreeachtime.Itrytokeepstill,butthenIhearazipperandtheflutteroffabric.Herdressslidesoffhershoulders.
Nowit’smyturntocurse.Igrabherribcage,tuggingonebracupdownandquicklypullinghernipplebetweenmylips.Shegasps,andherhipsstartmoving.I’mnotfullyinside,butIdon’tcarebecauseshe’sruttingagainstmelikeshe’sgoingtocomeagain.
Idragmyfingersoverherotherbreast,tweakingandpulling.Themoanthatfallsoutofhermouthissinful,andmaybeloudenoughfortheothersideofthedoor.Idon’tthinkeitherofuscares.
She’sgotherfaceburiedagainstmytemple,andIcanhearherbreathraggedandshallowinmyear.She’smutteringlittleaffirmationsofyesandpleaseandElliot
Iswitchtosuckingonherotherbreastandletmyhandsdigunderherdress.Thelaceofherunderwearisrubbingagainstmycock,andIpushitevenfurtherasidesoIcancircleherclit.
“Ohfuck!”
Mylipsreleaseherbreasttoshushher,butherbodyisridingme,pantingandmoaning.Ipresshardonherclit,swirlingdifferentpatterns,andIhearhergasp,herhipslockingup.I’msofuckingclose,butIhavetoholdittogethersoIcanfeelhercomeonmycock.
Herhandsscrabbleatmyback,andwhenIrealizeherfingersarepressingintomykadupultattoo,Igroan.Myhipsjerkupward.
Sheyells,andatfirstIwonderifIhurther,butthenIrealizeI’mfullyinside,herthighsareagainstmine.Herbreathishotonmyearasshewhinesoutcursewords.Andthenherwallsareflutteringagain.
She’scomingagain,justbecauseIfilledherup.
Myforeheadpressesagainsthershoulder,andmyhipscan’tstopmoving.I’mflyinginatailspinassheclenchesoverandover,herfingersdiggingscarsintotheink.Myhipsjerkupintoher,andwitheverypumpshehiccupsabeautifulhalfmoan.
IlookupatherfacejustbeforeIcomeinsideofher,andIseeherperfectmouthinano,hereyesclosed,andherjawdropped.
“Amaryllis.”
Herlashesflutteropen,andshe’sstaringintomeasIrelease,hotandbright.Everythingisstarlightformillennia.
I’mpanting,droppingbackagainstthecouch.Asmyheartbeathammersandfinallystartstoslow,Ilookather.Herdressisshoveddownandruckedup.Herlipsarestillperfectlyglossed,butthere’saraggednessabouthereyesandhairthatmakesmeproud.
Ireachupandfillmyhandwithherbreast,memorizingtheweightofit.Sheshudders,andIleanforwardtokissheragain—justasshedismountsfromme.
Shetugsherpantiesbackintoplace,rearrangesherdress,andzipsitbackup.I’msittingwithmydickoutandmychestpanting.
“Ihavetogocheckinoutthere,”shesayswithaquicksmile.Inod,thinkingI’llprobablyjustsleephereuntilshesaysit’stimetogohomewithher.“Thiswasgreat.Areyougood?”
Iblinkather,realizingthereisnogoinghomewithher.“Yeah.Yes.I’llseemyselfout.”
“I’llseeyounextweekend.”MaybeI’mimaginingthetightnessofhersmile.
Inodandmemorizeher,incasethisdidn’tgoaswellasIthought.
Whensheslipsoutthedoor,I’mtryingtorememberherexactwords:Iwanttoknowyou.Iwanttoknowwhatyoulike,whatyouhate.
Ibuttonandzipmypants.Ichecktomakesurethere’snotraceofus.
Iwanttolovewhatyoulove,evenifit’sextinct.
Ifocusonthewordsratherthanthehastyexit,thewayshedidn’tletmekissherafterward.Igotomytruckuntilit’stimetobreakdownthereception,turningtheengineonandblastingsomethingasininejusttoblowherwordsoutofmyhead.17AmaJUNE
Momstaysforthreeweeksthistime.Sheasksaboutmydatinglifeonlyonceaday,whichisanewrecordforher.AndsheasksaboutElliotonlytwice.
Attheendofthreeweeks,she’sfoundanicerentalafewblocksoverfromme,andaweekafterthat,she’sfoundanicefiancéafewyearsolderthanme.
“He’snotherfiancéyet,butI’msureitwillonlytakeherafewmonths,”IclarifytoMaroverdrinks.Isignalforanothermartini.Wejustfinishedaveryroughwedding—ministerinacaraccident,hungoverbridesmaid,andabrokenreceptionhallA/C—andareinneedofalcohol.
Marscrutinizesmeoverthetopofhermezcalmargarita.“Isthistheyoungestshe’sgonefor?Twenty-nine?”WhenInod,shesays,“Isthatweirdforyou?Like…doyouneedtherapynow?”
“IfIdidn’tneedtherapybefore,I’dprobablyneeditnow,yes.”
Marthinksitover.“Haveyouaskedherwhyshedoesthis?”
“Whyshecan’tjustbealone?Orwhyshecan’tjustdateapersonwithoutinvolvingKayJewelers?”
“Both,Iguess.I’msureit’sthesameanswer.”Herphonedings,andshedigsitoutofherpocket.“Okay,Michaelisfree.Doyouwanttomeethim?”
MichaelisMar’snewguy.Ijerkmyheadenthusiastically.“Tellhimtocomehere.I’llbeatitafterhalfanhourorso.”
“Youdon’thaveto.Wecanmovetothatbooth.”
Ishakemyhead.“Nooffense,butthatsoundsterrible.Idefinitelydon’twanttobeathirdwheelonaSaturdaynight.”
MarmakesafaceandtextsMichaelwhereweare.“So,”shesaysasshepocketsherphone.“Areyoumeetingpeople?Doyouneedtogetlaid?”
Theyaretwoverydifferentquestions,andIparsethroughmybrain’sreactionstobothofthem.“No,andyes,butnotyesplease.”
Shestaresintoherdrinkandswirlstheice.“Howlonghasitbeen?”
“Okay,one,”Isay,takingmynewmartinifromthebartender,“I’mterriblybusy,andyes,that’savalidexcuse.Andtwo,youknowthatI’vebeenwithguyssinceElliot,sodon’tactlikeIhaven’t.”
“Twopeople.Bothmorethanayearago.Bothofthemyouclaimtohavebutchered.”Iwinceandsherollshereyes.“Notlike,theirbodies,butthedate.”
Inod,gulpinghalfmydrink.Thefirstwasahookupandnothingmore.Icouldn’tcome.Andnotforlackoftrying.Andthesecond—wehadtostopinthemiddlebecauseIwascrying.ItoldhimthroughtearsthatIdidn’tknowwhyanditwasfine,hecouldkeepgoing.Buttohiscredit,apparentlyitwasaturn-off
“Yep,Ibutcheredthemintoathousandpieces.”
“Haveyouthoughtabout…Idunno,dating?”Shesmilesbrightlyatme,likeatoothpastead.
“YouknowIdon’tdothat,”Isayquietly.
Marsnorts.“Allowmetocondescendbriefly,butAma,you’retwenty-six.Youdon’tknowwhatyoudon’tdo.”WhenIfrownintomyglass,shesays,“Youdiddothatonce.”
“Andlookwhereitgotme,”Imurmur.
IthinkbacktotheGordonwedding.HowItrulythoughtIcouldkeepitcasual.Howitwasn’tuntilafterhe’drockedmysocksoffonacouchinabackroomthatIrealizedIwantedtogohomewithhim.HowI’dsaidthingsIcouldn’ttakeback.
Andintheafterglow,he’dlookedatmelikenooneelsehadeverinmylife.Likeheagreed.Likemywordsmeantsomethingtohim,insteadofjustpleasurablemumbling.Itmademequestionifitwasjustmumbling,orifI’dmeantit.
ItwouldhavebeensimpleifIcouldhavejustcalleditagreathookupandmovedon.Butitwasweddingseasonbythen.AndIwasseeinghimeveryweekend,andeveryweekendmyresolvedwindledfrom“Don’tdoitagain”to“Casualcouldwork”to“Definecasual.”
I’mdeterminedtoneverletthathappenagain.
Mariswatchingme,soIsay,“I’llletyouknowwhenI’mreadytoseesomeone.Ican’teventhinkaboutguysrightnowwithalltheweddingsIhave.Whichremindsme,IneedyouonJanuarythirteenth.”
Shepullsouthercalendar.“Where’sthewedding?”
“TheFourSeasons.”
“Thehotel?OrTotalLandscaping?”
Isnort.“Don’tpretendIdidn’tdouble-checktentimes.”
“Isthisanewone?”sheasks,pluggingthedateintoherphone.WhenInod,shesays,“Areyouokaytakingonmorework?”
Iwavemyhand.“I’mfine.”Butmylegbouncesonmybarstool.Icouldn’tsaynotoGinnyandDustin.They’resofreakingcute.HewasgoingtoproposetoherattheDisneylandcastle,butgotnervousanddiditoveraturkeyleginAdventurelandbyaccident.
Michaelarrives.WhenMarjumpsuptogreethim,Iseehe’satleast6′4″withdarkbrownskinandmany,manymuscles—andoddlyfamiliar?
“Ama!”hesays.
I’mspeechlessasMarlooksbetweenus.
“Mar,you’redating…oneofmyex-stepbrothers,”Isay.
Michaellaughs.Mar’smouthopens,andIseeherdoingtheincestmathinherhead,tryingtofigureoutifthisisweird.
“Um,Marisalsooneofmyex-stepsiblings,”IclarifyforMichael.Hethinksit’sfunny.Marisn’tthereyet.“He’snotrelatedtoeitherofus,”ItellMar.“Chill.”
Shewearilyordersanotherdrink,andweallcatchupforafewhours.IfeellikeaproudmatchmakereventhoughIdidabsolutelynoworkhere.
Whentheyheadout,IsayI’mgoingtostayforonemoredrink.Ilookaround,checkingouttheonea.m.clienteleatourfavoritetrendybar.Someguysaremytype,butnoneareinterestingtome.TheonlyoneI’mconsideringgoingtotalktohaslongblackhairandfulllips,andwhenIrealizewhat—orwho—Iseeinhim,Iclosemytabandgohomealone.
Hazelisintownthenextweek.She’sdonefilming,butshe’scalledbackeverysooftenforpick-upsandpostproductionmagic,sowhileshe’sherewe’regoingtoknockoutafewthings.We’refourmonthsout,sowe’rereallycuttingitcloseonorderinginvitations,butthankfullyIhaveafewcalligrapherswholoveme.IneedtomakesureHazel’sfriendthedesignerisontracktoo.Ihaven’thadmyhandintheweddingdress/suitbusinessasidefromglancingatdesigns,butsofarthebridalpartyisalmostsettled.
WemeetatWeatherstoneagain,andHazelisrippingamaplebarintobite-sizedpiecesasshesays,“Okay,sotwothings.First,thebacheloretteparty.”
“Yep,”Isay,openingmyiPadnotes.“IsthereanythingChelseaneedshelpwith?”
ChelseaisHazel’sbestfriend,andthereasonJackieandshemetinthefirstplace.She’sgoingtobetheMOHonHazel’sside.
“Wewantyoutocome,”Jackieburstsout.“Please,please,please.”
Ipaintonasmile.“Youtwoaresosweet.”Iswallow.Ihavepracticewiththis,butit’shardwhenit’sJackieandHazelRenee.
“There’saspotforyouontheplane,allexpensespaid,”Hazelsays.“AndIhappentoknowthatyoudon’thaveaweddingthatweekend.”Shewinksatmeoverhercoffeecup.
Igrindownatmyhands.They’regoingtoVegasforthreenights.ThewholepartyisflyingoutofSacramentosoHazel’sfriendscanseethecity.
“You’reright.Idon’thaveawedding—yet.”Ilookbetweenbothofthem,mythroatdry.“Ijusthaveapolicyagainstit.Iusedtogetinvitedtobridalshowersandbachelorettesalot,anditendedupmakingthingstoomessy.”IthinkofWhitneytakingmeoffweddings,bridestextingmealldayandallnight,couplesrunningideasbymeafterwe’dalreadynaileddownthemesandcolors.Mess.
“Oh,comeon,”Hazelmoansaroundherdonut.“You’realreadybreakingalltheruleswithusanyway.Imean,you’remakingareceptionhallfromscratch.Let’sbemessytogether.”Shelaughs,anditsoundswarmandinviting.Likehappymemories.
“I’llthinkaboutit,”Isay,sippingmycoldbrewwithregret.
IknowIwon’tbegoing.I’llfindsomereason.It’snotprofessional,anditraisesthequestion:areyouworkingforthem,orareyoutheirfriend?It’snotaneasyanswer.
“What’sthesecondthing?”Iask,changingthesubjectasfastasIcan.
JackiegesturestoHazel,andHazelfinisheschewing.“SoIgotapproachedbyFabulousDreamWeddings.”
“TheshowonTLC?”Iask.ThatshowisalmostasbigasSayYestotheDressandBridezillas.Whitneywasalmostonitoncewithoneofherweddings,beforeschedulingissuesarose.
“Yep.Theywanttosendacrewoutandfilmthewholething!Itwouldbealot,Iknow,butIhavetosay,Ithinkitwouldbeamazingtogetsomeexposureonyou,onElliot.OneveryoneinSacramentoworkingsohardonthis.”
Hazel’seyessparkleatme,andIthinkquickly.
“Wow.Ithinkthebiggestthingis,whatwilltheyhavecontrolof?”
Hazelshakesherheadwithafrown.“Nothing.”
“Right,butthoseshowsonlyworkifsomethingisgoingwrong,right?Sowilltheyhaveusstagethingsortrytocreatedramawherethereisn’tany?”
“That’sagoodpoint,Hay,”Jackiewhisperstoher.
Hazelhumsinunderstanding.“Letmechatwithmyagentandseeifshecannegotiatesomething.She’sreallypushingforit.AndJackieandIthinkit’sagreatidea!”
SheplacesherhandonJackie’s,andIseethemomentJackiefailstoimmediatelysmileinagreementbeforecatchingherself.
Hmm.
Ithinkitover.Itwouldbegoodcoverage,forsure.Mybiggesthesitationisthattherearesomebehind-the-scenesthingsgoingonthatI’drathernothaveacameracrewfor.Theexpenseandefforttocleanupthespacenextdoorisextreme.I’malreadyrunningintoroadblocksthatI’mnotsharingwiththesetwo,sotoexplainitoncamerasoundslikeanightmare.
“I’dliketotalktoaproducerbeforeIagreetoit,”Isay.Jackienods,butIcanseeHazelstumbleabitbeforenoddingtoo.Ithinkshe’sabitsurprisedthatIwouldobjectinthefirstplace.Sorry,Hay.Youhiredmetobeincontrolofthiswedding.
Itakethemtomeetafewofmycalligraphyartistsoverthenextfewdays,andwedoawalk-throughattheballetstudioonemoretimewithmyfullrenderings,showingwherealltherentalequipmentandfloraldesignwillbe.(Thankfully,thebatshavebeenrelocated.)
AftertalkingwithHazelandheragenttogetmoreinformationaboutwhatthefilmcrewwouldneed,IgetonacallwithBea,theepisodeproducerforFabulousDreamWeddings,andtalkitoutwithher.Iwanttomakeitclearthattheweekoftheweddingismine.
“Iguessmybiggestconcernisthestagingneeded.Iwatchtheshowenoughtoknowthatstorylineshavetobecraftedinordertomakeforgoodentertainment,”IsaytoBeaonSundaynightafteralongweddingdaywitharogueringbearer—apetGermanshepherdwhoatethering.
“Ofcourse,”Beasays.Evenashervoicesoothesme,Icantellshe’sdoingtendifferentthingswhiletakingmycall.“Ithinkwhatwe’remostinterestedinisthe‘dream’aspectyou’vecreatedhere.FromwhatHazelandJackiehavesaid,itsoundslikeyouhavewhippedupsomethingtrulyspecial.”
She’sseducingme,andit’sworking.“Iappreciatethat.IthinkwhatIneedfromyougoingintothisistransparency,andalsotoknowthattheweddingtakesprecedence.TherearefoureventsI’mcoordinatingforthatweekalone,soIwanttoknowthatifItellyou‘Nocrew’or‘Wecan’trefilmthat,’thatitwouldberespected.”
“Ihearyou.Ithinkwecanmakethathappen.”
Whenwehangup,IknowI’mbitingoffmorethanIcanchew,butIcan’thelpmyself.Thiswouldbehuge.EvenifTheKnot.comandPeopledon’tcomethroughwithahighlightedarticle,thisisstillamazingexposure.IemailHazelandJackietoletthemknowFabulousDreamWeddingsison.Isignacontractandeverything.
IhireMartoofficiallybemysecond-in-command.I’llbemakinglessonthisweddingbecauseofit,butitwillbeworthittohavesomeonewatchingthefilmcrewswhenIcan’t.Ofallmyotherex-stepsiblings,Jakethedramanerdistheonewhohasactuallytriedtostayintouch.Ourparentssplitupsixweeksago,buthe’semailedmetwicesincethentoseeifIneedanyassistants.IstarthiringhimweeklytotrainhimforHazelandJackie’s.Sarah,who’sworkedwithmebefore,albeitreluctantly,almostturnsmedownbeforeshefindsoutI’mpayingmorethanlasttime.
Thingsaremovingsmoothly.Thefilmcrewarrivesforestablishingshots.Withsomehesitation,Iagreetoletthemintothereceptionspacesotheycangetasenseofthe“before”inourbeforeandafter.Ipracticeformyfirst“talkinghead”tentimeswithMar,tryingtogetasenseofwhatIwanttosayaboutJackieandHazel.WhenBea’screwsitsmedownintheRoseGarden,theonlyplaceIstutteriswhentheyaskmehowthecouplefoundme.
“Jackie’sboss—thesenator—thesenatorfoundme.Sorry,maybeweshouldn’tsayshe’sasenator?DidJackiedisclosethatsheworksforthegovernment?Sorry.”
Ifumblemywaythrough.
EventuallytheydecidetostickwithaskingJackiethatquestion.
Thebakeryishappytostageacaketastingtopretendasiftheyhaven’talreadychosentheircake—abourboncaramelandcardamomcrumbbrownbuttercake,toppedwithalmondSwissmeringuebuttercream.(Yes,Ididtasteit,andyes,Ididexpire.)Igowiththemandreenacttheentireexperience,waitingforJackieandHazeltore-createthemomenttheydisagreedaboutcoconutornococonut.Hazelturnstomejustasshedidthreemonthsagoandasks,“Ama,whatdoyouthink?”
Ipretendtothinkaboutitandanswer,“Coconutcanbeaturn-offforguests,butit’syourcake.”
Wewrapfilming,andIheadtodrinkswithMar.Wedrinkabittoomuch,becauseit’sallgoingwell.
BetterthanIcouldhavehoped.
ThefirstthingIthinkofisthatit’soddthatmyphoneisonatallsinceIputonDoNotDisturbfrommidnighttosevena.m.
ThesecondthingI’mawareofisthatMarstayedthenightanddidn’tmakeittothesecondbedroom.Herhairisinmymouth.
Butthethirdthing—
“Hello,thisisAma,”Itrytosay,asifI’mthekindofpersonwhoisdefinitelyawakeby—Ichecktheclock—7:02.
“Hey.”
ThethirdthingisthathearingElliotBloom’svoicefirstthinginthemorningisstillmymostfavoritethinginthewholewideworld.
Ijoltupinbed.
“What’swrong?”
Marmoansandrollsovernexttome.
“Iwokeyou?”heasks.
“What’swrong?”
“Ithoughtyouwenttothegymatsixthirty.”
Isigh.“Thatwas…threeyearsago,Elliot.Idon’tevenhavethatmembershipanymore.”
“Iwouldn’thavecalledifIthoughtyouwereasleep—”
“Whyareyoucalling?”Isnap.HaveImentionedI’mnotamorningperson?
“ThehurricaneintheCaribbeanlastweek,”hesays.Inarrowmyeyesandtrypinchingmyarmtomakesurethisisn’tadream.“Haveyouheardaboutit?”
“Um,kinda?”Ikickoffthecovers,andMaraskswhoI’mtalkingto.Ishushher.There’sanoticeablepause.Then:
“Itwilllikelycauseasupplyshortageofmostanthuriums.”
Finallyallthepiecesclicktogether.Irunahandovermyface.“Howbadisit?”
“Unsalvageable.”
Marsitsup,holdingherhead.“Doyouhaveeggs?”shesays,voicethickandraspyfromthealcohol.
“Stayhere,”Iwhispertoher,thenmoveoutintothekitchen.“So,whatdoesthatmean?”Iaskhim.“Areyousayingit’llcostmoremoney?”
Hepausesagainbeforereplyingsharply,“Howmuchmoneydoyouthinkyouhaveinthebudgettoundoahurricane,Ama?”
Ihuff.“Sonoanthuriums.Atall.”
“Theonlyonesavailablearethepinkandwhites,theonesforJackie’sbouquet.ButHazelwouldhavetocompromise.”
Irubmytemple.Idon’tlikethatoption.HazelandJackie’spersonalstylesaresodifferent.Ijustknowshewouldn’tbehappywithherflowers.
IstartopeningcupboardssoIcanmakecoffee.“Ithinkweneedtoredesign,”Isaytohim.
Marcallsfromdownthehall,“Areyoumakingcoffee?”
IignoreherandlistentoElliotbreathing.“Fine.Callmetoscheduleanappointmentwhenyou’rereallyawake.”
Hehangsup.Isquintatthephone,tryingtofigureoutwhyhe’sthemadone.Clearlyhecalledmeatsevena.m.expectingthis.
Marstumblesoutinyesterday’sclothing.“Why…mustyoubesoloud?”
IthrowaK-Cupatherhead.
Theinterestingthingabouthavingafilmcrewinvadeyourweddingprepisthattheylovebadnews.Somuchso,thatnowweareheadedtoBloomingtomakeElliottellHazelandJackiethebadnewsinperson.
IwishItookpleasureintorturingElliot,becausethisisgoingtobedelicious.Asoneofmyvendors,hegottheemailaboutthefilmcrew,andhealreadysignedhiswaiversandreturnedthemtotheproductionteam.ButIdon’tthinkheexpectedtoactuallybeoncamera.ItoldBeathatthefloristmeetwasprobablynotgoingtobere-createdandofferedherothervendorsinstead.Butnow…
NowsomeoneiscomingatElliotwithapowderbrush,claiminghe’s“shiny.”
“Getthefuckawayfromme,”hesays,aspolitelyashepossiblycan.
Isigh,swayingonmyfeetalittle.Notimefordonutsthismorning.Notimeforcoffee,notimeforbreakfast.We’reinpanicmode,inaway.Thecamerasareelevatingitabit,butafullfloralredesignatthethree-and-a-half-monthmarkisn’tgood.Especiallywhenthefloraldesignisasimportantasthiswas.
Beachecksinwithme.“HazelandJackieareintheparkinglot.Mycrewisholdingthemuntilwe’reset.Youdidn’tgivethemanyheads-up,right?”
“Nope,”Isay.“Ihopeit’sdramaticenoughforyou.”Ismileweaklyandbracemyhandonmystomach.
“I’msureitwillbe.What’sthematterwithyou?”
Ilookupandthere’stwoofher.Whentheysolidify,Iwavemyhand.“Ijustdidn’thavebreakfast.”IpointedMartowardtheeggsandstove,butIhurriedtogetreadyandcomehere.
“Here.”Sheslipsabaroutofherfannypack.IseethewordchocolateandIgiveherathumbs-up.
I’mstartingtowonderifdailydonutshaveruinedmybloodsugar.MaybeI’vebeenhyperglycemicthiswholetime,butIwouldn’tknowbecauseI’vehadonethousandgramsofsugareverymorningforthepasttenyears.(Idonotknowhowmanygramsofsugarthereactuallyareindonuts,nordoIcare.)
Myfingersshake,andIleanonthecounterforasecondtogroundmyself.Beaisannouncingsomethingtothecrew,andI’mbarelylisteningasIripthewrapperopenwithmyteeth.
Ahandappearsinfrontofmyeyes,andsuddenly,withastrongslap,thebarisontheground.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Iblink,mypoundingpulsemakingupforlowbloodsugarmomentarily.Elliotisstandinginfrontofme,furious.
“Eatingbreakfast?”Itry.
Hebendstopickupthebar,andthenshovesitinfrontofmyeyes.“Chocolateandpeanutbutterbar,”hesays.
Heatfloodsmyneckandjaw.“Oh.Right.”Ican’tmeethiseyesasheslamsthebarinthetrashcan.
“Whatiswrongwithyou?Didn’tsleep?”There’sabiteinhiswords,likeit’saninsultorsomething.
“Ihaven’teaten.I’m—I’msorry.”Ifeelshameandmortificationbubblinginme.I’mnotevensureifmyEpiPenisinmysmallbaghereormytoteinthecar.
Bea’svoiceisclosetome.“Wegood?”shesays.“We’llsendthegirlsin?”
“No.”Elliot’svoiceisharsh.“Ineedtwominutes.”Hestepsawayfrommeandtothefrontdoor.Heyellsatarandomcrewmember,“Andsitherdowninthatchair!”
Ihearthebellabovethedoor.Justbeforeitclosesfully,IthinkJackiesays,“Elliot!Whereareyougoing?”
Assomeonesitsmeinachairandoffersmeawaterbottle,IlookpastthedahliasinthewindowandseeElliotcrossingtraffic,headingforRiteAid.
Ican’tlookanyoneintheeye.I’mashamedthatbeinghung-overmightbecontributingtoallthis,butit’salsotena.m.andIamanadultwomanwhodidn’tfeedherself.
ThespeedwithwhichElliotreturnshasmeconcernedthathedidn’tpayforhisitems,becauseIknowhowhefeelsaboutself-checkout.Hedropsabanana,aboxofbreakfastbarswithnonuts,andabottleofyellowGatoradeonthecounternexttome.AndIknowwhatyou’rethinking:heisclearlyangrywithmeifhehasboughtyellowGatoradeandexpectsmetosaythankyou.Butalas,yellowGatoradeismyfavorite.AndIhatethathesavedmefromeatingpeanutbutterandrememberedmyfavoriteGatorade,allinoneday.
Istartwithhalfthebanana,thenmoveontoabar,washingitdownwithhalftheGatorade.WhenI’mfinallyconsciousagain(albeitquitebloated),InodtoBea,allowinghertostopstalling.
Therearetwocameramen,oneguywithaboommic,andBeacrammedinherewithmeandElliot.Theguystaketheirpositions,andBea’sassistant,who’soutsidewithHazelandJackie,givesthemthesignaltocomein.
Istandandsmile,hidingmyRiteAidhaulbehindthecounterandhopingI’mnotaspaleandsweatyasIfeel.
JackieandHazelcomeinandsayhitoElliot,hugme,andJackiewhispers,“Areyouokay?”Inodintohershoulder.
IknowElliotisn’tgoingtodowellwiththecamerashere,soItakelead.“Wehavesomebadnewstochatabout.”Theguywiththeboommicstepsclosertome,hangingthefuzzycloudovermyhead.“Elliothasinformedmethattheanthuriumsthatwewantandtheamountofthemweneedarenotpossible.”
ThecameraonJackieandHazelpicksuptheirperfectreactiontothenews.Jackiesucksinasilentbreath,eyesjumpingtoherfiancée.Hazel’smouthturnsdown,herweightshiftingtotheside.Itwillmakeforgreattelevision.
“Okay,”Hazelsaysslowly.“Okayso…sowedoless?Or…”
IgesturetoElliot,andhefrownsatme.Theboommicswingsovertohim,andhevisiblyglaresatitbeforespeaking.
“Wecouldmoveforwardwiththepinkandwhiteanthuriums.ThosearetheonesthatweregoingtoprimarilybeJackie’sflower.Buttheburgundyones?Thegreenleafyones?They’rebothout.”
Hazelisfullyinherelementwhensheletsoutadramaticsighandrubsherforehead.JackiethreadstheirfingerstogetherandrubsHazel’sside,lookingaroundforaliferaft.Iclearmythroat.
“It’sabsolutelypossibletoredesignbasedonthepinkandwhiteanthuriums.ButIdon’tthinkitwillbeanythingnearwhatyouwant.”
IseeBeanodherheadfrombehindthecameramanfocusedonme,andIfeellikeatruerealityTVstar.
“Ithinkweneedaredesign,”Icontinue.“Ithinkwerefocusonwhatwenowknow,andtrytoreshapehowwefeelaboutthefloralarrangement.”
Hazelliftsherhead,andthere’sachildlikedisappointmentthere.LikeherChristmashasbeencanceled.Shegesturesformetocontinue.
“Clearlywehavealreadydecidedonthedancefloor.Ithinkit’sstunning,anditwillbearealcenterpieceforthereception.Ithinkwe’regoodtomoveforwardthere.”
Jackiejerksherheadinagreement,andHazelbitesherlipandnods.
I’mabitthrown,actually.Ihaven’tsaidnotoHazelReneeyet.AndeventhoughI’vedonemybesttotreatherlikeanyotherclientsofar,itfeelslikethisisquicklybecomingtoopersonalforme.Herdisappointmentanddisdainforthismeetingisshowing,andI’munderamicroscopetomakeitbetter.
“Elliot,canwemoveintotheshowroomandstarttalkingthroughsomeideas?”
Heleadstheway,andoneofthecameramenquicklyfollows.Therearecordsandequipmenteverywhere,soittakesamomenttogetsetupintheback.Wehavetoreenterandpretenditwasalloneshot.
Beforewe’reevenreadytorollagain,Elliotispullingdownvasesandmovingaroundtheroom.Beaquicklysendsacameratofollowhim,whichhevisiblyhates.
Beagivesusthego-aheadtocontinue,andItakelead.
“So,whatwewantedwhenweagreedonthefloraldesignbeforewastoproperlyservebothofyou.Jackieisclassicandelegant.Hazelismodernluxewithalotofcharacter.Wesettledonarareflowerindifferentshadestotieyoubothtogether,butmaybethat’snothowwe’lllandthistime.Wecanopenourminds.”
Jackieishangingonmyeveryword,andHazelis—quitehonestly—actinglikeabrat.I’mprayingthisisforthecameras’benefit.
ElliotalreadyhasseveralvarietiesfromtheStemBartoplaywith,andjustasIshouldhaveassumed,onecameramanistrainedononlyhim.He’sfascinating,he’shandsome,andhe’sactivelydoingsomething.
Helooksup,pullingsomepampasgrassthroughhisfingertipslikefeathers.“I’mgoingtostartfromacleanslate—mentally,creatively,”hesays.“It’safallwedding.Fallweddingsarewheatyandmuted.Intermsofclassicdesign”—hegesturesatJackie—“there’sblushpinkandpampasgrass.”
Hepullstogetheramutedpinkflowerwiththepampasgrass,creatingabeautifulbouquetthatspeakstoJackie’sstyle.Icanevenseeitinhereyesthatshewouldbeperfectlyhappywithherflowersthatway.
“WhatIalsothinkofforfallisburgundies.Wine.Warmcozycolors,”hesays.Hepullstogetherthepampasgrasswithdarkreddahlias.Headdsalemonleafandtiesitoffwithafrayingropeinsteadofaribbon.
It’sclosetoHazel,butit’snotquitethere.Heknowsit.I’mopeningmymouthtoeasethetensionwhenHazelputsupherhands.
“I’msorry.Canwestoprolling?”ShelooksatBeawithafirmexpression.Oneofthecameramentiltshiscameratothefloor.“IhadnoideaIwascominginhereforanambush,soI’mjustalittleshaken.”
Mybrowsdrawtogether.Anambush?
Beastepsforward.“Ofcourse.Youknow,whenworkingwithrealityTV,alotofstuffisn’tstaged.It’srealemotionscomingforward.I’dlovetocontinueonwhilewe’refeelingraw,butIunderstandifnot.”
“Hazel.Jackie,”Isay.“Wedon’thavetomakeanydecisionstodayorinfrontofcameras.Wecandoareenactmentlikewedidatthebakery.”IcanseethatBeawouldliketopersuadeustodoitlive,butIcutheroff.“Elliot,whilethecamerasareoff,doyouhaveanythingtoadd?”
Hescratcheshischin.“What’shappeningisuncommon.It’srarethatIhavethiskindofproblemwithsupply,butit’saninternationalshortage.WhatIcanpromiseyouisthatthisweddingwillbebeautiful.There’salreadyakillerdesigninplace,andnowit’sjusttryingtocomplementthat.”
Ishowmyagreement.HazelistakingdeepZenbreaths.
Hesitantly,Jackiesays,“Iwouldbemorethanhappywithsomethinglikethis.”Sheputsbothoftheirsamplebouquetstogether,showingoffhowgoodtheylook.
“ButIwon’tbe,”Hazelsaysbluntly.
IseeJackie’sjawsnapshut,andBea’sfingersitchtofilmthis.
“There’sanarrangementI’vebeenwantingtotryforsometimenow,”Elliotsaysslowly,“butIhaven’tfoundtherightreasontoplaywithit.”
HeopenshisphoneandIseehisthumbsfliptoInstagram.“Idon’thaveanyofthematerialshereattheshop,”hecontinues,“becausethey’rerare.”Hiseyesflickertome,andIgetit.He’sseducingherintothis.Rare.Therightreason.They’rebuzzwordsHazelwilllatchonto.
HehandsHazelhisphone,andIseethetensionleaveherbrowsassheswipes.
“Queenproteaisthecenterpiece.They’reelegantbutimpactful.Andbestofall,therewon’tbeanysupplyissues.Wecouldevenfillthedancefloorwiththemwiththebudgetwe’llsavefromnotimportingtheanthuriums.”
HazelshowsJackiethepictures,andIcanseethatJackieistrying.It’snotquiteherstyle.Ilookattheimagesoftheeight-inchcup-likebloomsthatlookmorelikeshrubsthanflowers,andIknowJackieseesthespikyleavesandtheteeth-likecenters.
“Wouldyoudoseparatebouquetsforthemagain?”IpromptElliot.
Henodsandtakeshisphoneback,pullingupanarrangementthatmakesJackiesighinrelief.It’sabouquetofblushpinkrosesclusteredaroundawhitequeenproteawitheucalyptusleavesscatteredthroughout.
“Ilikethis,babe,”shewhisperstoHazel.
Hazellooksupatme,thentoBeaandthecameras.“Okay.Wecanroll.Canwetakethatagain,Elliot?”shesays,likeatruestarlet.18ElliotTHREEYEARS,THREEMONTHS,ONEWEEK,ANDFOURDAYSAGO
Ihaven’ttalkedtoAmaaboutanythingbutbusinessfortwoweeks.AtlastSaturday’sweddingattheWillowBallroom,wewerebothswampedwithwork.ShehadthemostdecadentdesignI’veeverseen,anditreallypaidoff.Butthatmeantthattherewasnotimeforanyconversationoutsideof“Looksgreat.Movethatovertwoinches.”
Now,attheNgwedding,I’veonlybeencontractedforcenterpieces,soIdon’tevenseeheruntilsheshowsupatthereceptionvenuewithherBluetoothinherearandafieryfaceofconcentration.
Istilldon’tknowhowIfeelaboutallthis.HaveIbeenblownoff?Wasitaone-timething?Ifso,I’mnotgoingtobetheonewhoapproachesher,eventhoughIdowanttoseeheragain.Iwanttotakeheronadateandchataboutsomethingotherthanflowersandweddings.I’vebeenwakinguphardeverymorningsincetheGordonwedding,dreamingaboutbeingwithheragain.
ButIdon’tknowhowtomakeithappenotherthanjust…hangingaround.I’veaskedoutexactlyfourwomeninmylife,andstatistically,I’mnotgreatatthis.
SoIsetupthetables,takemydolly,andheadbacktotheparkinglot.AsI’mstartingmytruck,aknucklerapsonthedriver’ssidewindow.Ama’sbrightfaceisontheothersideoftheglass.Irollthewindowdownwithapushofabutton.
“Hey.”
“Hi,”shesayssweetly.“Leavingalready?”
“Ineedtogetbacktotheshop.”
Shehumsandhopsuponthestepsoshecanleanherarmsinthroughthewindow.“How’syourweekbeen?”
IthitsmethatI’mprobablynotcoolenoughforwhateverthisis.Whatevershethinksshe’sdoing,whetherit’sbiweeklyhookupsorcasualdating—Ithinkit’sbeyondmycapabilities.ButstillIanswerher,“Good,”withadrythroat.“Yours?”
“Busy.Ineedthisweddingtobeoverwith.Theysetalowbudgetandthencontinuallyaskedmetoexceedit.”Sheblowsoutabreathandrunsahandthroughherhair.Myeyessnagonit.“Whattimedoestheshopclose?”
“Six.I’llbebackhereattenforthevases.”
Shenods.“Doyouwanttocomebackalittleearlier?”Herhandreachesout,toadjustmycollarmaybe,butthenshe’sjustplayingwiththetopbutton.“Youcanhelpmesetupsparklers,”shesaysinasilkyvoice,asifsparklersmeanssomethingelseentirely.
“Isitreallysettingupsparklers?BecauseyouknowhowIfeelaboutyouneedinganassistant—”
“Imean,comebackandI’llfuckyouinyourtruck.”
MyjawsnapsclosedandIbouncemyheadasifweighingmyoptions.“IwasthinkingmaybeIcouldfuckyouinmytruck.”
Herlipspresstogethertoholdbackasmile.“I’llconsiderit.”Shedragsmycollarforwardandkissesme.BeforeIcantanglemyfingersinherhair,shepullsaway,winksatme,anddisappears.
I’mbackintheparkinglotat6:02.BeforeIcancontemplategoingintofindher,Iseeafigureleavingthereception.“YMCA”isplaying.
Asthemusicchangesto“WeAreFamily,”shejumpsthroughmypassengerdoorandslipsherunderweardownherthighs,andItellhertogetonherhandsandkneesonthebenchseat.
WhenIgotthistruckinhighschool,IalwayshopedI’dgettohavesexinit.Maybeafterafootballgame,whereIwasinevitablythestarquarterbackdespiteneverhavinganaturaltalentforthesport.
It’sabitmorecomplicatedthanIimagined,butIstillgetthehangofitwithonekneeonthebench.Herhandsarebracedonthewindow,theheadrest.Thetruckismuggyandsmellslikeher,andIstaredownatherhipsasIslamthembackagainstme.Mykneeisslippingandmyhandsaresweatingonherskin.
“Willyou…”shepants,herfaceagainsttheseat,“callmeAmaryllisagain?”
Igroan,almostlosingitthere,butmanagetowhisperhernameoncebeforeIcome.
Sheputsherselfbacktogethermuchlikebefore.Pantiesupandakisstomylips.Irollthewindowsdownandcollectmyselfasshewalksbackintothereception.
Twoweekslater,she’sruiningmyfloraldesignattheSinghwedding,rearrangingflowersandpullingthespidermumsoutaltogether.WhenIscreamatherinacleaningcloset,shescreamsbackuntilhermouthisonmine.Shedropstoherkneesthatday,andIforgetaboutspidermums.Infact,herideaswerebetter.Theyalwaysare.
Atthenextvendormeetingwehaveatmyshop,shebehavesnormally.Itdrivesmeupthewall.She’sallbusiness,andallIcanthinkaboutishowbadlyIwanttoputmymouthonheruntilshescreams.Sheleaveswiththeclients,andIdon’tseeherforanotherweek.
IfeellikemaybeI’mgettingoverher.LikemaybeI’llbefineifwejustworktogetherfromnowon.AndthenthenexttimeIseeherisavenuemeetforacouplegettingmarriedattheparents’house.She’sstandingnexttomeinthebackyard,showingmewheretheweddingarchwillbe,andIblurtout,“Doyouwanttogetdinnerwithmethisweek?”
HerlashesfluttersoprettilythatIbarelyhearhersoft“Yeah.Thatsoundsgreat.”
Istareatherface,hercheekspoppingwithpinkandherbottomlipcaughtbetweenherteeth.
“So,what’sthechairarrangement?”Iprompther.Shesmilesandcontinuesexplainingherdesign.
ThatThursday,ItakehertoalittleItalianplaceafewblocksfromtheshop.SheeatsmorethananygirlI’veeverdated,andwhenshebelchesatthetable,Ienduplaughingsohardthewaiterhastocheckonus.
WhenshehearsIwenttocollegeoutofstateforthreeyears,shemakesmetellhereverything.“Whatwereyoustudying?”
“Architecture,”Isay,thewordalmostbitterinmymouth.
Hereyesbrighten.“Thatexplainsalot.”WhenIfrownather,shesays,“Thethingsyou’rebuilding.Theweddingarches,hoops,chandeliers.”
“Idon’treallythinkI’musingmyarchitectureschoolingfordisplayingbaby’sbreathandpeonies,”Imumble,pokingatmycarbonara.
“Really?”Shetiltsherheadatme.“Iseeit.Didyougetyourlicensetoo?”
“No,Iwouldhave,butIleftinmyfinalyearandjust…neverwentback.”Ilookawayfromher.
“Didyouwantto?Goback?”sheasks,asifreadingmymind.“Imean,Idon’tknowanythingabouttheprogram,butwoulditbeeasytogobackifyoujusthadthetime?”
Ishrug,tryingtobrushoffthefactthatshejustnailedit.“Itdoesn’treallymatter,’causeIdon’thavethetime.Ihavetheshopand…”Itrailoff,bitingmycheek.
“Didyouleavewhenyourdadgotsick?”sheaskssoftly.Inod.“Whatwasit?”
“Lungcancer.Neversmokedadayinhislife.”Mylipstuginaruefulgrin.“Anyway,theshopmeanteverythingtohim.Iwasalwaysgoingtohavetheshop.Nosiblingstotakeit,nooneelse.Hewantedmetogetmydegree,butitwasalwaysunsaidthatI’dhaveBloomingoneday.Thatdayjustcamesoonerthanexpected.Momcalledmeandsaidtherewasamassinhislungsandhewasnevergoingtotellmehimself.SoIcamehome.”Myeyesflickuptoher.“ButIdoliketheshop.Ittookawhile,butflowersare…Well,flowersarebetterthanpeople.”IquoteDadtoherwithalaugh.
Hereyessparkle.“Yourdadsaidthattome.”
Myheartskips.Myribssqueeze.
“Hewassonicetomeonce,”shesays,eyesabitmisty.Iswallowandlookaway,andshesays,“Imean,hewasalwayssonice.Liketrulyspecial.”Shesnortsandpicksupherwineglass.“Nothinglikeyou.”
Inodinagreement,andshecontinues.
“ButIwashavingareallyhardweddingunderWhitneyonetime,andhe…Hemademesmile.”Shedoesitnow.“Idon’tknowifthisisweird,buthegavemeahandkerchief.Istillhaveit.Wouldyouwantitback?Ithinkit’shisinitialsonit.”
Irememberthecrackofherfistagainstanose.Thepatheticwaysheheldherhandtoherchestafterward.Herlaughricocheting,likemusic.
Ishakemyhead.“Hehadhundredsofthose.It’sfine.Ilikethatyouhaveone.”
Shesitsbackinherchairandcrossesherlegsunderthetable.“Ithinkyoucouldgoback,ifyouwanted.Theyhaveabunchofonlineoptionsfordegrees.It’suptoyou,but…youjustsaidityourself—yourdadwantedyoutogetyourdegree.Andwhoknows?Maybeitwouldgiveyoualegupinsomeway,whenyouinevitablyopenashowroom.”Shewinksatme.
“Maybe.”Ihatetoadmitit,butIlikethewayshecanspelloutmyfuturesoeasily.“Youdidn’tgotocollege?”
“IstartedwithWhitneyafewweeksafterhighschool.IguessIcouldhavegottenahospitalitymanagementdegree,butI’dhavehadtogooutoftownforone.AndIwasalreadyworkingunderthemaster.”
ShehasasparkleinhereyeasshetalksaboutWhitney,andItrynottofrown.“Ialwayswonderedwhatyourtitlewasunderher,”Isay.
“Acoupledifferentthings.Butbythetimeyouwereworkingwithyourdad,Iwasdirectorofdesign.”
“Andwhydidyouleave?”
“Youmean,whydidWhitney‘let’meleave?”Sheechoesmywordsfromearlierthisyear,reachingforherglasswithateasingtilttoherbrow.Irollmyeyes.“Iwasassistingwithweddingswithbudgetsinthehundredsofthousands,butIknewIwantedtobeworkingwithlowerbudgets.Lowerbudgetsalmostopenupmoreopportunities—doesthatmakesense?”
“Yeah,itdoes,”Ianswerhonestly.
“Whitneywasstartingtoactivelyturnawayanyonewhowasn’tworkingwithfiftygrandormore,regardlessofwhattheycouldpayher,soIthought,‘Icouldbetakingthose.Icouldbemakingsomethingreallyspecialoutofthatbudget.’”
“Soithadnothingtodowithyourpay?Orhowshetreatedyou?”
Sheblinksatme,andastunnedsilencecrossesthetable.Iregretsayingitimmediately.
“Howshe—howshetreatedme?Whatdoyoumean?”
“I’msorry,Ishouldn’thave…”Itrailoff,butshe’sstillwaiting.“ItwascleartoeverysingleoneofthevendorswhowastherealbrainsbehindtheWhitneyHarrisonWeddingsoperation.Myfatherwouldtalkaboutitallthetime—howmuchWhitney’sstylewasgrowing,whatachangetherehadbeensinceshehiredsomefreshblood.MarkatRoscowRentalsusedtotalktomeaboutit;MinnieatFreeportBakerynoticedit.”
Icanseeherchestrisingquickerandquicker,butherlipsarepressedtightlytogether.
“Imean,Ama,amonthafteryouleft,WhitneyaskedmetoreplicatetheorderfortheTeelewedding.Downtothebud.Yourdesign,copy-pastedontoanotherwedding.”
Sheclearsherthroat.“Ididn’tknowthat.”Shesipsherwineandavertshereyes.“Imean,tobefair,anythingIdesignedwhileIwastherebelongedtoWhitney.Thatwasinmycontract.Soitwaswithinherrights.”
Myjawsnapsshuttokeepfromsayinganythingaboutthat.Icanfeelmymolarsgrind.
“Howmuchofasalaryincreasedidyougetwhenyouwerepromotedtodirectorofdesign?”
“Idon’tremember—”
“Shehastooutsourceherdesignersnowwithoutyou.TamaraBirch,whoworkswithheralotnow?Whitneyaddsinhercoststothetotalbudget.Tamaragetsonehundredanhourforherweddingdesign.”
She’sstaringatme,calculating.Icanseeshe’sclosetoit—closetorealizingwhatbullshitshe’dbeenfedforyears.
“ButIwaspaidasalary,”shesays.“EvenifTamaraBirchwasdoingfivehoursofworkeveryweekoftheyear,I’dstillhavebeenpaidmorethanher.AndIhadconsistencythroughouttheoff-season,so…”Shesitsupabruptlyandflagsthewaiterforthecheck.“Let’sdropthis,okay?Ithinkyouhave—interestingpoints,buthonestly,I’dliketobeinagoodenoughmoodtofuckyourbrainsouttonight.”
Andwhocouldarguewiththat?Idrainmywine,andwhenthecheckcomes,I’malreadyhandinghimmycreditcardbeforeshecanpretendtoreachforit.Shegrinsatme.
“HowdidyouknowallthataboutTamaraBirch,”shesayswithaslysmile.
Isigh,rollingmyeyestotheceiling.“Itwastwodates.”
Shelaughs.“Doyouhaveathingforweddingdesigners?”
Isignthebillandmutter,“Maybetheyhaveathingforme.”
Shedoesn’tdenyit.
Wewalkbacktoourcarsattheshop,andshepressesmeupagainstherCamry,kissingme.Sheopensthepassengerdoorformetogetinsideandrunsaroundtothedriver’sside.SheturnstheignitionfortheA/C,andthenmountsme,whichI’mlearningisherfavoritethingtodo.
“I’dbringyouover,”shemumblesagainstmyneckasherhandreachesintomyjeans,“butmymomislivingwithmethisweek.”
“Oh.”Herfingerswraparoundme,andIfindmyselfstilltalkingabouthermother.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Yeah,she’sjustgettingadivorce.”Herteethrunovermyjaw,andmycockjumpsinherhand.
“She—TheweddingIjustdidthechandelierfor?I’msorry.”
Ama’sgrindingonmythigh,soIguesstheconversationdoesn’treallyfazeher.“It’sokay.Ithappens.”
Myhandsslideunderherdressandpresstohercenter.Shemoansasmyfingersdipsintoher.
Overhershoulder,myeyescatchonherdashboard.
“What’s—what’supwithyourcar?”Iask,breathless.
SheseemstoknowexactlywhatI’mtalkingaboutwhenshesays,“Ijustgottagetittotheshop.”
Herthumbswirlsovertheheadofmycock,butIcan’tevenenjoyitbecausetherearesevenlightson.
“You…Areyousureyoucandrivethisthing?”
“Ihavebeenforliketwomonths.”
“Twomonths!”Ipullherbackfrommyneck.“Ama,youcan’tdriveacarwhenit’slikethis.”
“It’sfine!Itneedsanailtakenoutofatireandanoilchange.I’msureit’sfine.”
I’mseeingairbaglights,maintenancelights,andsomethingthatI’veneverseenflashinanycarthatI’veowned.“Ama.”
“Relax,andkeepcallingmeEmma.”
Hermouthcoversmineandhertonguedoeswickedthings,butIpushherbackevenasshestartstosqueezemycockagain.
“Ican’t.Wecoulddieinthiscar,justbysittinghere.”Inudgehertodismount.
“No,wait—”
“Popthehood.I’lltakealook.”
“ElliotBloom,ifyousitstillandforgetaboutthis,Ipromisetosuckyoursouloutthroughyourdick.”
Hereyesarefierce,andherbreathiscomingquickly.
“I…Ama,Ican’t.Ican’t!”
Ishovehertothesideandopenthedoor.Ituckmyselfbackinmypantsandgestureforhertopopthehood.WespendtwentyminutesglaringateachotherthroughthewindshieldbeforeItellherI’mcallingatowtruckanddrivingherhome.
Needlesstosay,shedoesnotsuckmysouloutthroughmydickthatnight.19AmaJULY
Filmcrewsmakethingstentimesmorecomplicated.Itseemsastupidthingtoonlyjustnowrealize,butit’strue.
BecauseHazelandJackiearehiringaweddinggarmentdesignerfromoutoftown,thefilmcrewisgoingtomisstheiropportunitytodoamontageoftryingongownsatabridalshop.SoBeaaskedifwecanstageit,becausethat’sapparentlyaveryimportantthingtohaveintheepisode.
IgiveBeathenamesofthebestshopsinSacramento,andwecallthemtogethertogetthissetup.Ihavetoarrangealast-minuteappointmenttotryondressesthatwon’tevenbepurchased,andBeahastoclearthefilmcrewbythem.AstorecalledSpringMaideninCarmichaelagreestotheshoot,aslongastheirstorenameismentionedandtheshopisshownfavorably.
IletBeahandleJackieandHazel,givingthemascripttolooselyfollow,andIjusttrytopretendit’sanormalvendormeet.
SpringMaidenisalovelyshopthatI’vebeentoonlyafewtimes,butthankfullytheownerstillremembersmefromwhenIworkedwithWhitney.Iarriveearlytomakesurewehavetheprivacywerequestedandtomeettheassistantshelpingustoday.Theownergreetsmeandpullsmetotheside.
“Sowewereabletoclosetheshoptothepublicsothefilmcrewisn’tsteppingonanyone’stoes.Buttherewasoneappointmentalreadyonthebookswhenyoucalled,sothey’reontheothersideoftheshop.I’veletthemknowwhat’sgoingon.”
“Great,”Isay.“Thatshouldn’tbeaproblem.”
ThecamerasgetHazelandJackiewalkinginandtheownergreetingthem.Ourassistantforthemorningtakesustoourprivateroomwithmirrorsandapedestal.JackieandHazeleachtalkthroughwiththeassistantwhatthey’relookingforinadress.BeahasdecidedthatHazel’sdecisiontowearasuitshouldbea“journey”shegoesonthroughthescene,soHazelistryingondressesthat“justaren’tright.”
Beaflagsmeovertothedoor,andIfollowherout.
“Canwegetaninterviewwithyouaboutdressshopping?”sheasks.
“Sure.”
“LetmegiveHazelandJackieabreak,andthenI’llhaveacameramansetyouupinthissweetlittlecorner.”Shepointstoamattewallwiththeshop’snamepaintedcleanlyontoit.
I’mwaitingforthecrewtogetsetandcheckingmyemailswhenIhear,“Ama,Iwonderedifitwasyou.”IlookupandWhitneyHarrisonissteppingoutoftheprivateroomontheothersideofthelobby.
“Whitney,hi!”IjumpuptogiveherahugbeforeIcanrememberthatI’mstillsuspiciousofher.Sheclutchesmetight,andIwonderagainifmaybethevendorthingwasahugemix-up.“Ishouldhaveguessedyouwerewiththeotherparty.”
“Ihopeyoudon’tmindthatwecouldn’tberescheduled,”Whitneysays,pushingalockofhairawayfromherface.“Mybridehashadthisappointmentforoveramonth.”
“Oh,no,notatall.”Iwavemyhand.“Idon’tcareaboutprivacy.Ithinkit’sjustforthefilmcrewtohavefewerpeoplearound.”
“That’sright,”shesays.“Howisthefilminggoing?Doesitinterferemuch?”
“Notsofar.”Ilaugh.“It’sjustabitofstagingwiththevendors.Thegirlsactuallyalreadyhavetheirattire,”Isayquietly,“buttheproductioncrewwantedaweddingdressshoppingscene.”
“Oh,good!”shesays,placingherhandonmyelbow.“Tobehonest,Ama,IwasreallyworriedtohearthattheHazelReneeweddingstilldidn’thavebridaldresses.It’sthreemonthsaway!”
Whitneylaughs,likewe’resharingajoke.Ismileback.
“No,we’reallonschedule,”Isay,shortly.
Justthen,Hazelcomesintothelobby,lookinglikesheneedsabreak.ShepaintsonasmileandwalksovertouswhenIsay,“Allgood?”
“Yes.Juststressful.”SheturnsherattentiononWhitneyandextendsherhand.“Hi,I’mHazel.”
“HazelRenee,ofcourse.Yourweddingisgoingtobeallanyoneistalkingabout.”Whitneygraspsherhandfirmly.
“ThisisWhitneyHarrison,”Isay.“She’safabulousweddingplanner.”
“Oh!I’veheardalotaboutyoufromAma.Andfrommyfiancée,whenweweresearchingforplanners.”IfsheremembersJackie’shesitationsaboutWhitney,shedoesn’tshowit.
“Well,obviouslyyouhiredexactlytherightfit,”Whitneysays,droppingahandonmyshoulder.“Amaworkedundermeforyears,soIcanconfidentlysayshe’sremarkable.”
“Oh,weknow!”Hazellaughs.“We’rereallyhappywithher.”Shesendsapleasedsmilemyway,andashadowofawinkcrossesoverherface.
“She’soneofakind,forsure,”Whitneysays.Itrytoparseoutanysarcasmorillwillinherwords,andIcan’tfindany.“Where’sthereception?Iknowit’stheRoseGardenfortheceremony.”
“WehaveafoundspaceinMidtown,”Isay,treadinglightly.It’skindofmassive,whatI’mdoingwiththeoldballetstudio.I’vealreadygotcontractorstellingmeitcan’tbedone—thatis,untilIshowthemthebudget.
“Ama’sgoingtomakemagicoutofthinair,”Hazelsays,bumpingmyarm.
“That’sveryambitious,”saysWhitney.Icanhearsomeofthatoldlet’s-talk-shit-about-this-laterattitudeIrememberfrommyyearsatWHW.
Hazelcontinues,andIgetthefeelingthatshe’sbraggingformysake.“I’mjustsoimpressedbyher.I’mgoingtotrytoconvincemyengagedgirlfriendstoconsiderherfortheirownweddings.”Sheturnstomecasually.“You’llmeetthematthebachelorette.”
I…can’tfeelanythingforafewmoments.MycheeksaresohotIthinkmyfacemayhavemeltedoff.IturnfromHazel’sgrintoWhitneyinslowmotion.
“Thebachelorette,”Whitneyrepeats,eyesslidingtome.“Well,it’sniceAmacancarveoutsometimeforthat.Gettingfriendlywiththeclientswasalwaysherforte.”
Ilooktomyshoes.Whatafuckingmess.Ihaven’tagreedtothebacheloretteyet,butHazelhasbeeninsistent.Shedoesn’tknowwhataminefieldshe’striggered.
Beainterruptsus.“Hazel,canwegoagain?AndAma,I’llhaveNickcomerightoutforyourinterview.”
HazelfollowsBeainside,andIfeellikeadog,staringdowntheendofanewspaper.
“Well,somethingsneverchange,”Whitneywhispers.
“I’mnotgoingonthebachelorette,”Isayquickly.“Theyinvitedme,butIknowit’snotprofessional—”
“Buttheyinvitedyou,Ama.”Shelevelshergazeatme,liftingoneperfectbrow.“You’veoversteppedfarenoughforthattobeokay.”
Mythroatfeelsstuck,lodgedshut.“I’msorry.”
Shelaughs,atinklingsoundshewouldreserveforgroomswhothoughttheywerecomedians.
“Ama,youdon’tworkformeanymore.Youcanrunyourownbusinesshoweveryoulike.”Shesqueezesmyarm,andIfeelamanicurednailcatchmyskin.“Ijusthopeyoudon’tgetburned.”
Inod,mymouthunabletowork.Myeyesarepricking,andIwanttorunintotheparkinglotandscream.
“Callmeifyouneedanything,”shesays,walkingbackward.“It’sahugeundertaking.”
Shedisappearsbackintoherprivateroom.WhenNickcomesoutwiththecameraandsetsthelighting,Ifeelhollow.Idon’tremembermyanswerstotheirquestions.
WhenItellHazelandJackiethatIcan’tcometothebacheloretteweekend,Iseetheirdisappointment,butIstandfirm.
20ElliotTHREEYEARS,TWOMONTHS,ANDFIVEDAYSAGO
Shedidn’ttalktomeforaweekafterourdate.AndwhenshesawmeontheweekendfortheWilmotwedding,shekeptitbusinesslike,unfortunately.
Ipostedapictureyesterdayofthebeginningsofarosewall.It’sonlyfourfeetbyeightfeet,andthere’sreallynoroomforlettering,butIatleastaddedaBforBlooming.Shehasn’tlikedthepictureyet.
Itfeelslikethere’sthisgamewe’replaying,andIhavenocluewho’swinning,butitcan’tpossiblybeme.It’salreadyAugust.Theendofweddingseasoniscomingsoon,andI’llbeseeinglessandlessofheruntilitpicksupagain.Thatis,ifshedecidestocontinuecontractingme.
WehavealocationmeetonFriday,andmyplanistoaskheronaseconddate.Ifshesaysno,thenatleastI’llknowforsurewherewestand.
I’minthebackroomtryingtocleanuptheworktablefromthemessofrosesI’vemade.Thephoneringsatthefront,andIhatethatI’mhopingit’sher.
“Hello.”
“Elliot.WhitneyHarrison.Howareyou?”Hersaccharine-sweetvoicepiercesmyears,andItapthevolumebuttononthephonetotrytodampenit.
“Good.Hi,Whitney.”
“Listen,oneofmysocialmediaassistantsjustshowedmeyourrosewall.Mygod,it’sbeautiful!Ididn’tevenknowyouwereworkingwithcustominstallations!”
“Yeah,thanks.It’sprettynew.JustsomethingI’mtrying.”
“Well,it’swonderful,”shesays,andIcanhearhertyping.“I’mlookingforapiecelikethatmyself.IwasgoingtotalktoBriarRoseDesignsaboutit,butI’dlovetoworkwithyou.YouknowhowwellyourdadandIgoton.”
Shesaysitliketheywereindiaperstogether,wheninreality,mydadtoleratedheratbest.Shewasthetopweddingbusinessintown,sotheonlythingtodowasworkwithher.Dadgaveheradiscounttoenticehertokeepcomingback.
“Sure,”Isay.“Doyouwanttocomeinandtakealook?Ionlyhavethatonepiecedonerightnow.”
“Yes,let’ssetupfornextweek?I’llemailyou,andifyoucanquotemeforawalltenfeetacross?Anditemizetheadd-ons,willyou?Byletter,byrosecolors—thegoodstuff.”
IbitemytonguefromtellingherIhaveafour-foot-widepiecethathasaBandthat’sit.Ifshedoeswantone,I’llfigureitout,Iguess.
“Sure.”HerfingernailsclackinginthebackgroundmakemethinkofhowtheyusedtodigintoAma’sarm,andIsay,“Andjustsoyou’reaware,thisinstallationbusinessisconsideredindependentfromBlooming.They’llbeinvoicedseparatelyandthenormaldiscountswon’tapply.”
Shestopstyping,andIsmile.
“Ofcourse.Understandable,Elliot.I’llemailyou!”
Shehangsupbeforeeitherofushasachancetosaygoodbye.
Imighthavelostbusiness,butatleastIdon’thavetogiveWhitneythatbullshitdiscountonthingsI’mmakingbyhand.
Thedoorswingsopen,andasIgruntahello,IseeAmaonmywelcomemat.Iclearmythroatandleanforwardonthecounter.
“Youhereabouttherosewall?”Iask.
Sheopenshermouthandpauses.“Didyoupostarosewall?”
Withlittleceremony,shedropsoffherpurseneartheregisterandwalksstraightintothebackroom.Iclenchmyjawattheintrusion,butthenIhearhergasp.
“Oh,wow.Thisisgreat!”
Ifollowherbackandleaninthedoorway.“Ijustwantedtotryit.”
“AreyougoingtomaketherestofBlooming?Theotherletters?”
Ishrug.“Icould,buttobehonest,thiswasalot.Timeandmoney.”Shebarelyseemstohearme,justreachesouttorunherfingersoverthepetals.
There’saclawinginmychest,andIfeellikeatoddlerabouttostartscreamingaboutabsolutelynothing.
“Whatbringsyouby?”Myvoiceisgruff,andsheturnsatthesoundofit.
“Um…”Shepressesahipagainstmyworktable.“Areyouseeingotherpeople?”
Thequestionknocksmeoffmyfeet.“AmIseeingotherpeople?”
“Yeah.”
“‘Otherpeople’impliesthatI’mseeinganexistingsomeone.AndIhaven’tseenyouintwoweeks,”Imumble.IknowIsoundimmature,butIcan’thelpit.
Herlipstwitch.“Well,I’mherenow.Seeingyou.Beingseen.”
Shestepsforward,andbeforeIcanrememberthattantrumIwantedtohave,herarmswindovermyshoulders,andshepressesuptohertoes.Herlipsarewarmandfull,andherchestpushesagainstme.Myhandsslidetoherhips,andeventhoughIknowweshouldtalk,Ilosemyselfforamomentinhermouth,herbody
“So,”shewhispersagainstmylips.“Areyouseeingotherpeople?”
Iblinkdownather.“AmIseeingotherpeople?”
“That’swhatyousaidbefore.”
“BecauseIstillcan’tbelieveit’saquestion.”
Sheswallowsandlooksatmycollar.“Because…it’sastupidthingtoaskwhenweweren’texclusive?Or…?”Herlashesflutterwhenshelooksupatme.
Ifeellikealothingesonmyanswer.LikesuddenlywhatIhavetosayaboutthisstrangerelationshipwehaveisgoingtoaffectthefutureofit.Ibitetheinsideofmycheek,searchingfortherightwords.
“Idon’tevenknowwhatthisis,”Isayhonestly.“Weseeeachotheronceaweekmaybe,andwefuck,I’vetakenyoutodinner,butI’mjust…”Iswallow.“IfeellikeI’mjustwaitingforyoutotellmetherules.I’llkeepplayingevenifyouneverdo,but—butno,Idon’tsleepwithotherpeoplewhenI’m…doingwhateverthisis.”
Theunclearintensityinhergazemakesmesquirm.IfeellikeIneedtokeeptalkinginhersilence,butIknowit’sherturn.
“The‘rules,’huh?”Shesmilesruefullyatmyshoulder.Eventuallyshetakesadeepbreathandmeetsmygaze.“Mymomgetsmarriedalot.Like,alotalot.TheweddingyoudidinAprilwasherfourteenth.”
Ifeellikemyeyesshouldn’tbugoutofmyhead,soIforcethemnotto.“Okay.”
“She’snevernothadamaninherlife,fromthemomentIwasborn,”shecontinues.“Andshemakesitdowntheaisleeverytime.Fourteenfiancés,fourteenweddings.IaskedheroncewhenIwasakidifsheevergotscaredaboutsayingIdolikethemoviesshow,butshesaidnever.Shesaid,‘Loveislikethewind.Itwillcomeandgo.Weddingsarejustaparty.’”
Shegrinsatthememory.I’mstillreelingabit,butI’mlistening.
“Youknow,it’snotreallythefourteenweddingsthatareimportant.IguessI’mtalkingaboutthedivorces.Fourteentimesnow,she’scalleditquitswithsomeonewhomeantalottoher.Whosheloved.AndIreallybelievethatshedidlovesomeofthem,”shesays.“It’snotlikemymomwasfineaftereverydivorce,readyforthenextguy.Shewasinpainalot.DayswhereIdidn’tthinkshe’devereatorgetoutofbed.Shealwaystoldmethatmarriagewasworthit,butIdon’tthinkitis.”
Shecatchesherself,likecomingoutofatranceofmemories,andlooksupatme.“SoIguesswhatI’msayingis,Idon’tseethepointofcommitmentsthatend.Idon’tdate,”shesays.“Notlong-termanyway.Ido…whatwe’redoingnow.Alittlebithere,alittlebitthere.ButIdon’tdocommitments.”Shelaughslightly.“I’mwellawarewherethatstemsfrom,ofcourse,butI’veseentoomanymenmakepromisestomymom—tome—thatgotbrokenwhenthingsgothard.Therewasthisonestepdad,Warner,whoIgrewreallyattachedto.Mymomwaswithhimforfiveyears.Iwastenwhentheybrokeup,buthepromisedmewe’dstillseeeachother.”Sheshakesherhead.“Iaskedmymomabouthimallthetime,butIneversawhimagain.”
Shepauses,pursingherlipstogetherinthought.Mythroatistight,andmyhandsarestillonherhips,buttheyfeelcold.Itsoundslikeshe’slettingmedowneasy,andmaybeIshouldpullmyhandsaway,butthensheplaceshersonmyforearms.
“Iknowit’sweirdthatI’maweddingplannerwhodoesn’tbelievemarriageworks,butthat’sexactlyit.Weddingsarejustapartytome.Marriagesarethingsthatend.AndIdon’tthinkloveshouldleadtoacommitmentwhentheemotionissofluidandfickleforeverybody.”
“Notforeverybody,”Iwhisper.Sheblinksupatme,andItakemychance,hopingshe’llgivemeatry.BecauseI’mprettysureI’dneverlosemygrasponherifgiventheopportunity.“Noteveryoneisfickleaboutit.”
Shebitesbackagrin.“Isthatso?”Herarmswinduparoundmyneck.
Inodsolemnly.“Idon’tletgoofthingssoeasily.”Ifeelmypulseinmythroat,butIforcemyselftospeakaroundit.Icantellthisistheall-or-nothingmoment,andIneedhertoknowI’mallin.“Ifyouwanttomoveforwardwithwhateverthisisbetweenus,youdon’thavetoworryaboutmebackingout.Youmaythinkeverythingendsoneday,butyouhaven’thad‘everything’withme.”
Iwatchhertakeaslow,deepbreath,hergazecastingovermyface.I’mhangingontheedgeofacliff,waitingforher.Alwayswaitingforher.
Finally,ateasingsmiletugsatherlips.“Sotherulesofthegame?”Herfingersrunfrommyeardowntomycollarandmyheartthumps.“IcameheretodaybecauseImissedyou,andthesuddenrealizationthatImaynotbetheonlypersonyou’reseeing…actuallymadememad.”Shelaughs.“Andthatneverhappens.So,Rule#1—We’renotseeingotherpeople.Rule#2—Iwanttoseeyoumorethanonceaweek.”Shepausesandlooksatmeintently.Thesmilemeltsfromherface.“ButIdon’twanttocallitarelationship.Rule#3.”
Ifeelsomethingwiltinsideme,butIfocusonwhatIhopeistheunsaidyetattheendofthesentence.Itsoundslikeshewantsexclusivityandmoretimetogetherwithoutlabelingit.Icandothat.AsidefromMom,there’snooneinmylifeIcouldintroducehertoas“mygirlfriend”anyway.
“Nolabels?”Iaddhelpfully.
Shegrins.“Labelshaveexpirationdates.”
WhatI’mhearingisthatshedoesn’twantthisthingbetweenustoend.Thatexcitesme.Theideathatshewantstolookintothefutureandstillseemeisintoxicating.Itwhisperspromisesintomychestthatshe’smakingclearshewon’tvoicealoud.
“Andthelastruleofthegame?”Shestepsintome,andhergrinturnsmischievous.“Yourtattoos.Ihaveanall-consumingneedtoseeallsixofthem.”
Ihum.“Mypantswouldhavetocomeoffforthat.”
“Whatashame.”Shepopsmytopbutton,andIgrabherhands.
“I’mgoingtoflipthesignandlockthedoor.Givemejustasecond.”
Shecallsafterme,“Don’twanttoplayitfastandloose,Mr.Bloom?”
IthrowuptheBACKIN15signandlockthedeadbolt.Withaflickofmyfingers,IpushthephoneoffthehookasIreturntothebackroom.
She’ssittingattheheadofmyworktable,kickingherlegsinnocently.Ihaven’thadachancetocleanitupyetfromtherosewallandafewotherprojects,soshe’ssittingnexttopottingdirtandrunningstraypetalsthroughherfingertips.Shetapstheedgeofthetablenearherknee.“Didyoudothis?”
Ilookdownandseemyinitialscarvedintothecornerofthetable,whereI’dsatdoinghomeworkwhenIwasakid.“Yeah.”
“You’rearebel.Defacingproperty?”
“Mm-hmm.”Icomecloser,slippingeasilyintothespacebetweenherknees.She’swearingadress,likeshealwaysdoes,andIpushitupherthighsasIpressmymouthtohers.Stillholdingtherosepetal,herhandscovermycheeksandjaw.Shetriestoforcemetokissherdifferently—harder,faster—butIrubmythumbsoverherthighsandkeepitslow.
Herhandscontinuetheirpathdownmybuttons,andsoonshe’spushingmyshirtoffmyshouldersandshovingupmyundershirt.Onceit’soff,sherunsherpalmsoverthevioletonmyribs.Mybreathiscomingquicklybythetimeshekissesovermyjaw,downmyneck,andtravelspastmychesttomyribs.Thefirstswipeofhertongueoverthepurplepetalsmakesmystomachtighten.Shekissesit,andsweetlittlemoanspopoutofherthroat.
Ipullherfacebacktomineandletmytonguesweepthroughhermouth.Myarmsnakesaroundherwaist,draggingherclosertotheedgeofthetable.Shehelpsmetugherdressfromunderherandtossitoffandintoacorner.Myhandswanttobeeverywhereatonce.
“Youknowthisisthefirsttimewe’vegottenthisundressed?”Shelaughs.
“I’mwellaware,”Imutter,staringatthelaceoverherbreasts,thesmallslipofitbetweenherlegs.Iattachmylipstoherneckandtrackmyhandsoverherskin.Herhandsareinmyhair,andherkneestightenaroundmyhipswhenIsuckonherthroat.Myfingerstugdownthelaceoveronebreast,andairwhinesoutofherlungsasmythumbpassesoverhernipple.
She’stuggingatthebuttononmyjeans,butIpullheraway.“Wait.”
Shehuffs.“Ican’t.”
Ikissherfirmly,andthenpushhertolieback.Shetearsherbraoffwithgreedyfingersandeasilyopensherlegstome.Therearerosepetalsscatteredeverywhere,pottingdirtunswept,butshestretcheshermusclesandinvitesmetopressmymouthtoherskin.
Ileanoverher,kissingjustbelowherbreastandtrailingdown.Herfingersslideintomyhairandpushmelower.I’msuckingattheskinbetweenherbellybuttonandherunderwearwhenshesitsupononeelbowandsays,“Please,Elliot.Please,faster.”
Ilookupather,theplanesofhernakedbodybetweenus.“I’vebeenwantingtodothisforafewmonths,soifyoucouldbepatient,that’dbegreat.”
Shegroansanddropsbacktothetable,herhandsscrabblingatherfaceandneck.
Iswitchtokissingtheinsideofherthigh,andshereachesup,behindherhead,andIwatchherfingerstangleintherosebudsonthetable.Theycrumbleinherfingertips,flowerpetalsbursting.
Ipushherpantiestothesideandtasteher,mytongueslippingslowlyoverhercenter.
Shechokesoutamoan,andherkneescomeuptobracketmyears.Ipushthemopenagain,holdingthemdowntothetable,andwhenIflickmytongueoverherclit,herhipsjerk.Shemuttersincoherentthingsasmymouthgetstoknowher.Shetastesperfect.Mylipslatchoverher,andIsuck.
Alonggroanpushesoutofherthroat,andherhandstugatmyhairagain.Icansmelltheearthandrosesunderherfingernails.ItmingleswithherscentintosomethingIcouldbottle.Herthighsstartshakingundermyhands,andIpushthemupward,openingher.She’scussingandyellingatmeandtalkingtoherself.Iglanceupather,andshe’swatchingme.There’ssoilandrosepetalsstucktoherskin.Onepinkpetalisplacedperfectlynexttohernipple,andIgroanatthesight.
Mylipsandtonguesuckatherclit,andherhipsjerkagainstmyface,beggingmeformore.
Myhandleavesherthigh,andIsliponefingeragainstherentrance.ThesoundsshemakesareferalasIpushinsideofher.Shecomesinstantly,flutteringaroundmyfinger,handsholdingmyfaceagainsther.Shesqueals,andI’llneverforgetthesound,thesmell.
Ikeepsuckingasherhipsrelax.Tinytremorsseizehereverysooften,andshecan’tcatchherbreath.
“Elliot,”shesays,hervoicealmostgone.“Please.”
Islipfromherandunzipmyjeans.Shesitsupinaflash,scootingclosertotheedgeofthetableanddraggingmymouthtoher.Shekissesmelikeshe’ssearchingforthetasteofher.Ipullmyselfoutofmyboxerbriefs,andshestopsme.
“Off,”sherasps.“Takethemoff.”
Shewantstoseethetattoos.
Itoeoffmyshoesandpushmyjeanstothefloor.Hereyespassmycockandlandontheredfloweronmyrightthigh.“Whatisit?”shepants.
“St.Helenamountainbush.Itwentextinctonlytwentyyearsago.”
Herfingerswraparoundmycock,pumpingme.Shewhispersagainstmylips,“Where’sthefinalone?”
ItakeherhandoffmesoIcanturn,showingherthesideofmycalf.“Valerianellaaffinis.”
Shelicksherlips,andbeforeshecanaskmequestionsaboutit,Idraghermouthbacktomine.Ipullherkneesaroundmywaistandlinemycockuptoenterher.Ipushinslowly,andshestilltightenslikeshe’ssuddenlyontheedgeagain.Withshallowthrusts,Imoveinsideofher.Herbreastspressagainstmychest,andIcanfeelthedirtandrosesbetweenus,mixingintothesweat.
“Fuck,”shemoansagainstme.
Itugherkneeup,andpushinfurther.
“Ohfuck!”
We’repantingintoeachother’smouthsasIbottomoutinsideofheroverandover.Myhandfallstoherbreast,anditfillsmypalm.
“Vietnameseorchid,BenjaminFranklintree,kadupul,”shesaysagainstmyjaw.“Cryviolet,St.Helena…andValer—Valerianella—”
“Affinis.Yes.”Ikisshercheek.Myhipshavestartedtojerk.Iletmyfingersstarttorubherclit.
“Vietnamese.Franklin”—shepausestomoan,andIcanseehereyesrollingback—“cryvioletandkadupul.St.Helena,Valerianellaaffinis—”
“Andamaryllis,”Ihumintoherear.
Shetightens.Ifeelherstopbreathing.Shechokes,drawingaraggedbreath.There’snoroominsideofher,butIfuckherlikeIbelongthere.
“Amaryllis.Ama.”Ipant.“Ama.”
Herfingernailsarescratchingpatternsintomyback.She’sbarelymakinganysound,andthenshe’sgaspingforbreath.Sheyelpsinsmallunevenpatterns,andherwallsflutteroverandover.
Iwrapmyarmaroundherwaist,meldinghertome.There’snowhereformetogo,butIgrindagainsther,murmuringhernameintoherneckuntilIcome.Thepleasureblindsme.IthinkIbitedownonherskin.Myhipsarestilljerkingagainsther,searchingformore.
WhenIcanbreatheagain,Ipullbacktolookather.She’swrungoutentirely.Hereyesareheavy,andherchestrisesandfalls.Hertitsarecoveredinflowerpetalsandsoil,hernipplestightandbeggingformoreattention.
Shepantsagainstmyface,andherhandsdragovermyhair,mycheeks.
“You’refuckingincredible,”shewheezes,andIfeelmychestinflateatthepraise.
I’mopeningmymouthtosaysomethingbacktoherwhenaharshknocksoundsatthefrontdoor.
Iglareovermyshoulderinthegeneraldirectionofthefront.“Iputasignup.Iguessitshouldhavesaid,‘GettingLaid,BackinanHour.’”
Shelaughsthroughherthinbreathingandpullsmyfaceback.Hermouthmovessensuouslyovermine.Ifshehadn’tjustsaidthatshe’snotarelationshipperson,IwouldprobablytellherIloveherrightnow,asoursweatdrieswithdirtandroses.
BecauseIthinkIdo.I’veneverwantedsomeonelikethis—theirbody,theirconversation,theirmind—
Myphoneringsfrommyjeanspocket.Ifrowndownatourrumpledclothesontheground.WhenIlocateit,myphonescreenflashesmomatme.
Iwinceandanswerit.“Mom?”Ama’sbrowsjumptoherhairline.
“Whereareyou?Whyistheshopclosed?”
Humanlanguageevaporatesfrommybrain.“I—I…what?”IgesturetoAmatogetdressedandgrabmyunderwear.
“Theshopisclosed,”shesaysslowly.“What’swrong?”
“Right.I’mnotfeelingwell.So,yeah.Iclosedtheshop.”MyjeanssoundtooloudasIfumblemylegsintothem.
“Yourtruckishere,”shesays,voiceflat.
“I’matRiteAid.Gettingmedicine.”
“Sweetheart”—hervoicechangesfromsuspicioustomotherlyinaninstant—“whatkindofmedicine?Ihaveawholepharmacyinmypurse.”
“No,it’sfine.”Ileavemyundershirtonthefloorandgrabmybutton-up.Amaisonlyinherbraandunderwear.“I’mjustgoingtogohome.”
“Letmedriveyou.I’llmeetyouinyourparkinglot.”
Myheaddoesn’tworkanymorewhenIsay,“No.No,that’sokay.It’saheadcoldorsomething.AndI’m—”Icramonebootbackon.“I’malreadyback.Cominginthebackdoor.”
AmalooksatmelikeI’manutcase,andIprobablyambecauseMomsays,“Ididn’tevenseeyoucrossthestreet.Youhonestlydidn’tseemeatthefrontdoor?”
Ican’tgetmyheelinmyotherboot,soIjustlimpoutofthebackroom,pointingtoAmatoslipoutthebackdoortotheparkinglot.
“HereIam,”Isayloudly.Momhearsmethroughthephoneandfrominsidetheshopandturnsaround,hangingup.
Iunboltthedoorandopenit,andMomlooksmeoverlikesheknowsI’vebeenfuckingsomeoneonDad’soldworktable.Herhandcomestomyforeheadimmediately,pressingherfingertipsallovermyneckandcheeks.
“Youlookterrible.”
“Right.Iknow.”
“Andyou’recoveredindirt.”
“Flowers,”Isay,asifitexplainsitaway.
Imayjustpassoutandaddtothiswholesicknessscheme.
Shepushespastmeintotheshop,andI’mhopingIjustheardthebackdoorshut.
“Elliot,youneedasecondclerk.Whenyougetsicklikethis,youcan’tjustshutdownthestore.”
“You’reright.Yep.Whatbringsyouby?”
IalmostapplaudmyselfforchangingthesubjectuntilIseeAma’spurseonthecounter.IsidesteparoundmymotherandblockherviewwithmybackasIdropitbehindtheregister.
“Well,Ihavesomenews,butIthinkwecouldwaituntilyou’refeelingbetter.”
Mymotherisnotonetowaitfor“news.”Sheinterruptedoneofmybirthdaypartiesoncetoannouncethatherbillhadbeensigned.Iwatchherpushherblackhairoveroneearandsmileatme.
“What’sthenews?Youcantellme,”Isay.
Justthen,theshopdooryanksopen,Dad’sbellrings,andAmastepsinwithawidesmile.Blooddrainsfrommyface.
“Elliot,justthemanIwantedtosee!”shesays,inafalsechippertone.“Oh,sorry.”Shepretendstospotmymother.“Ididn’tseeyouhadaclient.I’llwaitoverhere!”
Assheturnstolookattheorchidsalongthefarwall,Iseethere’sdirtsmearedoverherneck,andarosepetalstuckinherhair.
Andsodoesmymother.
Sothat’showI’llshuffleoffthismortalcoil.
Mymotherturnstomeslowly,browsraised.WhenIcanthinkofabsolutelynothingtosay,sheprompts,“Elliot,introducemetoyourfriend.”
Iclearmythroat,butitstillrasps.“Ama,thisismymother.”
Amaspinsaround,lookinginnocentlysurprised.“Oh,SenatorGilbert!It’sanhonortomeetyou.”Theyshakehands,andallIcanthinkisthatthere’sprobablydirtunderhernailstoo.
“Amaisaweddingplanner,”Isay.“SheusedtoworkunderWhitneyHarrison.Weworktogetheralot.SheknewDad.”
It’slikediarrhea.
Mymothersmilesather.“That’slovely.Whatkindofweddingsdoyoudo,ifyoudon’tmindmeasking?”
Tohercredit,Amafallseasilyintobusiness,tellingmymotherexactlywhatherstyleisandwhatshebringstoherclients.MomasksaboutaspecificweddingshewenttolastyearandguessescorrectlythatitwasAma’sdesign.
They’regettingalonglikegasolineandaboxofmatches,andI’moverheresweating.
“Well,IjustwantedtostopbyandaskElliotifIleftmypursehereyesterday,”Amasaysconfidently.
“Youdid.”Igrabitfrombehindthecounter.
“Sillyme!”Amatakesitfromme.“Itwaswonderfultomeetyou,Senator.Elliot,I’llseeyouthisweekend—fortheBigg-Mosbywedding,”sherushestoadd.
Whenshe’sgonethroughthefrontdoor,Ibusymyselfclickingthingsonthecomputer.
“She’sverysweet,”Momsays.“Pretty.”
“Isshe?Sure.Maybe.Short.”
“Elliot,shetookhercarkeysoutofthatpurseonherwayoutthedoor.That’snotsomethingshe’dforgetyesterday.”
Ipressmylipstogetherandbitedownonmytongue.
“So,”Momstartsslowly,“Iguessyoudon’thavetomentiongirlfriendstome,but—”
“She’snotmygirlfriend,”Ihurryout,rememberinghowAmadidn’twantthat.“But…Idofeelstronglyabouther.”
AsmilespreadsoverMom’sface.“Well,thenI’mgladImether.CouldImaybemeetheragainsometime?”
Inod,mortificationflushingmycheeks.“Sure.What’syournews?”
Mompivotslikeshedoeswhenshedebates:newtopic,newenergy,newsmile.Shemovesclosertothecounterandclearsherthroat.
“Stefanproposed.Lastnight.”
I’msurprisedtohearit,eventhoughIknewthiswascoming.“That’sgreat.Congratulations,Mom,”Isaywitharealsmile.
Stefanisgreat.Lastmonth,heaskedmeformyblessing,andIwashappytogiveit.They’vebeentogetherfortwoyears.Theirfirstdatewastwonightsbeforemydaddied,andIreallyappreciatedStefanstickingaroundforallofit.
“Youcanbeuncomfortable,ifyou’dlike,”Momsays.
Irollmyeyes.That’showshewasgrowinguptoo.Youcanthrowatantrum,ifyou’dlike.Youcanfailbiology,ifitmakesyouhappy.
“I’mnotuncomfortable.Idolikehim.”
“Good,”shesays.Thensoftly,“Nooneshouldhavetowaitforhappinessasecondlongerthantheyhaveto.”Shesmilesandpivotsagain.“WillBloomingdoourwedding?”
“Ofcourse.”Ipullupthecalendar.“Doyouhaveanydetailsyet?”
“I’dliketogetitdonebeforetheendoftheyear,”shesaysmatter-of-factly.Getitdone.“MaybeDecember?”
“It’squick,butit’sfineforme,”Isay.
“ShouldIhireAma?”
Mygazejumpstohertoseeifshe’sserious.“Iwishyouwouldn’t.”
Shelaughs.“Why?Wouldn’titbegreatforherbusiness?”
“Sheliterallyjusttoldyouwhatshedoes.WeddingsforpoliticiansattheSutterClubwasn’toneofthem.”
“Herstylesoundslovely.”Sheplucksimaginarylintoffherblouse.“Andsheworkedunderthatpretentiousbitch,soI’msuresheknowstheSutterClubalready.”
MomneverlikedthatWhitneytalkedDadintothatdiscount.That,andbeforeAma,WhitneyhadabsolutelynotasteinherdesignsandusedtosteamrollDadintoreallytackyarrangementsinsteadoftakinghisadvice.
Isigh.“Ifyouthinkit’sagoodidea,thenI’msureAmawouldappreciatetheopportunity.”
There’sasparkleinmymother’seyeswhenshegrinsatmeandsays,“I’dlovehernumber.”
21AmaAUGUST
AttheT-minustwo-monthmark,wemoveintotheballetstudioandstartguttingit.Clearingthelastofthepermitsstretchedusthinontime,butwe’refinallyin.WhenI’mnotmeetingwithclientsorvendors,I’matWeatherstone,overcaffeinating.
Igrewupprettywelloff,butI’veneverbeenabletothrowmoneyataproblemlikethis.It’sintoxicating.Moldononeofthewalls?Boom,money.Contractorcomplainingabouttimeframes?Zap,approvethehireofanewworker.Cityfinesfornoisecomplaintsandparkingpermits?Sendmethebill,Jeeves.
EverythingisgoingthroughHazelandJackie,ofcourse,butwhenIgavethemtheestimateforwhatitwouldtaketoturnthisspaceintoareceptionhallintwomonths,Iincludedatwentypercentcushionforthesekindsofissues.I’mstillonbudgetthankstothat.
I’monmywaytodaytofinalizethetransportationfortheguestsfromtheRoseGardentothereception.We’recontractingthecompanythatdoeshayridesintheautumnandgivingtheircartsamakeover.WhenItoldJackiethatIfiguredouthowtogiveherahorse-drawncarriage,sheburstintotears,butnowit’smyjobtomakesuretheylooklesslikeFrenchRevolutionbodycartsandmorelikeCinderellacarriages.
AndthatmeansElliot.
It’sthefirsttimeI’mseeinghiminamonth,andthat’snotreallythatlong,butitfeelslikeaneternityaftertheexposureI’vehadforthepastsixmonths.I’vebeenemailinghimmyideas,insteadofwhatIusedtodo—popintotheshopforaquickieandabrainstorm—butIcan’tgetareadonhisworkloadwithoutlookingathisfaceorhearinghimsighoverthephone.
Inthetimeswe’vebeenatBlooming,Ihaven’tseenanassistant,soIdon’tknowifhehasenoughhelptogetallofthisdone.HiscousinBenusuallyhelpsonweddingdays,buthe’snotaflorist;he’sagruntworker.Andthisweddingisahugeorder.Oneofthemostfloral-centricdesignsI’veeverworkedwith.Maybeit’sbecauseIwasstumblingaroundthedesertforsolong,buthe’slikearefreshingyellowGatoradeIcan’tgetenoughof.MaybeI’veoverdoneitonfloralforthis,butIjustcouldn’thelpmyself,knowingthatElliotwasback.Addingthislastlayermaybetoomuchforhim,buthehasn’tcomplained.
Yet.
Ipulluptothewarehousethatthehayridecartsarestoredin,andI’mnotsurprisedtofindElliot’struckalreadyparkednexttothefilmcrew.ItwillbeanothertenminutesuntilHazelandJackiearrive,historically,somaybethisismyopportunitytoaskElliotifI’mthrowingtoomuchathim.
IcanseeBeainsidebriefingVince,thehayridecompanyownerandthemanwe’rerentingfrom.Isayhitothecrew,whoI’vegottentoknowprettywellbynow,andpreparemyselftospeaktoElliotagain.He’schattingwiththesoundguy.It’shardtotellifthey’regettingalongorifElliot’sjusttoleratinghim—that’sjusthowhisfaceis.
“Morning,”Igreetthem.“CanItalktoElliotforasecond?”
Thesoundguydismisseshimself,andElliotlooksataplacepastmyear.
“Twomonthsout!”Isay.“IjustwantedtomakesureI’mnotthrowingtoomuchatyou.”
Hiseyesslideovertome,buthisfrownremainsinplace.“What’sthatmean?”
“I—Ijustmean,thisisahugewedding.AndIkeepaskingformore.Doyouforeseeanyproblems?”
Icouldprobablycountallofhiseyelashesinthetimeittakeshimtosay,“Therewon’tbeanyproblems.”
Iforceagrinathim.“Andifthereare,you’lltellme?”
“Therewon’tbeanyproblems.”
Hewalkspastmetograbhissuppliesoutofhistruck,andIpretendeverythingispeachyasIgreetBea.
WhenJackieandHazelarrive,Icanseeontheirfacesthattheyanticipatedacarriage,notawagon.
“Here’stheplan,”Itellthemoncethecamerasarerolling.“Wereplacethesehaybaleswithcushionedbenches.”Iclimbupintothecartandstartpointingaround.“Elliot’sgoingtoattachthreearchestohoverontop,woundwithroses—whichwillconnectbacktotheRoseGarden.Alongtheoutsidehe’llattachboxwood.”Iturnandsitcomfortablyonthehaybale.“It’saten-blockrideinahorse-drawncarriagecoveredinflowers.Ithinkit’scharmingandunexpected.”
Hazelisnodding,butJackieiswincingwhatshethinksisasmile.
“Elliot,”Isay,“anythingtoadd?”
HelooksdirectlyatJackieandsays,“Thiswillnotlooklikeahayrideonyourweddingday.Iguaranteeit.”
Thatcalmsher,justasIknewitwould.
OnecamerafollowsmeovertotalkwithVince,andtheotherstaysonJackieandHazelto“talkthroughtheirfears,”asBeacallsit.Elliotcomeswithmetodiscusshowhe’llbeattachingthearchesandtosignwaivers,andeverything’sgoinggreatuntilVincesays,“Don’tload’emupwithmorethanten,andyoushouldbegood.”
Ilookupfrommypaperwork.Mybrowsjump.“Ithoughtitwasfifteen.”
“Tenadultsisbest.”Vincescratcheshisbeard.“Fifteenisusualwhenyou’reloadingupseventy-poundkids.”
“Youjustshortedmyheadcountbyathirdwiththisnews.Whywasn’tthismentionedinouremails?”
Ifeelthecamerastepclosertome,andsuddenlythesecondcameraiscoveringVince.
Heshrugs.“Ididn’tknowwhatyou’dbeusing’emfor.Fifteenadults…well,thatwouldtireoutthehorses.”
IdothemathofhowlongguestswouldbewaitingattheRoseGardenforthefirstsetofcarriagestoreturnfromthereceptionhalltoreload.
“I’mrentingtwelvecarriagesandhorsestocovermyguestcount,butyou’renowtellingmeIneedsixmore.HowmanymorecanIhave?”
“Well,it’sOctober.It’sthehayrideseason—pumpkinpatchesandallthat,”hesays,trailingoffasifthatexplainsit.
“HowmanymorecanIhave?”Irepeat.
“Ineedtorunmybusinesswiththeothereighthorses.It’saSaturdayinthedrypartoffall,soI’mgoingtobefullwithhayridesthatday.”
AllIheariseightmore.Outofthecornerofmyeye,IseeElliotopenhisphonequickly.
“Sowhatwillitcosttohaveanadditionalsix,”Idemand.
“Ican’tgivemyhorsesaway—”
“WhosaidI’mnotpayingforthem?”Iscoff.“You’redealingmeahugeblowhere.Idon’trememberanymentionofweightlimitationsanywhereinourcorrespondence.”
“Mybusinessisseasonal,sweetheart,”hesays,andmyfingerscurl.“Ionlygeteightweeksayeartorunthesewagonsandhorses,andyouwanttokillmystockonaSaturdayofalldays—”
“Haveyousoldticketsyet?”Elliot’sdeepvoicecutsthroughourconversation.He’sstilltypingquicklyonhisphone.
“Some,I’msure—”
“Great,ifyoucheckyouremail,you’llseeareservationforfiftyguestsunderElliotBloomforSaturday,Octoberseventh.”HesnapshiseyesuptoVinceandwaveshisphone.“Allpaidfor.We’regonnaneedthosehorsesandcarriagesattheRoseGardenthatday.”
I’mblinkingquickly,staringathimwithanopenmouth.Vinceisdoingthesame.Somethingburnsdeepinmychest,anachethatfeelssogood.ThecamerasandBeaarejustascaptivated.
Vincethrowsuphishandsandsays,“Fine.Fine.”Heretreatsbacktohisofficetogetthepaperworkupdated.
“Greatsave,youguys,”Beasays,genuinelyimpressed.“IlovedramaIdon’thavetostage.”
“Invoiceus,”IsaytoElliotquietly,andhejustnods.
IcheckinwithJackieandHazel.Theywereeavesdropping.
“Thatwashot,”Hazelsays.“Youtwoshouldbang.”
Iflushscarlet,andJackiesays,“That’swhatI’vebeentellingyou!”
Icentermythoughts.Jackiehaspriedintomylovelife,andnowHazelhas,too.They’retreatingmelikeoneoftheirfriendsinsteadofsomeonetheyhired.AlthoughIdon’talwaysagreewithWhitney’sprocedures,thisisoneinstancewhereIwishIhadmorespacefromtheclient.
IcheckovermyshouldertomakesureElliotisn’tinearshot.“Gladyouwereentertained,butnotgonnahappen.”
I’mabouttochangethesubjectdrasticallywhenJackiesays,“Becauseyouhaveaboyfriend?Comeon,youyourselfsaidyoudon’tdolong-term.”
Mymouthopensandcloses.“Ihaveawhat?”
Hazellooksbashful.“IalreadytrieddiggingforinfowithElliot.I’mnosy,I’msorry.”Shelaughs,butIfeellikeI’llneverlaughagain.“Hesaidyouhadsomeoneinbedwhenhecalledyouonce.”
Mymindwhitesout.Ifeellikeacomputerthathascrashed.
“Isthere…whendid—”
“Areyoustillwithhim?”Jackiepushes,withmischievouseyes.“Ifit’snotserious,IreallythinkElliotwouldbedowntoclown.You’resofuckinghot,andhe’salwayslookingatyou—”
“I’msorry.”Ibracemyhandsagainsttheairthat’ssuffocatingme.“ElliotsaidIhadaguyinbed?Whatthefuckdidthatmean?Whywasit—hisbusiness,or…”
Hazelshrugs.“Hesaidhecalledyouearlyonemorningandheardyoutalkingtosomeone.”Shewinces.“I’msosorry,thisfeelsreallypersonalnowandsuddenlylikesomethingIshouldn’tbeteasingyouabout.”
Iwanttoscream.Mar.Marstayingoverafterdrinkingandaskingforbreakfast.Shedoesn’thaveasuperdeepvoiceoranything,butit’stheonlypersonI’vewokenupwithintwoyears.
Myfacetugsuntilit’ssmilingwide.“I’mjustconfusedbecauseIhaven’tbeensleepingwithanyone.Um…”Iswallow,choking.“So,ElliotsaidIhadaboyfriend?”
“Well,aguy.Notaboyfriend.Ithinkheknowsyoudon’tdoboyfriends.”
Itfeelslikeeverythinginsidemystomachswitchesplaceswitheverythinginsidemychest.It’ssickeninganddizzying.
“Hesaidthat?”
Hazeljumpstocorrect.“Notinaslut-shame-yway.God,no.”ShecringesatJackie.“Wow,thisisallcomingoutwrong,andI’mjusttryingtogettwohotpeoplelaid—”
“He’sworkedwithyouabunch!”Jackiesays.“Maybehe’sjustobservedit!IagreewithHazel.Whenshetoldme,itdidn’tsoundlikehemeantittobedisparaging.Maybelike…aclarificationthatthedudeinbedwasn’tyourboyfriend,or…”
Ibarkoutalaughandsqueezetheirarmswithfingersthathavelostallsensation.“It’sfine.Ididn’ttakeoffense.I’mstilljustconfusedwherethisguyinmybedcamefrom.”Ichuckle,mirthlessly.“Butyeah,don’tworryabouthookingusup.Weknowwe’renotcompatible.”
Ilookovermyshoulderathimgettingintohistruck.Hestartstheengineandreverseswithoutaglanceatus.
“He’sarelationshipguy,”Isay,thenaddsoftly,“fromwhatI’veobserved.”
22ElliotTHREEYEARS,ONEWEEK,ANDSIXDAYSAGO
Ama’scatisamenace.
WelockedLadyCat-rynoutofthebedroom,andstillIwokeuptoapawswipingatmyface.Thecatcanopendoors
I’mappalledbythisrevelation,butAmajustnodssleepilyandnudgesthecatoffthebed.
“Doyouevenlikecats?”
“Mm-hmm,”shesaysasshecurlsupagainstmyside.“They’remyfavorite.”
Ama’soutinaninstant,butI’mjuststaringatthiscatwhoissittingbetweenmeandthedoor,flickinghertailatme.
ContrarytowhatIbelievedofher,Amadoesownafridgeandastove,andshedoeseatotherthingsasidefromsugarycrapinthemorning.Butbynineshe’stuggingonmysleevetogetdressedsowecanhitJStreetDonutsonthewaytotheshop.
Wehaven’thadanotherconversationaboutwhatthisisexactly.AllIknowisthatifIwantittokeepgoing,Ishouldprobablynotlabelthings.I’mstillwaitingforthatmomentwhenshegetstiredofmebeingaroundorscaredofthisnoncommittalcommittedrelationship.ButwhenIgavehertwodrawersandsixhangerslastmonth,shewasecstatic.Andsheshowsnosignsofbeingtiredofmypresence.Forthepastthreeweeks,she’sbeenspendingninetypercentofhertimeatBlooming,workinginacorneronheremailsordesignsandrunningouttogetlunchforusaboutmidday.
“Youdon’thavetostickaroundifyouhaveworktodo,”ItellheronedayinOctoberasI’mwatchingtheclockticktowardfive.
Shelooksupatmefromwhereshe’sbeentypingfuriouslyatherlaptop.“No!Iloveworkinghere.Ifeelinspired,youknow?”
Istareatthefertilizerandsparepotsandvasesoneithersideofher.“Okay…”
“Icouldsetupadeskandrunmybusinessbackhereforever.”Shegesturestothemessandrottingbaseboards,andItrytoseewhatshe’sseeing.
“AslongasI’mnotkeepingyou.”Iheadbacktothefrontcountertowriteupaninvoice.“Youcould,youknow,”Icallbacktoher.“Setupadesk.It’snotmuchbut…ifyoudon’tmindthesmelloffertilizer…andpromisenottoeatdonuts—”
“Areyouserious?”
Shesnuckuponme,nowleaninginthedoorwaytothebackroom,asmileplayingaroundherlips.
Ishrug.“Yeah.Ilikehavingyouaround.Keepsthedayinteresting.”
Hereyesareglittering.“WhatifIweretotakemeetingsbackthere?Notnow,whileitlookslikethis,obviously,”shesays.“But…whatifyouweretomovefurtherintoinstallations…andIweretostartofferingcustominstallationpackagesthroughyou?”
Mybrowsdrawtogether.“It’skindofwhatwe’realreadydoing,right?”
“Butofficially.If—if—youeverdecidetobuildashowroombackthere,thenI’dbemeetingwithclientsinthemiddleofit.”She’sstartingtospeakquickly,ideasflowing,handscastingspells.“Itwouldn’tbeapartnershipinbusinessterms,butitcouldbe—couldbe,Idon’tknow.Somethingnew.Somethingthat’sonlyreallydoneinSanFranciscoandLA.IftheywantAmaTorres,they’regettingElliotBloom.IftheywantBlooming,they’repushedtowardAmaTorres.”Shetakesabreath.“Okay,thatsounds…alittlemoreopportunisticthanImeantittobe,but—”
“It’slikehavingaStarbucksinthemiddleofyourdepartmentstore,”Isay,seeingwhereshe’sgoing.
“Exactly!It’slike,‘Oh,nowthatI’mhere,yaknowwhat?IdowantaUnicornFrappuccino,’or‘Ireallyonlywantedalatte,buttheshoedepartmentisrightthere.’”Hereyesarebright,andInodinagreement.Ifeelcautiousthough.LikemaybeI’dbegettingthebetterdeal.
“Idunno,”shesays,runningahandthroughherhair.“Maybeit’selitistorexclusionary?Like,youmightlosealotofbusinessfromweddingplannersandeventcoordinatorswhothinkyouworkexclusivelywithme.”
“Well,andtheflipside,”Isay.“Youwouldn’tgettoworkwithotherfloristsorcustomfabricators—”
“Idon’twanttoworkwithanybodyelse,”shecutsmeoff.“Iwantthebest.”
Iswallowthickly.IwanttotellherthatI’monlyatmybestwhenI’mworkingwithher.ButIthinksheknowsit.Ithinksheseesthewholepicturehere.
“It’ssomethingtoconsideraftermymom’swedding,”Isay.Shebeamsatme.“Youknow,legally—forbusinessreasons,youmighthavetopaymerentinsomethingotherthansex.”
“Donuts?”
Iglareather.“No.”
Fortherestoftheday,Ifillanorder,andshefinishesupcallingvendorsbeforeheadingofftomeetmymother.WhenIagreedtoAmadoingmymother’swedding,thereweresomethingsIdidn’tthinkabout.Namely,mymotherandAmameetingforcoffeeorvendormeetingsonceaweek.There’snoreasonformetobetherewiththem,seeingasAmathinkswewerequiteslyabouthercominginforherpurse.Shehasnoideamymomknowswe’refucking.ButeveryThursday,mymotherandmynot-girlfriendsitatacafédowntowntoplanawedding,andIstareatthewalloftheshop,bouncingmykneeforthatentirehour.
Momwantstheweddingbeforetheendoftheyear,andshehasthebudgettodoitfast.AmasuggestedaclassyNewYear’sEvewedding,whichmymomloved.Ama’sbeenhustlingeveryday,tryingtomakeithappen.She’llshowupatmyplaceatelevensomenights,eitherburstingwithideasorslippingherjeansoff.Sometimesboth.WhenIgetthetextonmywaynow,Idon’tknowwhethertobrewacupofKeurigandclearthecoffeetableorgethard.
Amalikesworkingontheflooraroundmycoffeetable—shealsolikesfuckingonmycoffeetable,soyouseethedilemmaI’min?—mainlybecauseshedoesn’thaveacoffeetable.Mine’sanIKEAthingthatI’vehadsincecollegeanddoesn’tmatchanyofmyfurniture.Onenightaftershe’sdissectedwhatwe’llneedtodowiththecenterpieces—andaftershe’swrithedundermeonmyscratchyrug—Isay,“Ineedanewcoffeetable.”
“Oh,canIhavethisone?!”
There’sakid-at-Christmasjoyinhereyes,likeI’mgivingawayaBarbieDreamHouse.“Youwantit?Thisone?”
“Yeah,it’llmakemethinkofyou.Allofyou.”Sheliftsherbrowssuggestivelyandkissesmesodeeplythatweendupfuckingonsaidcoffeetableforthesecondtimethatweek.
Thenextday,we’recoffeetableshopping,andthedayafterthat,we’removingmyoldoneintoherhouse.
Ilieinbedwithherthatnight,myfingersplayingwithherhair.It’sNovemberalready.We’vebeendoingthisnot-a-relationshipthingforthreemonths,andsixweeksagowasthelasttimeIsleptalone.Ikeepwaitingforthedayshedecideswe’redone.Ipokeandprodatherrulesofthegame.IsuggestwetakeatriptoNapabeforeweddingseasonstartsnextyear.Shelovesthatplan.IaskifshewantsmeatMar’sbirthdayparty,whichshe’splanning.“OfcourseIdo!”shesays.Hermothergetsengaged,andshetalkslikeI’mnotjustdoingtheflowers.ShetalkslikeI’mgoingtobeherweddingdate.Likeshe’llintroducemetopeoplethere.
Andthebiggestdentinherrules—shekeepsmakingplansforourcombinedstudiospace,wrappingherselfaroundme,intertwiningourlivesforthefuture.Likeshedoesn’tseeanending.
Aftermymother’sweddingnextmonth,I’mgoingtoaskherifwecanredefinetherules.Shemaynotbelieveinrelationships,butthat’swhatwe’rein.Shemaynotcaretointroducemeasherboyfriend,butI’dliketobringhertodinnerwithmymotherandStefansometime.Shemaynotneedtodefinelong-term,buttome,foreversoundsnice.
Ifshedoesn’twanttoadjustherrules,I’llbefinewithit,Iguess.ButIneedhertoknowIalreadythinkofusaslong-term.Ialreadyseethebusinesssignsandthetripsoutoftownandtheslowdancesinwhitedresses—evenifshedoesn’twanttonameit.
She’stappingawayatherphoneabsentmindedlynexttomeinbed.Iturntoher.
“Whatdoyoulikemostaboutweddings?”
“Theproposal,”sheanswersquickly.
Ilookather.“Thepartyouhavenothingtodowith?”
Blinkingrapidly,shelooksatme.“Oh,wow.Yeah,Iguessso.”Sheputsherphonedownandtwistsonhersidetofaceme.“Didyoumean,like,flowersorfoodorDJs?”
Ishrug.“No.Justwhatmakesweddingsthethingyouwanttodo?”
“Ilikeindividualizingtheweddingtothecouplemost.IlovewhenIfeellikeI’vetrulynailedthem.Andforme,theproposalstoryisthethingthattellsmeexactlywhattogivethem.”
Mythumbswipesherbangsawayfromhereyes.“Why’sthat?”
Shethinksonit.“Youreallylearnwhoapersoniswhenthey’reafraid,youknow?Andanyonewhosaysthey’renotafraidtoproposeislying.Ithinktheproposeehasamomenttoo.Justterrified.‘Isyestherightdecision?Isthisreallyhowhe’sproposing?Ican’tbelievehewaitedtenyears;isn’tthatabadsign?DidIpressurehimintodoingthis?’”
Thequestionsspiraloutofher,likesteamfromakettle.
“Ialsothinkhowtheproposalisdoneisreallytelling.Specificallyaboutthegroom—orproposer.”
Idon’tevenneedclarificationonthat.Itmakessense.
“Whentheytellmeabouttheproposal,”shesays,“Igetsuchaglimpseintothemasacouple.It’sinvaluable.Onetime,acouplerefusedtotellme!Theysaidthey’dprefertokeepitprivate,andIsweartogod,thatwastheworstweddingI’veeverdone.ItwasunderWhitney.”
Shelaughsandpicksupherphoneagain.
Ifeelmyheartpounding,andIcan’tfigureoutwhyuntilthewordsspillout:“Howwouldyoulikeit?”
Sheturns.“Beingproposedto?”
Inod,anditfeelslikeI’mflyingtooclose.LikemaybewecouldhaveheldontothismomentforeverifonlyIdidn’thavetoask—butIhavetoask.There’sapartofmyheartthat’sbeenplantedforthreemonthstoolong,unabletobreakthesurfaceandstretchtowardthelight.
“Whatkindoffireworksdoyouwant?Asurpriseornot?Intimateorcrowds?”Isay.“Whatdoyouimagine?”
Hereyesaresoft,andIwonderifthatfearthatshe’stalkingaboutisthere.TheIsthisright?
“Idon’t,”shesays.“Idon’timagine.Idon’twantone.”
IthinkIhearher.IthinkIunderstand.Ithinkthatthere’snocomplication,nooversimplification.Idon’twantaproposal.
Especiallywhensheleansforwardandkissesme,tossingherphoneawayandrunningherhandsoverthekadupultattoo.Herlipsfollow,curvingovertokissmyinkedshoulderblade.She’sdonethisdozensoftimesnow,almostasifshehastosaygoodnighttoeachofthem.Shepressessoftlipsagainstmythighandmycalf,hertonguetracesthecryvioletatmyribs.Shesucksatthetwoonmyarms,andthenshefinallymovesdownthebedtowhereI’mhardagain.Hermouthmovesoverme,andI’mlosttoitall.Hertonguesavorsme,andmyhandsslideintoherhair.
ButIthinkI’veheardher.
Shedoesn’twantaproposal.Nospectacle.
Ifileitawayforthedayshefinallytellsmewecantalkaboutforever.
23AmaOCTOBER
Theweekofaweddingisusuallyhuge,butthisisgigantic.IfeellikeDavidbattlingGoliathattimesasIfendoffoneattackafteranother.BetweenHazel’sagentupdatingherlisttheweekbeforeandtheballetstudioremodelfinishing,I’muptomyears.I’mbasicallypayingMartoliveatWeatherstonesoshecanbethepointofcontactonminordetailstheworkersneed.SheappreciatesthedistractionnowadaysafterbreakingupwithMichael.Itwasherdecision,butshe’sstillreallyupsetaboutit.Thankfully,Ihaveplentyofpracticebeingsupportiveinthesetypesofsituations.
ThegoodandthebadofthisweekisthatElliotisatthesiteforacoupleofhourseveryday,sowithMartheretocoordinate,Idon’tgettoorhavetoseehim.Whilethereceptionhallisbuilt,I’mwithJackieandHazeldoinglast-minuteworkandfinalapprovals.Ifthiswereanormalwedding,thingswouldbegoingswimmingly,butIhadtoaddaconstructionprojecttoit.
Idon’tevenbotherElliotforfinallooksandapprovals.IrunitbyJackie,butwebothagree:heistobetrusted.Hecan’tinstallthedanceflooruntilWednesdayforfearoftheflowerswiltingbySaturday,buthe’stherewiththecreweveryday,monitoringtheotherinstallationsanddouble-checkingallthemeasurements.Marreportsbackthathe’sbeengettingalongwiththeworkers,observinganddiscussingchanges.Hisarchitecturelicenseendsupbeingagodsend.
WhentheinspectorcomesonThursdayafternoontoreviewournewfloorbuiltaroundthedancefloor,Elliotistheretoanswerallofhisquestions.That’stheonlytimeIseehimthatweek.Icanhardlytakethetimetoappreciateitbecausetheinspectoristryingtofindanythinghecantoshutusdown,butI’mreadyforhim.I’vegotallmypermits,mynumbers,andmyapprovals.I’vedonenothingelseforamonthbutliveandbreatheJackieandHazel’swedding.
IgotthroughmySeptemberweddings—includingonethatgotcoldfeetatthehalf-hourmark—andambothdreadinganddreamingofthesmallbreakI’llhaveafternextweek.Inthepastsixweeks,I’vehadeightorninecouplescallingandemailingmeaboutinterviews,allpeoplewho’veheardabouttheshowfilmingorwhofollowHazelandaresoexcitedforthewedding.I’vehadtopostponeeverymeetinguntilnextweek.IhopeIlivetoseeit.
Yesterday,IsentJackieandHazeltobepampered—waxingatDirtyBirdandmani-pedisatNatureLove,myfavorites.Today,theyhadthebrunchatJackie’sparents’house.Elliotbasicallydroppedofftheflowerswithagrunt,mumbledthatBenwouldbebacktobreakdown,andleft.IwishedIcouldhavegonewithhim.After,I’mabitpressedfortimetogettherehearsaldinnersetupbeforeweheadtotheRoseGardenforrehearsal.
WearriveattheFirehouseatnoon,whichistheearliestthey’dallowusin,andsweepinlikeatornado.IwantedMarwithmeforanextrasetofhands,buttherearefinaltouchesbeingdoneattheballetstudio,soshe’sstillstuckoverthere.IgiveJakeanextraseventy-fivebuckstocomeunloadcarswithme
TheFirehousestaff,blessthem,hasn’tpreparedforusatall.SoI’mdraggingthetablesintoplace,gettingplentyofhelpfromthebusboysbecauseI’mintightjeansandheels.Behindanarmfulofnapkinsthatneedtobesteamed,Jakemumbles,“Thefloristandthefilmcrewarehere.”
Igrabthetophalfofnapkins,revealinghisface.“Enunciate,Jake.You’reanactor.”
“Oh,sorry.Theflorist—”
“No,Iheardyou.CheckwithGeorgetoseeifyoucanswitchtohelpbringinflowers,andthenleadthefilmcrewintherightdirection.”
“Who’sGeorge?”heasks.
“He’stherentalsguy.Big,gingerhair.”
Hescampersofflikearabbit,andIstartdraggingchairsover.Ihaveaboxofnamecardsandmacaronsforeachplacesetting,butIneedtheplatessetupfirst.WhileI’mtalkingtotheheadofthekitchenstaff,twogiganticvasesmarchswiftlypastmeinapairofstrongarms.Jakefollowsthemwithasheepishshrugandsays,“Hewouldn’tletmehelp.”
I’mtoodistractedbytheabsolutemajestyofthequeenproteaarrangementsinElliot’sgrasp.Heplacesthemgentlyintotheirspots—thetwocornersofoursectionoftherestaurant.Whenheturnstoheadbacktotheparkinglot,hepusheshishairoutofhisfacewithonehand,andIseethedarkcirclesandbloodshoteyes.
Itknocksmebackforamoment.BecauseIknowthatmeanshehasn’tbeensleeping.WhichmeansIdefinitelygavehimtoomuch.
“Ama,didyouhearme?”
IspinandfindBeainfrontofme.“Sorry,no!God,thoseflowersarebeautiful,aren’tthey?”
“It’sgreat,”sheagreeswithagrin.“I’mjustgoingtohavethecrewgetsomeB-rolloftheplacebeingsetup.Iwasthinkingatime-lapsething?Setuponecamerainthecornerinawideshotandjustrecordtapeforthenextsixhours.Andthen,asthetableisset,Iwasthinkingwecoulddoafinalinterviewwithyou,sinceIknowyouwon’tbeavailabletomorrow.”
“Sure,ofcourse.Thankyouforthat.”Iclearmythroatandleanintoher.“Anduh,thekidoverthere?That’smystepbrother,Jake.He’sanactor.IfyouhappentofindauseforhimintheB-roll,I’dreallyappreciateasmuchscreentimeashecanget.”
Beawinks.“Noted.”
JakeisrelegatedtostraighteningthetablesettingsasElliotandhiscousinBenbringinthecenterpieces.He’sstillmakingtripstoandfromwhenBeasitsmeatthetablenexttothemodelplacesettingI’vedoneupforJaketogothroughandcopy.
Oncethecameraandsoundguysaresituated,Beasays,“Iknowwedidanintroalready,butlet’sdoanother.Thelightingandsettingherearealotbetterthanbefore.Sogiveusyournameandinfo,howlongyou’vebeendoingthis,andsoon.”
Camerasroll,andIpushmyhairovermyear.
“MynameisAmaTorres,andI’mHazelandJackie’sweddingplanner.I’vebeenintheweddingindustryforovereightyears,andthisismyfourthyearrunningmyownbusinessasaweddingplanner.”
“Good,”Beaencourages.“Andwhatdrewyoutoweddings?”
“I’vealwaysbeeninlovewithweddings,”Isay.“AsfarbackasIcanremember.”
Elliotpassesbehindthecameraagain,andItrytokeepmyattentiononBeaandthebrightlights.
“Isthereaspecificweddingyouremembergrowingup?Wereyoutheflowergirlforanauntoranythingpersonal?”
“Mymother’sweddings.”Iremembertorephrasefortheinterviewandsay,“Ispecificallyrememberfallinginlovewithweddingsduringmymother’s.”
Beasays,“IsthathowJakecametobeyourstepbrother?”
IseeJakepirouettetofaceusathisname.
“No,thatwasamorerecentrelationship.”Ishouldprobablywalkthisback,butthelightonthecameraisdistracting,asareElliot’sfootstepsashestompsaroundthetable.“Mymotherhasbeenmarriedseveraltimes,soI’vegottentoexperiencealotofweddingsgrowingup.”
IcanseeBeatiltherhead,andI’vecometorealizethatit’snotagoodthing—forme.
“Howmanytimeshasyourmotherbeenmarried?”
IhearJakesnortbeforehesays,“Alot.”
Allofourheadssnaptohim,andhelooksshockedathimself.“Sorry,”hetries,“I—”
“Gopackupmycar,Jake,”Isayicily.
Hegapesatmebeforerecoveringanddashingoutthedoorinshame.
ButBea’seyesarestillonme.“Howmanytimes?”
“She’sum…Mymotherhasbeenmarriedsixteentimes.”Ilaugh,likeIalwaysdowhenIsayit.“Youcouldsayshelovesweddingsasmuchasme!”
“So,that’swhyyoubecameaweddingplanner?”
“Yes,youcouldsaythat.”Mysmilefeelswaxyandfake.Beagesturesformetorephrase.“Iguessthat’swhyIbecameaweddingplanner.”
Bea’seyesalmostlookwolf-like,yellowbetweentheforesttrees,prowling.Icanfeelmyselfstarttosweat.
“Howwasthatforyou?Growinguplikethat?Doyouthinkit’shadanyeffectonyourpersonallife?”
Mymouthopens.Mythroatsqueaks.Ismilewidely,andmyeyesspringwithnervoustears.
“Areyouactuallygoingtouseanyofthis?”agruffvoicesnapsfromsomewherebeyondthelightofthecamera.“Isn’tyourshowahalfhour?”
Myeyesfocus,andElliotisstandingbehindBeawithhisarmscrossed.
“Er,yes,”Bearecovers.“ButtheHazelReneeweddingwillbeatwo-parter.Ithinkit’sgreatexposureforAmatogetasmuchairtimeaspossible.Lettheviewersgettoknowher—”
“Great.Askaboutherfavoritecolor.HerridiculousGatoradepreferences.Askheraboutdonuts!”Hisvoicerises.“Don’tdigintoherpersonallife.Areyouserious?”
IfeellikeIcan’tbreathe.
“Noone’sgoingtocometoSacramentoandhireherbecausehermother’sbeendivorcedfifteen,sixteentimes.They’regoingtohireherbecauseofthis,”hesays,pointingatthetablesettingandthecenterpieces.“They’regoingtowantherbecauseoftomorrow,sowhydon’tyousaveyourfilmforthethingsthatactuallymatter.”
Finallythecameraguypointsthecameraawayandthelightisoffme.
WhenIclearmyeyes,Elliotisstompingaway,offtogethisnextfewvases.
“Excuseme.Ineedamoment.”Ijumptomyfeetandruntheoppositedirection,towardthesmallhallwaythatleadstotherestaurantoffices.Beacallsoutanapology,butI’mnotlistening.I’mtakinggulpingbreaths,pressingmyknucklesintomyeyestopushbackthetears.
Idon’tevenknowwhat’smakingmecryharder—theembarrassmentaboutmymotherorElliotbeingtheonetostopit.Ileanagainstawall,curlingoverwithmyhandsonmyknees,tryingtobreathe.
Hehadnoreasontostepin.Elliot,thepersonwhohasexperiencedthisfirsthand.Heknowsexactlywhatkindofeffectithadonmypersonallife.Hedidn’thavetodothatatall.
Idon’tknowhowlongIstayinthehallway.IknowthatwhenIcry,Iswelluplikeapufferfish,HazelReneemakeupornot.WhatIreallyneedisiceonmyeyesandlipsbeforeIcanshowmyfacetotheworldagain,butsincethat’snothappening,Ijusttaketime.
There’sawindowattheendofthehall,andIgotoopenitforsomefreshair.IpullmyhandbackwhenIseeoneofthecameramen—theonewhowasfilmingmyinterview—smokingbyacar,andElliotstandingbyhim.
Ihideagainstthewall,peekingouttowatch.Thecameramanlooksaround,asifnottobecaught,andthenpressesabuttononhisequipment.Amemorycardpopsout,andheextendsittoElliotlikehe’smakingadrugdeal.Elliotputsitinhispocketandmovestohistruck,grabbingthefinalvasestobringupstairs.
24ElliotTWOYEARS,NINEMONTHS,ONEWEEK,ANDONEDAYAGO
NewYear’sEve
Thenightbeforemymother’swedding,Amaisupallnight.
Iknowthis,becauseshekeepsmeupallnight.
Attwoa.m.,sheturnstomeandshakesmeawake.“Hey.Hey.”
Irubmyface.“What’swrong?”
“I’mgonnatakeabath.”
Istareatherblearily.“Okay.”
“Youdon’thaveatub,”shesays.
“Okay.”
“So,doyouwanttocomewithmetomyplaceorstayhere?”
Isuckinadeepbreathandsuppressayawn.“Iguess…Icancomewithyou.”
Shebeamsandsays,“Good.”
Thensherollstowardme,pressesherbodyagainstmine,andkissesmesodeeplythatI’msuddenlyveryawake.Myhandthreadsintoherhair,holdingherheadinplace,andIkissherback.Iindulgeinthefeelingofherbodypressedagainstmyside,thewayherhipsstarttopressintome.Shewhispersagainstmymouth,“Willyoutakeabathwithme?”
“WillIfitinyourtub?”Ichuckle.
Shereachesdown,cupsherhandovermygroin,andsaysplayfully,“Oh,I’llmakeyoufit.”
Thenshetumblesoutofbedandstartsdressingandgettingwhatshe’llneedfortomorrow.I’mhardasarock,stilltryingtogetmyjeansonbythetimeshe’sreadyatthedoor.
Shetalksamileaminuteinthetruckonthewaytoherplace,walkingthroughtheplansfortomorrowandthepotentialstickyareas.Whenwereachherhouse,she’ssofocusedontheweddingthatIstarttolosehopethatI’llbehavingsexorsleepinganytimesoon.
Butshewalksintoherhouse,greetsthecat,andstartsstripping,allwhilefinishingthelistofthingstodointhemorning.Whenherjeansarekickedoff,shelooksatmeandsays,“Areyougonnatakeabath?”
“Uh…sure.”Ifollowhertothebathroomandstripwhileshestartsthewaterandcomplainsaboutthecaterer.
“Ifherushesmycoursesagain,thenthat’sthelasttimeI’musinghim,”shesays,reachingforbathsalts.“Doyouthinkherespectsme?Idon’tthinkherespectsme.”
Inod.Iagree.Ilisten.ButI’veacceptedthefactthatIjustdrovefifteenmilesattwothirtyinthemorningtosqueezeintothisbathtubandlistentoAmawheel-spin.It’sfine.Imayfallasleep,slipunder,anddrown.Butit’sfine.
She’slightingcandles,turningofflights,andsettingmusictoplayonherphone.Butshe’salsogettingworkedupaboutseatingarrangements.
“IfIhearfromthegovernor’sassistantonemoretimeaboutwherehe’ssitting,I’mgoingtolosemyfuckingmind.”
ShepointsatthetubandIstumbletoit,slippingintothewarmwater,theperfecttemperaturefordozingoff.IleanmyheadbackonthetilesandlistenassherantsaboutoneofMom’shighschoolfriendswhodidn’tRSVP.
Shestepsintothetubandsitsbetweenmylegs,bringingthewaterdangerouslyclosetothetop.She’sstilltalkingamileaminutewhensheleansbackagainstmychestandtakesoneofmyhands,bringingitbetweenherthighs.
“Doyou—doyouwanttotakeabreath?”Istutterout.
“Abreath?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Youcanjustrelax.Letyourminddrift.”Iletmyfingersdanceoverhercoretolethergetthemessage.
Sheturnsoverhershouldertomeandsays,“Thisismerelaxing.”
Ibitebackasmileandsay,“Goon.”
Thevenuecoordinatoristhenexttopicfordiscussion.Sheleansherheadbackonmyshoulderandventsuntilshe’sgasping,moaningabouttimeframesandcondescendingemails.
“Ifshethinks—ifshethinksshecansteamrollme—then—then—”
WhenAmacomesonmyfingerswithasoftgroan,it’sthequietestshe’sbeenforthelasthalfhour.Ithinkmomentarilythatshe’sfallenasleep,butthenshetiltsherfacetomineandkissesme.
“Thankyou.YoualwaysknowwhatIneed,”shesays.
Ipushherhairawayfromherfaceandask,“Whatelsedoyouneed?What’syourto-dolist?”
Shebreaksdownherworries,herregrets.Idon’tcomment.Ijustallowherbraintoorganize.Whenshegrowsquiet,Ireachforwardandunplugthedrain.Iwrapherinatowelandcarryhertoherbedroom.Imakesurethealarmissetandthecoffeeisprepared.WhenIpullbackthecoverstoslipinnexttoher,sherollstowardmeandsayssleepily,“WhatifI’mforgettingsomething?”
“You’renot.”
“Whatifsomethinggoesterriblywrong?”
Ipullherclosertome,andsheletsherselfcurlintomyside.“Itwon’t.Andifitdoes,you’llfixit.You’reamazinglikethat.”Ikissherhair.“AmazingAma.”
Shesnortsalaugh,andIalmostsayit.IalmostsayIloveyou
ButIdon’tknowthatshewantsmeto.Ithinkwecouldbetogetherforfortyyearswithtwentykids,andshestillwouldn’twanttohearit.SoIholdheruntilherbreathingevensout,andwhisperitsoundlessly,likeaprayer.
Mymother’ssecondweddingisbeautiful.Andeverychanceshegets,mymothertellshergueststhatsheowesitalltoherweddingplannerandherson.TheSutterClub—amembers-onlyeventvenuefortheSacramentoelite—isacommonweddingvenue,butnotlikethis.Thisisexceptionallydone,andIjustknowthatmymother’sfriendswillberecommendingLauraGilbert’sweddingplannerforyearstocome.
Amaisstresseduntilthefirstdance.When“AtLast”plays,Iseeavisibletensiondrainfromher.Shelooksatmeforwhatfeelslikethefirsttimesincethebathtubthismorning.
Earliertoday,BenandIsetupthefloralintheceremonyroomandthereceptionroom,andthenIhadtogogetshoweredanddressed,soreally,Ihaven’tseenher.Allthroughcocktailhouranddinner,I’vehadtositthroughmymother’sfriendsaskingifI’mseeinganyoneandthenimmediatelypullingouttheircontactstosetmeupwithsomeone.Andtheentiretime,I’vewantedtoscreamtotheentireroomthatI’mperfectlyhappywiththeperfectperson—andshe’srightoverthere.I’msureI’llhavetoputupwithafewcallsaboutblinddatesinthenextmonth,butI’llmanage.
Asthefirstdanceends,AmachecksinwiththeDJandhandsthereceptiontohim.IexcusemyselffromthetableI’vehardlypaidanyattentiontoandfollowhertothekitchen.
“Amazing,”Itellher,pressingakisstohercheek.
Shebeamsatme.“Youthink?Itwentwell,right?”
“Perfectly.Idon’tknowifyou’veeverdoneabetterjob.”
Shelaughs,asoundlikebubblingjoy,andsaysshe’llberightback.
Asthereceptionmovesintobittersweetballadsandjazzyup-tempos,Iwaitforhernearthekitchen.Whenshecomesback,“TheWayYouLookTonight”isplaying,andIturntoher.
“WouldyouconsiderittoounprofessionalifIaskedtheweddingplannertodance?”
Shebitesbackasmileandagreeswithoutasecondthought.
Itakeherhandandleadhertothedancefloor.Iexpecthertoinsistwestayintheshadows,likewehaveforhalfayearnow,butsheletsmeputahandonherwaistandholdherpalminmyother.Sheletsmetakeherintothecenter,apassingglanceawayfrommymother.Andshesmilesatmethewholetime.IhavetofocusonthesoftlookinhereyesandthewarmthofherwaisttokeepmyselffromsayingIloveyou.Icantellit’sgoingtogetharderandharderastimegoeson.
“Whatareyouthinking?”sheasks.
“Just…howhappyIam.”
Shesnorts,likeI’vetakenherbysurprise.“I’mhappytoo.”Sheseemstothinkaminute,andthenstartsfiddlingwithherclippedbag—whichisclearlyafannypack,nomatterwhichwayshecutsit.“Ihaveasurpriseforyou.”
“Okay.”
Shepullsoutanenvelope,handsittome,andthenplacesherarmsaroundmynecksowecanstilldancewhileIopenit.There’sapieceofpaperinside.Anemailexchange.
DearAmaTorres,
Thankyouforreachingout.Yes,wedohaveaFrankliniathatwe’renurturing.It’snotpartoftheexhibit,butsinceyourfriendissuchafan,Iwouldconsiderallowinghimtovisittheflower(withsupervision)atanypointinthefuture.
Letmeknowifyouevermakeitoverhere,andI’llhappilygiveyouatour.
FrankHitchkins,
ArnoldArboretumManager
HarvardUniversity
Iblinkdownatthewords,readingthemoverandover.WhenIlookupather,she’ssmilingnervously.
“Wannagetaway?”shesays,laughing.“Iwasthinkinginthefall,whenitsleavesarered.Harvard’soneoftheonlyarboretumsthathastheFranklintree,andI…”Sheswallowsandplacesonehandonmyrightforearm,wherethetattoois.“Iwantyoutoseeit.”
There’sabubblinginsideme.It’ssostrongandaddictive.Ihadagoodchildhood,soit’snotlikeI’veneverreceivedanexcellentpresentbefore.Butit’sthesurprisefromsomeonewhoknowsyouonalevelnooneelsewill—someonewho’sopenedupyourchestandfitthemselvesinside.
Ilookdownattheemailagain.TheFranklinia.Andsheknowsit’smyfavoriteeventhoughInevertoldher.
Iglanceatmymother,justafewcouplesaway.She’sbeamingatStefan,inadifferentwaythanshelooksatanythinginherlife.It’ssomethingI’veseeninthemirrorafewtimesoverthepastsixmonths.
Thebrewinginmychestrises.Myeyesprickandmythroattightenstokeepthewordsinsideofme.ButIlookather—ather—andIseethatshedoesn’tneedmetosaythankyou.Becausesheknowshowwellherarrowlanded.
Shesmilessoftlyatme,andsays,“Ithink…IthinkImaybefallinginlovewithyou.”
Myheartthumps.Ican’tbelieveshesaiditfirst.Ican’tbelieveIhavepermissiontosayit.
Hereyesflickuptominehesitantly,asifsheeverneededtodoubtI’dsayitback.
There’saflowerinmychest,justnowstartingtomeetsunlight,finallyblossoming.IcanhearmymotherlaughatsomethingStefansaystoher,butIcan’ttakemyeyesoffAma.Ihearmymother’shappinessinherlaughter—I’veseenit.Nooneshouldhavetowaitforhappinessasecondlongerthantheyhaveto.
Mom’sright.Ifyouknowit’sforever,whywait?
Ama’seyesarebrightandbrownandlovelyasIsay,“Marryme.”
Thoseeyesblinkonce.
Myskinbuzzesandmychestaches,butI’mnotafraid.
Shesmiles.Breathpushesoutofherinalaugh.“What?No.”
Ican’thearitatfirstwiththebloodrushinginmyears.ButIseehersmilefade,andherbrowsdrawtogether.Andthebubblinginmythroatturnstobile.
Iplacemyhandonherwaist.“Ama—”
“Whywouldyou—”Sheshakesherhead.Iseeherchestriseandfallrapidly.“ItoldyouIdidn’twantto.”Hereyesareaccusatory.Ifeelchastised.
“You…yousaidyoudidn’tbelieveinmarriage,butthatwasbefore—”
“What?Beforeyou?”She’ssquintingatmelikeI’mnothing.
“Yes,”Ifightback.“Yes,beforeme.Beforeyougaveitachance.”
“Iwasnevergoingtogivemarriageachance,Elliot.Thatwasneverinthecards,”shehisses.
Sheliftsahandoffmyshouldertorubherbrow,andlooksaroundus,asifrealizingforthefirsttimewe’reinthemiddleofawedding.
Iwanttoleave.Iwanttogetoutofhereanddrivemytruckintoabrickwall,butIknowifIleave,I’llneverseeheragain.Ijustknowit.
“What’sthenextstepthen,Ama?”
Shebreathesroughly.“What?”
“Whenyouhavefeelingsforsomeonelikeyoudoaboutme,whatdoyouenvisionisthenextlogicalstep?”Isay,tryingtokeepthesicknessinmychestfromturningonher.“Wecontinueaswehaveforthenextseventyyears?Maybeyoumovein,butthat’s—that’stheend?”
Hernostrilsflareatme.“Idon’tknow!ItoldyouIdon’tdorelationships—”
“Andyethereweare.”Shestaresatme,likeI’vedisappointedhersomehow.“Imean,Ama”—ahollowlaughburstsoutofme—“youwanttomergeourbusinesses,butyoudon’twanttodateme?”
“That’sbusiness,notamarriageproposal,Elliot—”
“YouwanttogotoNapanextmonth,andBostonnextfall,butyou‘don’twantalong-termrelationship’?”
Hereyesarewide,mouthopen.Iseehertrytospeak.Shelooksterrifiedofsomething.
“Idon’tknow,”shesqueaksout.“Idon’tknow,Elliot.Everythingwasgoingsogood.Justasitwas.ButyouknewIdidn’twanttogetmarried,andyoudidthisanyway?”
Iknowshe’sright.Iknowshesaidit,andIthoughtitwouldchange.Butthere’ssomuchhappeninginmychest,somuchregret,somuchI’mlosingatthisexactmoment,thatIcan’tstopmyselftryingtoturnitbackonher.
“Andwhyisthat?Becauseofyourmom?Becausefourteentimesnowshe’smadebaddecisions,andyouthinkthat’sjustlife?”Sheglaresatme,butIcan’tstoptalking.“Doyoureallythinkit’shereditary,Ama?Thatifwegetmarried—hell,ifyousaythewordrelationship—you’llopenupsomekindofdoortoyourownfourteenmarriages?”
“No,it’sbecausemarriagesend!Relationshipsend!”
Ishakemyheadandcorrecther,“Canend.Mayend.Andbecauseyoudon’twantustoend,youdon’tevenwantabeginning?”Softly,Iask,“Ama,ifwe’renotinarelationshipbynow—whatarewe?”
Shebitesherlip,andatearbreakspasthereyelashes.“Idon’tknow…Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoing.Thiswasamistake.”
Ifeelherstepback,andIfollowher,tighteningmygriponherwaist.Thephysicalsensationofherpullingawayfrommetriggerstherealizationthatshe’sdoingitinternallyaswell.
“Ama,wait.”
Herlipspresstogether,andhereyesareshiningwithtears.IfeelherbodytremblingandIrealizehowbadlyIjustfuckedthis.
“Iloveyou,”Itellher.“I’velovedyou.Ican’timaginelosingthis,butIonlywantedmore—forasecond.That’sallitwas,”Isay,asifIhadn’tbeenwantingmoreforsixmonths.Longer.Isqueezeherwaist.“Ijumpedthegun.IneverthoughtI’dhearyousay‘Iloveyou,’andthenyoudid.ItmademethinkIcouldhaveeverything,butImovedtoofast,okay?Let’sforgetthis.”
“Youcan’tunsayit,”shewhispers.
“Watchme.It’sunsaid,okay?”
“I’llalwaysknowwhatyouwant,andwhatIcan’tgiveyou,”shesays,andateartumblesdownhercheek.
“That’sbullshit.Iwantyoutogiveupyourdamncat,andyouwon’tdoit,sowealreadyhavetheseproblems—”
“Don’ttrytojokeaboutthis,”shehisses.
There’saflashoflightnexttous,andwebothturntoseetheweddingphotographer,takingthepictureofthecouplebehindus.Asheturnstous,sheputsherhandsonmyshouldersandlookspastmyear.There’saflash.
I’mstaringather,memorizingher.Mypalmsweepsoverherhip,pullingherclosertomebythesmallofherback.Sheallowsit.
“Itneverhappened,”Isayinherear.“You’llneverhearaboutitagain.”
She’squiet.Andthensheshakesherheadsoftly.“Ishouldhavenevergotteninvolvedwithyou.”
Ithitsmelikeabulletbetweentheeyes.Iclenchmyteethtokeepfromscreamingather.
“We’recoworkersinthisindustry,”shecontinues,whisperingintomycollar.“It’scompletelyunprofessional.Ialwaysdothis.”
Iscoff,andit’smeanerthanI’dlike.“Youalwaysgetinvolvedinhalf-yearrelationshipswithyourvendors?”
Sheshiftsback,andIlether.Shelooksdefeated.“Iconfusebusinessandfun.Imakeamess.”
Firescratchesatmythroat.“IsthatWhitneytalking?”
“She’sright.I’llnever—I’llneversurviveinthisindustryifIcan’tbeprofessional.”
“Great.Sowe’rebreakingupbecauseyouwanttobeabetterweddingplanner.”
Hereyesturntoice.“We’rebreakingupbecauseyouproposed.AndbecauseInevershouldhavefuckedyouinthefirstplace.Thiswholethingisamistake.”
Thistimewhenshestepsback,sheslipsoutofmyarms.Itrytomakemyfingersreachforher,buttheydon’t.
“Ihavetocheckonthekitchencleanup,”shemutters.Whensheturnsonherheel,shesnakesintothecrowdanddisappears.
I’mleftwithanemailinonehandandthememoryofherwarmthintheother.
Istuffthepaperinmypocketandwalktheoppositedirection.
25AmaTHEWEDDING
IwakeupcryingonSaturday.Oneofthosedreamsthatyoucan’tquitegrasp,butyou’redevastatedwhenit’sover.Iputcoldpatchesundermyeyestokeeptheswellingdownandstartmydayatsix.
Martextsmeatsevenandsays:
Don’tforgetgrandpa’sbasin,whateverthatmeans
“Fuck.”Istareatthephone.
Itoldhertotextmethattoday.AndI’mgladIdid.
Theantiquebasinthatwillholdcraftbeersatthereception.Doesitgowiththetheme?No.WillitmakeKimNguyenhappy?Wecanonlyhope.
ThatwillhavetobeatnoonwhenIheadfromtheRoseGardentothereceptionhalltooverseefinaltouches.It’lltakemetwentyminutesoutofmyway,butasusual,I’mlowonhelptoday.JakeandSarahstayattheRoseGarden.Marstaysattheballetstudio.AndIbouncetothebrideswhenneeded.
IgetatextfromBeaateighta.m.,askingifthere’sanythingshecanfilmtodaybeforethecrewheadstotheAirbnbforthebridesgettingready.IsendhertotheRoseGarden.Therewillbeplentyofdisasterstocatchthere.Therealwaysare.
OurpermitattheRoseGardendoesn’tallowusinuntilelevenforourtwop.m.ceremony,butIgetthereattenthirtyandstareatthepark.Takingdeepbreaths,Itellmyselfthateverythingisgoingtogoperfectly.Theweatherisamazing,briskandsunny.HazelandJackieareonscheduleintheAirbnb.AndasGeorgeandhiscrewfromMichelangelo’sRentalspullupinthetruckwiththechairsandstanchions,eventhesetupisgoingaccordingtoplan.
Jakearrivesatquartertill,apologizingforhismisstepyesterdaybybeingonehundredpercentfocusedtoday,whichisallIcouldaskfor.
Whentheboxtruckcontainingallthefloralpullsup,sansweddingarchandsansElliot,that’sthefirsttimesomethinggoeswrong.IaskhiscousinBenwhereheis,butallhesaysis“Hejusttoldmetogetoverhereandaskyouwhereeverythinggoes.”
Mypulsespikes,butIletBenandJakestartthefloralsetup.
IgiveElliotuntiltwentyafterbeforeItexthim.
Allgood?
Hewritesback.
giveme10min
Istartchewingontheinsideofmycheek.Elliot’sneverlate.Ithinkofthedarkcirclesfromyesterdayandhoweasilyhesnappedatthecameracrew.HeusedtotellmeallthetimethatIneededanassistant,butnowit’shimwhoneedstheextrahelp.
Fifteenminuteslater,hisblacktruckrollsuptotheloadingzone,afloralarchstandingproudlyinthebacklikeachariotrider.Jakerunsuptohelphimunloadit,butElliotjusttellshimtogetback.Hegingerlyuntiesthecablesandliftsitdowntotheground.ImeethimatthealtarmarkingsI’vemadeinthegrassashecarriesthearchoverhim,movingslowly.
“It’sbeautiful,”Isay.It’snotalie,butI’malsonotlookingatitclosely.I’mtoobusytryingtogaugehisstresslevel.
“It’stemperamental,”hesays.
“Troubles?”
“Itsnappedinhalfaboutanhourago.”
Myheartstops.Ilookuptothetop,andonlynowcanIseeacrack.“Whatdoyouneed?”
“Nothing.It’llbefine.BeforeIheadtothereception,I’llrunbacktotheshopforspackleandpaint,andifthere’stime,I’llsolderarodtoholditup.”
Inod,asifIcanseetheperfectimagehe’spaintinginsteadofthehorrorshowwhereJackieandHazelsayIdoastheirarchsnapsinhalfandstakestheministerintheheart.
Icheckmywatch.“Ihavetogo.I’mrunningerrands,soifyouneedanything—”
“Go.”
Ispinanddashtomycar.It’saftereleventhirty,andIneedtochecktomakesurethehorsesandwagonsaresettoarrive,popinonthebrides,andcallMarforanyerrandssheneeds.
WhenI’mfinallyonmywaytoJackie’sgrandmother’shousetopickupthebasin,I’mthirtyminutesbehindschedule,andIbarelygottocheckontheAirbnb.TheonlysavinggraceisthatMarsaysthingsaregoingperfectlyattheballetstudio.
IpulluptotheaddressKimNguyensentmeintheemailIbarelyglancedat.Hermotherisn’tgoingtobehome,soI’mlookingforthisbasinatthebackofthedriveway.WhenIwalkupandturnthecorner,Istopdeadinmytracks.
Idon’tfindabasin.Ifindabathtub.
Mymouthopensandcloses.Ican’tformwords,andevenifIcould,whowouldIbecomplainingto?
IwhipoutmyphoneandreadoverKim’semail,searchingforthewordbathtub.IcursewhenIseeshedidcallitanantiquetub.I’mrackingmybraintryingtofigureoutwhyI’dthoughtthiswasabasinthatcouldfitinthebackseatofmycar.MaybesomethingwasoffaboutthewayKimfirstdescribedittome?Hadn’tsheheldherhandsouttotheside,indicatinghowlargeitwas?
Now,lookingatthisantiqueclawfoottub,Icanseethat,one,itwon’trestonthetablewe’veputnearthebarand,two,it’safuckingbathtub
Iclapmyhandstogether.“Okay.Okay.”
Atleastwhoeverplaceditinthedrivewayformekeptitonthefurnituredollythey’dusedtogetithere.ThedifficultpartwouldbegettingitintothebackseatofmyCamry.
IglanceatKim’semailagain.
You’llneed4to6mentoliftit!
Iclosemyeyes,suckinairthroughmynose,andsummontheenergyoffourtosixmen.
First,Irunbacktomycarandbackitupthedriveway.There’snowayI’mgoingtoletalltheseneighborsseemedosomethingsocolossallystupid.Ilinethebackseatuptothetubandpushmyfrontseatsforward.Itcouldwork.Theclawedfeetmayposeanissue,butIthinkthetubwillfitinmybackseat.IfIcouldflipit,thatwouldbebest,butIdon’tthinkIcan—despitemybravado.
Irollthetubonthedollytomybackseatandtakeafortifyingbreath.
Inthoseseconds,Iimaginepullinguptothereceptionhallandpayingthecateringstafffiftybuckseachtocomeouttotheloadingzone.IimagineMarandmereworkingthebarsectiontofitthistub,perhapselevatingitsopeoplearen’tbendingovertograbtheirbottles.
ButIalsoimaginejustleavingthistubrighthereandgoingbacktotheimportantthings.AndthelookonthefaceofKimNguyen,whohasbeenanangelofanMOBincomparisontoHazel’steam—KimNguyen,whoaskedforthisonethingfromme—KimNguyen,whotoldmenottocomewithoutfourtosixstrongmen…
Ikickoffmyheels,bend,andliftfrommyknees.
Atfirst,nothinghappens.Noprogressmade.Andthentwothingshappenquickly.
Thefrontofthetubliftsup,almosthighenoughtogetoneclawfootontothefloorofmycar.I’melated.Andthenthedolly,whichhadtiltedundertheweight,allowingsaidtublifting,slipsoutfromunderthetubandzoomsundermycar.
Thetubcomesdown.Andmybarefootisunderit.
It’sacrunchlikeIhaven’tfeltsinceIfelloffmybikeinsixthgrade.Lightningshootsupmyleg.Iyelpandfallonmyassnexttomycar.WiththeadrenalineofamotherliftinganSUVoffherchild,mygoodfootpressesagainstthesideofthetubuntilitrollsoffmyfoot.Iscuttlebackwardlikeacrabandtakeshakybreathsuntilmymindcanworkagain.
Myrightfootispinkandswellingalready.Ican’tmovemytoeswithoutscreamingout.Ibitedownonmylipasthetearsfalldownmycheeks.
Thetub…isstillinperfectcondition,exceptit’sonitssideinthedrivewayinsteadofinsidemycar.
Butme?Ican’twalk.Ican’tgettomyfeet.Myphoneisinthecar.IhavemyBluetoothinmyear,butIcan’tcallfromit,onlyanswer.Andtheweddingstartsinninetyminutes.Ican’tcatchmybreath,andIrealizeI’mhyperventilating.
Myfacecrumples.Ichokebackasob,andmyhandcoversmymouth,tryingnottoalerttheneighborsuntilI’msureIwantto.
Iliebackonthedrivewayandstareatthesky,watchingcloudsmoveslowly,imaginingmyselfamongthem.
Forcingmyselftobreathe,Itrytoconsidermyoptions.Icouldyellforhelp.Theneighborswouldcallanambulance,andI’dstillhaveabrokenfootandatubinthedriveway.IfIwentintheambulance,Iwouldmissthewedding.
Or,Igettomyphoneandfiguretherestout.
Iturnonmysideandtrytogettomyhandsandknees.Painlancesthroughmyfootanyway,evenwhenI’mnotputtingpressureonit.ItryforafewfeetbeforeIhavetostop,suckinginairlikeI’verunmiles.
Ifalloveronmybackagain,elevatingmyfootonthesideofthetub.MychestisshakingasIrealizewhat’shappening.Theweddingstartsinninetyminutes,andI’mnotatonehundredpercent.I’mnotevenatfiftypercent.Theweddingofmycareer.Thebudgetofmydreams.Thefilmcrew,theeyesfromLosAngeles,theopportunityofalifetimeforElliot.
Tearsarestreamingdownmytemplesintomyhair.I’llgivemyselfonemoreminute,andthenI’lltrygettingtomyfeet.
Amelodystartsinmyleftear,andIsobwhenIrealizesomeoneiscallingme.ItapthesideofmyBluetooth.“Yes,whoisit?”
“Ineedspackle,”Elliotsays,voicecomingquickly.Iswallowacry.“I’mallout.Canyougrabsomeorareyoualreadybackatthegarden?”
“I’m—Idon’t…Elliot,Ineedhelp.”
There’ssilenceontheotherend.AndIstarttoshakeatthethoughtthatIlostthecall.Thenhesays,“Whereareyou?What’shappened?”
“I’m—I’matJackie’sgrandmother’shouse,andIhurtmyself.Ican’t…Ican’twalk,Ican’tdrive.”
“Textmetheaddress.”
“Idon’thavemyphone.I’monmyBluetooth.Butit’sonTitanCourt,inTahoePark.”Ihearhistruckstarting,andIpanic.“Wait.GototheRoseGardenandsendJake—”
“No,I’mcomingtogetyou.”
“Elliot,thewedding.”
“Itwon’thappenwithouteitherofus,soIguesswe’rerunninglate.”
Asobbubblesoutofme.“Call—callMar.TellhertogetovertotheAirbnb.Andweneedlikethreeotherstrongguys.Isyourtruckbedfull?”
“What?”
“Iwaspickingupsomething,andit’stooheavy.Whocancomeoverheretoloadit?”
“Jesus,Ama.”
Igaspacry,hearinghisvowelsbetrayhimliketheyusedtoashepronouncesit“Emma.”
Thenhesays,“Howheavyandhowimportant?”
“It’sabathtub.Likeafullfuckingbathtub.Andprobablynotimportantatall,butithastobeperfect,Elliot.I’msoclose.ThisisforJackie,andyouknowhowmuchofthisweddinghasbeencommandeeredbyHazel’sagentandHazel’srealityshow.”Myvoicecracks,andIheaveinair.“Thisweddingissooutofcontrol.Itbarelyfeelslikeherwedding.”
He’squietforasecondandthensays,“Fine.”
Thelinegoesdead,andI’maloneagain.IsitupandmaneuvermyselfagainstthesideofthecaruntilI’mstandingononeleg.Myfootisthrobbing,andIhearthecrunchreplayedoverandover.
ItfeelslikeyearsgobybeforemyBluetoothringsagain.Itapit.“Elliot?”
“It’sMar.Whathappened?”
“IthinkIbrokemyfoot.Ican’twalk.”
Shecurses.“That’s…that’sfine.Whoneedstowalk?We’llpopyouonsomecrutchesandcallitaday.MaybeElliotcanputsomefloraldesignonthosebadbabiesandyou’regoodtogo.”
“AreyouonyourwaytotheAirbnb?”
“Yeah,”Marsays.“Whatdoyouwantmetosay?”
“Nothing.Absolutelynothing.Makesomethingupaboutanissueatthevenuethatmadeusswitchplacesiftheypress,butwhateveryoudo,don’tdrawtheattentionofthefilmcrew.”
Shesighs,andIcanjustimagineherrubbingherforehead.“Yeah,okay.”
“AndMar?”Iask.“Doesn’tMichaelliveinTahoePark?”
“Michael,myex?Yourex-stepbrother?”
“Hedoes,right?”
“Ama,whateverthisis,don’tdothis.”
“Hey,I’vebeenworkingwithmyexforsixmonths.Yousaiditwouldbe‘professional’—”
“Don’tyoudare,”shehisses.
“Please,justseeifhecancometoTitanCourtinthenexttenminutes.”
“Thisislow,evenforyou.”
Ismile.“Promisehimablowjob.”
Shehangsuponme.Ispotmyphoneinthefrontseat,andI’mjustabouttostretchforitwhenablacktruckpullsup.Threepeoplejumpout—Elliotandmyonlytwoassistantsfortheday—JakeandSarah.
“No,no,”Isay.“WeneedoneofthembackattheRoseGarden.”
Sarahpopshergum.“I’msetup.Iaskedthecello-isttocallusifanythingweirdhappens.”
IsqueezemyeyesclosedatthisshitshowasJakecorrectsherpronunciation.
Elliotmakesabeelineforme,roundingthebathtubwithoutasecondlookatit.Hecrouchesdowninfrontofme,andIpressmylipstogethertokeepthemfromtrembling.Hisfingersreachformyankle,andjusttheslightestpressureonthetopofmyfootmakesmehiss.
“Canyoustandonit?”Jakeasks.
Ishakemyhead.“Thankyouforcoming,”Isaytomyex-stepsiblings.“There’sanotherguyonhisway,hopefully.WejustneedtogetthebathtubintoElliot’struck.There’sadollyundermycarsomewhere.”
JakestartstoworkonlocatingthedollyasSarahtakesapictureofmyfoot.IturntoElliot.“I’mfine.Wecanloadupthetruck,andthenIcanprobablydrivewithmyleft—”
“I’mtakingyoutothehospital,”hestates.
“No.There’sawedding.Westillhavetogetspackle,right?”
“Jakewilltakemytruck.I’lltakeyoutothehospital.That’stheendofthisdiscussion.”
“Elliot.”Ilevelmyeyesathim.“Thatisnotanoption.”
Justthen,avoicecalls,“Uh,hey?IsAmahere?”
Ilookoverthetopofthecar,andthere’sMichael.JustastonedasIremembered.
Istandononefootandwavehimdown.“Thankyouforcoming!Wejustneedyourhelpliftingsomethingheavy,andthenwewon’tbotheryouagain!”
“Sitdown,”Elliotsays,puttinghishandonmyshoulder.IslapitoffandsmilebrightlyatMichael,eventhoughIprobablylooklikesomeonewhosecareerisbeingstabbedtodeathbeforeherveryeyes.
Jakehasthedolly,andhe’slookingdoubtfullyattheheightofthetruckbedandtheweightofthebathtub.
Ileanonthecarandstarttohopover.“I’llhelpyouguideitin—”
Gravityupendsme,andsuddenlyI’mintheair.Warmarmshavesweptmeoffmyfeet—literally—andElliotisbridalcarryingmearoundmycarandtothepassengerside.
“Saveyourstrength,”Isay,forlackofanyintelligentthought.“Ihearthetub’sheavy.”
Hetugsthedooropenwithascowlandgentlysetsmeinside.Whenheshutsthedooronme,ItakeadeepbreathandthankgodIatleasthavemyphoneagain.
IseetwentytextsfromBea,Jackie,Hazel,andMar.IdialJackiefirst,sendingthecalltomyBluetoothandwatchingthroughthewindshieldasElliotandasmallarmyofmyex-stepsiblingsbackthetruckintothedrivewayandpreparetoliftthetub.
WhenJackiepicksupwith“Ama!Iseverythingokay?Marsaidthere’sanissueattheballetstudio,”I’mwincing,watchingMichaelandElliotgetunderthetubwhileJakeheavesitupwardfromthetruckbed.Sarahbracesthedollywithaboredexpression.
“Hi,yeah.Hey!Everything’sokay!I’monmywayback,butisthereanythingyouneed?”
“No,”Jackiesays,draggingthewordoutsoIknowshe’slying.“Ijust…God,itsoundsstupid,butIcouldreallyuseyourcalmingpresencerightnow.”
Themenaregrunting.ElliotyellsforMichaeltojumpoutandhelpJake,andIgaspasElliotisleftunderthetub.
“Ama?”
Iclosemyeyes.“Jackie,you’retotallyright.Ishouldbethere.Iwantnothingmorethanforyoutofeelcalmandpleasedrightnow.Givemetenminutes,andthenIwillbeyourcannabisgummyfortoday,okay?”
Jackielaughsandsays,“Asastateemployee—ahem—I,ofcourse,havenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,butIappreciatethesentiment.”
Ihangupwithher,andwhenIopenmyeyes,thetubisinthebackofElliot’struck,andthemenhavenotdied.Iopenthedoorandthankthemprofusely.
Michaelissweatingandglaringatthetub.“Theybetterbegettingmarriedinthattub.”
Ismileweakly.“It’sgoingtoholdartisanalcraftbeersatthereception.”Heturnshisglareonme.“Ofwhichyouwillallbegettingasix-pack,inthanksforyoursix-packs.Andthatremindsme…”IgestureforElliottocomecloser.“Thetubneedstogoontherooftop.Upthestairs.”
Hefrownsatme,thenturnstoMichael.“Michael,right?”Heshakeshishand.“Amajusttoldmeshe’llgiveyouahundredbucksifyoucancomehelpusunloadthisthing.”
Iopenmymouth,andthencloseitwithatightsmile.“Yep.”
Michaelagrees,andElliottalksquicklywithJake,handinghimthekeystohistruck.Michaelwalksovertomysideofthecarandkneelsdown.
“Itlandedonyou?”heasks.Inodandrememberhewasinmedschool.“Canyouputanyweightonit?”
“No.”
Hehissesandshakeshishead.“Yougottagetthatinacastrealquick,”hesays,justasElliotcomeswithinearshot.
“Weare,”Elliotsays.HeclapsMichael’sshoulder.“Thanksforyourhelp.”
“Thankyousomuch,”Iadd.“Ifthere’sanythingIcaneverdofory—”
AndthenElliotslamsthedooronmeagain.IscowlathimashewavesatJakeandSarahtogo.IcallMar.
“How’sitgoing?”Isayasshepicksup.
“Imean,it’sgoingwell?”shesays.“Like,foraweddingwithoutaweddingplanner,Ithinkit’stop-notch,really.”
“Okay,well,I’monmywayback.Michaelcamethrough,somaybeconsidergettingbacktogetherwithhim,yeah?”Shegroans,andIadd,“Also,he’scomingtotheballetstudiowithJakeandSarahrightnow.Thanks,bye!”
“Ama,what—”Iendthecall.
Elliotpullsopenthedriver’sdoor,slipsinside,andreacheshishandoutforthekeys.Ipullthemclosetomychest.
“We’regoingtothegarden,”Isay.
“We’renot.We’regoingtothehospital.”
“Elliot.”
“Ama,givemeyourkeys!”Hisvoiceboomsinmysmallcar,jarringme.Ihandthemover.Heslidesbacktheseatforhislonglegs,andturnsontheignition.Thedashboardlightsupwithallmywarninglights.“Areyoufuckingkiddingmewiththiscar?!”
“It’sdrivable!It’sfine!”
Heshakeshisheadandpullsoutofthedriveway.Tomydismay,heturnsleft—awayfromtheRoseGarden.Myfootthrobs,andIstartrunningthroughthetimelineinmyhead.Ifeelmyribscontracting,realizingIcan’tdothis.Ican’tmakethishappenifwegotothehospital.ButIknowhewon’tturnaround.
Myheadfeelslight.Theonlythingcenteringmeisthepaininmyfoot.Howcantheceremonypossiblygoonwithoutme?Iamtheonlyonewhocanrunit,becauseIamtheonlyonewhoknowsallthedetails.Idon’tevenknowifJakehasafullyupdatedschedule—
“Theweddingisgoingtobefine,”Elliot’svoicefloatstome,tetheringme.“Butyouneedtobefinefirst.”
Iturnmyheadtodisagreewithhim.Buthe’salreadystaringatme.Hiseyesaredarkandfocused,andIfallintothem.
“Youaremoreimportantthanthewedding,Ama.”
He’swrong,butitstillfillsmychestwithbutterfliesandmyheadwithlovelythoughts.
Iwatchtheblurofthecityasthehospitalcomescloser,listeningtohimbreathinginthesilence.
26ElliotTWOYEARS,NINEMONTHS,ONEWEEK,ANDONEDAYAGO
NewYear’sEve
IwalkthroughthehallwaysoftheSutterClubinadaze.Therearealotofcornersanddoorsandplentyofplacestoloseyourself,butIwalkincirclestryingtofigureoutwhatjusthappened.
Iproposed.
Iproposed,andshebrokeupwithme.
Shebrokeupwithme,butmademequestionwhetherwewerereallyeventogether.
AndIregretitwitheveryounceofmyself.Icouldn’thavebeencontenthearinghersayshelovesme?Ihadtotakeitonehundredstepsfurther?
Itrycallinghertwentytimes.Itexther.IknowifIjustkeepwanderingtheSutterClub,I’llfindher.We’reinthemiddleofoneofherweddings.Shecan’tbetoofaraway.
WhenIpassthedanceflooragain,searchingforherheadalongtheperimeter,mymotherseesme.Igiveherawaveandkeepmoving.I’minanotheralcovewhenMomfinallycatchesuptome.
“What’swrong?”shesaysimmediately.
Ifeellikeachildagain.I’mmiserable,andshe’sanangelinwhitewhowillmakeeverythingbetteragain.Idon’tknowwhattosaytoherbecauseIproposedtohersoundsludicrousnow.Itsoundsabsolutelymad.
“IsawyoudancingwithAma,”sheoffers,steppingforward.“Youmakeafinecouple—”
“We’renot.”Ileaveofftheobvious“anymore.”Momhasbeensurprisinglygoodaboutnotpushingfordetailsandnotgivingheropinions.
ButIcanseeitonherface—thesamepityshehadwhenI’dcomehomefromfifthgrade,bruisedandbeaten.Backthen,shewouldrallyintoSenatorGilbert,lookingforplacestoshedlightoninjustice,callingtheschool,callingparents.
Nowit’sjustpity.There’snohigherpowertowhichshecanfileacomplaint.Nobillshecanpass.
“That’sfine,”shesaysafteramoment.“Youworktogether,afterall.”
Itslicesthroughme.Asifeveryonecouldseewhyitwasabadideaexceptforme.
TheDJcallsformymothertocomethrowthebouquet,andIwaveheroffwithasmile.Butassoonasshe’sgone,Ileanonthewallnexttoacloset,andIletmyselfcry.
Mychestshakeswithit,asifitwon’teverbefullagain.JustthismorningI’dheldherassheslept,andIkneweverythingwasperfect.I’dsqueezedmyselfintoherlife,butitwasworking.Ifuckeditup.
Ican’tbreathewiththeache,andmythroatistightwithunvoicedscreams.ItakeoneofDad’soldhankiesfrommypocketandcleanmywetface.Istareathisembroideredinitialsandwishhewasheretotellmewhattodo.
WhenIcanbreatheagain,Istepoffthewallandgofindmorewine.AllnightIhopeIrunintoher,butshenevercomesback.Itextheroverandoverandcleanuptheweddingbymyself,asifitwasintheplanallalong,lyingforherwhenthevendorsaskafterher.
27AmaTHEWEDDING
ElliotdrivestotheER.HeignoreseverysinglewordIsayinthecar,evenwhenIresorttobegging.Bythetimehe’sliftingmeintoawheelchair,I’mbackonthephone,checkinginwithVinceaboutwhyJakesaysthehorsesaren’tthereyet.
“Vince.Vince,”Icuthimoff.“Areyoutellingmethatyoudidn’tleavewithenoughtimetopreparefortraffic?Isthatwhatyou’retellingme?”
Elliotwheelsmeuptothecheck-inasIlistentoVince’sexcuses.He’swritingdownmynameandinformationasIpulloutmyhealthinsurancecard.
“Vince,justpretendforonesecondthatwe’repayingcustomers.Let’spretendthatwenotonlyrentedyourhorses,butwealsoboughtoutyourhayridesfortoday.Let’simagineaworldwherethatexists,andgetyourfuckingasstothepark.”
Ihanguponhimandsmileupatthenursebehindthedesk.“Hi!What’sthewaittimeliketoday?”
Sheliftsabrowatme.“Honey,thisisn’tanApplebee’s.”
“Right.Ijustmean,ifIneedanX-ray,howlongamIgoingtobehere?Ballpark?”
Frowningatme,shepointstothewaitingroom,whichlookssuspiciouslyfull.
Elliotwheelsmeoverandplacesmenexttoachairthathedropsinto.“Youneedtochillforasecond.”
“Theweddingstartsinanhour.”Icanheartheterrorinmyvoice.“Thisisnotchill.”
“Tellmethelist.Whatdoyouneedtodo?”
Hisvoiceiscalm,andhiseyesareonme.Isinkintothemforamoment,andIrememberhismother’swedding—howheletmekeephimupallnight,howIforcedhimtolistentomylists,howhegotmeoffjusthowIneededit.Mythroatbobsatthememory,andheatflushesmycheeks.
“Prioritizing,”Isay,thinking.“Theweddingarchispossiblybroken.Thefloristneedstoarriveatthevenueandfixit.”Ikeepfromnagginghimandjuststicktofacts.“Ineedtoconfirmthattheofficianthasarrived.IneedlastlooksattheRoseGarden.Ineed—”YetanotherthingsuddenlyoccurstomeandIpressmyeyesclosed.“Ineedtolayouttheprogramsonthechairs.”
“Continue,”hesays,stoppingmefromspiralingout.
“IneedtobewithJackieandHazel.Jackieisfreakingout.Icanhearitinhervoice.Ihaven’tevenspokentoHazelsincelastnight.Ineedtomakesurethefilmcrewisn’ttakingupvaluabletimeandpushingthemoffschedule.”Isuckinabreath.Myeyessnaptohim.“Whitney.IcancallWhitneyandseeifshecansparesomeonetoday.”
“No.”Hisvoiceiscold,buthiseyesareice.“No,sheisn’tgettingyourbigday.Overmydeadbody,Ama.”
Itjarsme.Myfootthrobsandmyheartbeatstuttersasheglaresatme.
“Continue,”hesaysfirmly.Iswallow.
“IneedtoknowthatVinceandthehorsesareset.Ineedtocheckthereceptionhall.Ihaven’tevenbeentheretoday.Ineedtogetmoreice,nowthatIknowthebasinisabathtub.Ineedtoelevatethetubsomehow…”
“Elevate?”heasks,andIrealizehe’snotjustgettingmetocalmdown.He’slistening.
“The‘basin’wouldhavelaidonthetablenexttothebar.Nowthatit’satubontheground,peoplearebendingover,maybenotevenseeingit.Itneedstobedisplayedbetteror…Idon’tknow.”
Henods.Itakeabreathandcontinue.
“Ineedtodofinalchecksoncatering.Ineedtodouble-checkGeorgeandMar.Itoldthemhowtodothetablesettings,butIneedtoseeit.”
Hedoesn’ttellmeIshouldtrustthem.Hedoesn’ttellmewhatshouldcomeoffthelist.“That’sallpreshow.Whatareyouresponsibleforatgotime?”
TherealizationthatImaynotmakeittogotimeisseepingintomyveins.Itakeashakybreath,andElliotreachesout,placingahandonmyknee.Ilookdownatit.ItcalmsmefortwosecondsbeforeIseemykneesanddress—scratchedandstainedfromthedriveway.
“Ineedtochangemyclothes.”
“We’vemovedon,”hesays.“We’reontogotime.”
“JakeleadsHazeldownthesidestreettothebackofthegarden.MarstandswiththebridesmaidsintheAirbnb.Icuethemusicians.IcueMaroneachbridesmaid.ThenIcuebothJakeandMarforthebridestoleavefromoppositedirectionsandarriveatthecenter.Icuethemusicthroughout.IcueJackieandHazel’scarriagetoarrive,andshortlyafter,thelineofcarriagescome.Istayuntilthelastguestisloaded,andthenSarahwaitsforGeorgetobreakdowntheceremonywhileJakeandIgotothereception—”
“Alright.We’llstartwiththat,”hesays,standing.“YouarecallingJakeabouttheofficiant”—hecountsoffonhisfingers—“callingMaraboutthescheduleoftheweddingparty,callingVinceagain.I’mgoingtotheRoseGardennowtofixthearch.I’mgoingtoputBenonbathtub—iceandelevation.”Hepauses.“Whichiscomical,consideringyourcondition.”
Isnort,andsomethingflickersacrosshisface.
“Whenyou’redonewithyourcalls,”hecontinues,“youwillcallme,andcuetheweddingfromhere.”
Mystomachtwistsattheimpossibilityofthis.“Can’tIjustcomewithyou?”
“Notuntilyou’vebeenseenbyadoctor.”
I’mnumb.IfeellikeeverythingI’vebeenworkingtowardforsevenmonths—formorethanthat—isallfallingapart.
Elliotreachesforward,andIthinkhe’sgoingtocupmyjaw,butinsteadhisfingerscarefullyremovetheBluetoothfrommyear.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.
“IfI’mgoingtobetheweddingplannertoday,IneedtheweddingplannerBluetooth.”
There’ssomethingveryheroicaboutitall.Hegivesmeonefinalglanceandmarchestowardtheslidingglassdoors.Ifeelmyheartlifting—likemaybewecandothis.Likemaybeit’llbelikeoldtimeswherewecreatedmagictogether.
Suddenly,Elliotpivotsandwalksbacktome.I’mpetrifiedsomething’shappened—
“Howdo…”HestaresdownattheBluetoothsheepishly.“HowdoIusethisthing?”28AmaTHEWEDDING
Theofficiantisthere.Thefirstguests—assholes—havearrivedtwentyminutesearly.Marsaysthebridesareonschedule,butJackiekeepscryingthroughhermakeup.I’mtwosecondsawayfromcallingherwhenVincecallsmeback.
“We’rehere,”hegrumbles.
“Great.CanIspeaktothedriverofthebridalcarriage,please?”
IgetacrosstothedrivertheapproximatetimeI’llneedhimarrivingandhowI’llcuehim.
BeakeepscallingandIkeepignoring.Sheleavesonevoicemail,andIglanceatthetextofit.
I’mjustofferingmysupport.Iknowyouprobablythinkwe’re—we’retryingtofilmagoodstory,butifyouneedanextrahand,itwillbeofftherecord.Ireallycareaboutthiswedding.
Ichewonmylip,tryingtodecidewhattodowiththat.
AsI’mstaringatmyphone,IgetanotificationfromInstagram.HazelReneeisgoinglive.Iclickonitandseehergorgeousface.
“Sotoday’smyweddingday,”shesqueals.“Ican’tshowyouourweddingclothes,butjustknowthatwearestraightfiretoday.I’mreallyexcited,andIknowJackieistoo.Everything’s…”Shelooksaroundtheemptyroomshe’sin.IrecognizeitastheupstairsoftheAirbnb.“Everything’sreallygood,butnoonecanfindourweddingplanner.”Shelaughs.
Mystomachdrops.Mylipspart.
“It’ssoweird.ButIguessshe’sbusy,orwhatever.”
Ican’tbreathe.Mytongueisdry.Ican’tbelieveshejust…toldhermillionsoffollowersthatI’mMIAonthedayofherwedding.Thefollowerswhoshehasbeenpromotingmetoformonthsnow.
IcloseInstagramandstareatthewall.Myphonerings,andI’mhopingit’sElliot.
WhitneyHarrisoncalling…
IfeellikeachildwhenIhitthegreenbuttonquickly.“Hi.”
“Ama?IjustsawsomethingstrangeonInstagram—”
“Yeah.Isawittoo.I’m…I’matthehospital.”
“Oh,Ama.Ama,thisisyourbigday!Thatcan’thappen!”
Iswallowthickly.She’ssayingeverythingI’vebeenthinking.“I’m—I’monmywayovertothevenue.JustassoonasIgetanX-ray.”
“Ama,”shesaysquietly,asifmovingintoadifferentroom.“Ifit’sjustabrokenbone,thenIdon’tseewhatthefussisabout.Getasling,getacrutch,whatever.WhyareyouatthehospitalforanX-ray?”
“I—Iknow.I’m—”
“DoyouneedmeattheRoseGarden?Icangothererightnowandtakecareofthis.”
Iblink.Mythroatistight.“Don’tyouhavelike,fourweddingstoday?”
“Mm,Ihaveone,laterthisevening.RememberwhenIshowedyoumycalendar?Nothingtoday.”
Myeyespressclosedastearsleakoutofthem.Iwanttoscream.Iwanttoaskherwhyshesabotagedme.ButIalsowanttoaskhertogototheRoseGarden.BecauseJackieandHazelneedaweddingplanner.
There’sabeep,andIlookatmyphone.Elliotiscalling.IrememberthelookonhisfacewhenIsuggestedWhitney,howadamanthe’salwaysbeenaboutthewayssheusedme.ItellmyselfIdon’tneedher.Ihavehim.
“Whitney,Ihavetogo.Thanksfortheoffer,butwehaveitundercontrol.”
Iendhercall,andtakeElliot’s.
“I’mhere,”hesays.“I’mgoingtofixthearch,thenyoutellmewhattodoaboutprograms.”
“Okay.”
Ilistentohimmovingaround,theslamofhistruckdoor,thesoundsofthepark.The…squawking?
“Ama,we’vegotgeese.”
“Damnit.PutJakeonit.”
It’sonlyfiveminuteslaterwhenElliotannouncesthattheweddingarchisfixed.Ihaveaneyeonmywatchthewholetime.We’recuttingittooclose.Itellhimhowtolaydowntheweddingprograms—“Atanangle,Elliot”—andhegrumbleshisagreement,butIhaveasneakingsuspicionthatthoseprogramsarebeinglaiddownhoweverElliotcandoitquickest.
Ihearsomeonecallhisnamethroughthephoneandsay,“Where’sAma?What’sgoingon?”It’sBea.
“Everythingisfine.She’sdealingwithsomething,butwehaveitundercontrol,”Elliotrespondscrisply.
“Okay.Canwegetacrewovertoher?Whateverisgoingon,wecanhelporatleastincludeitintheprogram—”
“Nope.”
“Alright,”Beasays,“Iknowmycontractisn’twithyou,it’swithAma,butweneedtobefilmingtheupsandthedownsofthisday.”
“Idon’treallygiveafuckwhatyoufilm,”Elliotsays.“Myfirstpriorityistothiswedding.Thenmysecondistheflowersforthiswedding.”
“Alright,Mr.Bloom—”
“Youwannaknowwhereyouandyourcamerasfallonthelist?Wayyydown,lady.Maybetwentieth.Twenty-firstifthere’saflowergirlinthiswedding.”
Isnort,listeningtohim.“Youlackfinesse,Mr.Bloom,”Isay.
Ihearhimhuffing,andIassumehe’swalkingquicklyawayfromBea.“I’mheadedtotheAirbnbnow.”
“Okay,confirmwithMarthatshefeelsgoodaboutthereceptionhall.”
“Willdo.”
It’sstrangelisteningtohimdonormalthings,havinghiminmyearwhilehe’swalkingorgrumblingabouttraffic.It’sintimate,andit’ssomethingImissinaway,eventhoughIneverfullyhadit.
“Ama,wegotcops.”
Iblinkatthemansittingacrossfromme,holdingabloodytoweltohiselbow.“Um,okay.Let’sseewhat’sup.”
“Officer,”Elliotsays,“I’mElliotBloom.I’mtemporarilyinchargeofthisevent.CanIhelpyou?”
“Mr.Bloom,”saysagruffvoice.“Youhavepermitsforthisstreetclosure?”
Igaspandclutchmyfannypack—wherethepermitsaresafelytucked.“Fuck.”
“Wedo,”Elliotsayssmoothly.“Icangetthoseforyouinamoment.CanIaskifthere’saproblem,orifyou’rejustcheckingonus?”
“WehadnoticeofHStreetbeingclosed,butnotMcKinleyBoulevard.Couldbeamiscommunication,butI’dliketoseethepermits.”
“Ofcourse.I’monthephonewiththeeventcoordinatornow.I’llclarify.Ama?”
MyheadisdroppedinmyhandswhenImumble,“They’rewithme.Inmypack.”
“Officer,ourcoordinatordoeshavethem.She’llbeovershortly,”helies.“I’mjustheadedtoourrentalhere—”
“Sorry,Mr.Bloom.IneedtoseethatpermitorelseI’llneedyoutoclearoffofMcKinley.”
“Whataboutapictureofthepermit?”
Theofficermustsayno,becausethenElliotsays,“Ama,holdplease.”
Thelinegoesdead.Ipullthephonebacktoseeifhehunguponme,butthecallisstillgoing.Didhemutehimself?IshedoingabackalleydealwiththecopsofSacramento?Doeshenotwantmetohearhismafiaconnections?
Inthesilence,anursecallsmyname.Iwavemyhandandyelloutforher.SheseesthatI’munabletowalktothecounterandcomesouttome.
“Hun,we’regonnagetyouintoanexamroom.”
“Perfect!Thankyou.I’m—I’mactuallyonanimportantcall.I’mrunningaweddingfromthisER.CanIbeonmyphone?”
“Awedding?”Herbrowsjumpup.“Yougotyourselfrunoverbythenewlywedcarorsomething?”
“Thatwouldbelessembarrassing,butessentially.”Igrin.
Shewheelsmeoutofthelobbyanddownthehall.“Youcankeepyourphone,butwhenthedoctorcomesin,I’llaskyoutopleasehangupsoshecanexamineyou.”
IcheckmyphoneandseeElliotstillhasmeonhold.ThensuddenlyIhearatinnysound.“Hello?Elliot?”
“WhoamIspeakingwith?”saysafemalevoice.
BeforeIcanstutteraresponse,Ihearanewmalevoice.“ThisisOfficerBelloftheSacramentoPoliceDepartment.”
“OfficerBell,”thewomansays,“goodafternoon.ThisisSenatorLauraGilbertwiththestatesenate.”
Iclapahandovermymouth.Whenthenurseseesmyeyesbugout,shemouths,“Briderunning?”
IshakemyheadandlistentoLaura,notknowingifshe’sawareI’montheline.
“Officer,Ihearthere’sapermitissue.Iknowyou’redoingexactlywhatyouneedtobedoing.Iappreciateyourwork.IjustwanttoknowwhatIcandotohelpthisprocess.”
OfficerBellclearshisthroat.“Ah,Senator.Well,weneedtoseethepermitforclosingoffthisstreet.It’snotonourrecords.”
“Canwesendyouaphotographofthepermit?”
“Uh,sorry,Senator—”
“Icangetthecitymanageronthelineandconfirmthatit’sinthesystem.Wouldthatwork?”
“It’s—it’sSaturday,ma’am.”
“PleasecallmeSenatorGilbert.Wouldyoulikemetocallthecitymanagersoyoucanspeakdirectlytohim?OrIcancallChiefAdamsoftheSacramentoPDtoclarify.Ihavebothoftheirnumbers.”
IfeellikeIcanjustimagineOfficerBellscratchinghisstubble.“I…No,Senator.There’snoproblem.IwillcontactChiefAdamsmyselfandaskhimtodouble-checkhisrecordsfortoday.”
“That’swonderful,OfficerBell.I’mgladtohearit.”Laurahangsup.
Thenursegivesmeawavetosaythedoctorwillbeinsoon.Isendherathumbs-up.
Elliot’svoicecomesbackontheline.“Ama?Stillthere?”
“Youhadtocallyourmoooom,”Ising-song.
“Youforgotyourpermits,”hemimicsback.“I’mattheAirbnb.Isitunlocked?”
“Shouldbe.”
Ihearhimknockandthenopenthedoor.There’saflurryofactivityonhisside.Peopleareaskingforme,thebouquets,aValium.
“Where’sHazel?”Elliotasks.
Ihearhimcuttingthroughthecrowdofpeopleandheadingupstairs.Heknocksonadoor.
“Hazel?Amaisonthephone,checkingin.”
“Ohmygod,whereisshe?”IhearHazelsay.IsthatannoyanceIheartingedinhertone?
“She’sdealingwithanissueanddelegatingtokeepusonschedule.”
“What’stheissue?”
“Don’ttellher,”Isaytohim.I’mseriouslymortifiedthatI’vealreadyjeopardizedthisweddingsomuchbynotreadingtheemailfromKimNguyen,bytryingtoliftabathtubmyself,bynothavingenoughassistants.Thisdayisaboutthecouple,andI’vemadeitaboutmesomuchalready.AndIdon’twantherfollowerstoknowthistoo.
“Last-minuteissues.Shetoldmetocometoyoufirstbecausesheknowsshe’sbeenneglectingyou.”
“Imean,”shestarts,thenpauses.“Yeah,I’mfine.JustwishIknewwhatwasgoingon.”
IcoachElliottotellher“You’regettingmarriedtoday.”Herepeatsafterme.“That’swhat’sgoingon.Andsmileather.”
“That’swhat’sgoingon,”herepeats.“Andsmil—”
“Nother!Yousmile!”
“Andsmiling…willbehadbyall,”hefinisheslamely.
IhearHazelsay,“O-kay.”
“Amaisavailablebyphoneifneeded,”hesays,andthenIhearthedoorshut.“Where’sJackie?”heaskssomeoneinthehall.
“Lastdoor!”
Anotherknock.Anotherdooropens.
“Elliot!What’sgoingon?Isittimeforthebouquetsalready?”There’sahystericalqualitytohervoicethatspikesmybloodpressure.
“Wow.Jackie.Youlookamazing,”hesays,andIcanalmostseeitmyself.
“Thanks.I’mjust…God,Elliot.WherethefuckisAma?!”
“Tellher.TellherandnotHazel,”Isay.
Hecoughs.“Amainjuredherself.”Jackiegasps.“She’satthehospitalgettingcheckednow.”
There’sawhineandasniffle,andIclosemyeyesasIrealizeJackieisstartingtocrythroughhermakeupagain.I’mprayingfortheHazelReneesettingspraytoworkitsmiracles.
“Hey,hey.She’sfine.”TherearesoundsofElliotgettingcloser.“Jackie,we’vegotthisundercontrol.You’regettingmarried.”
“Mm-hmm,”shesays,voicetightlikeareed.“Ijust…Today’sbeenreallystressful.AndHazeldidn’twantustoseeeachotherbeforehand,eventhoughIaskedherifwecouldplease—”Shechokesasob.“Idon’twanttosoundungratefulforeverythingyouandAmahavecreatedfortoday,butthisdoesn’tevenfeellikemyweddinganymore.”
Ipinchthebridgeofmynose.“Damnit.”
“Icanseethat,”Elliotsympathizes.“That’sreallyhard.”
“Andshe’s—she’sdoingInstagramvideosinsteadofsittinginhereholdingmyhand.AndI’mjust…Ijustkeepthinkingthat…Whatifthisisn’tright?WhatifIstoplovingheroneday?”
“Putmeon,”Isay.“GivehertheBluetooth.”
IhearElliottapthedevice,likeasonicboominmyear.“Jackie,”hesayssoftly.
“Elliot,givemetoher.”
IheartheBluetoothgettappedagain,andIthinkhe’stryingtohanguponme,ormuteme.ButIcanstillhearJackiesniffing.
“That’snothowitworks,”hesays.“Thereisnofallingoutofloveforpeoplelikeyouandme.”
Iholdmybreath.Myskinbuzzes.
“IseehowyouarewithHazel,”hesays.“Trustme,Iknowthatwhenyou’reinlovewithapersonwho’sthatdedicatedtotheircareer,sometimesyoudon’tfeellikeyoucomefirst.”
Myeyespressclosed,andIstaydeathlyquiet,begginghimtocontinue.
“Sometimesyoujustcountdownthedays,thehours,untilyoucanbeusefulagain,”hesays.“Andifiteverends,Jackie?”Helowershisvoice.“You’restillcountingaway.Themonthssince.Theexactdayssince.Likeatallyofmomentsyou’vespentnotbeingimportanttothem.Butdon’teverthinkyou’llwakeupandnotbeinlovewithher.”
Ineedair.Mylungswon’twork,andIcan’thearanythingasidefromElliotandmyheartbeat.
Suddenly,there’saknockontheexamroomdoorandthedoctorstepsin.Ithrowmyhanduplikeamandrowningandwaveathertobequiet.Shesquintsatmeinconfusion,andIpointtomyphone,mouthing“I’msorry.”
“God,”Jackiesays.“Elliot,Ishouldn’thavepushedyoutodateAma.Ididn’tknowyouwerestillinlovewithKate.”
Ifeellikeanantiquetubhasfallenonmystomachthistime.Kate.Thegirlafter.Isitpossiblehe’snottalkingaboutme?
Heclearshisthroat.“It’s…Ijustwantedyoutoknowthatyouwon’tfalloutoflove,”hesays.“It’sbeenyears,andIcanstilltellyouthenumberofdayssinceshelastneededme.SinceIlastheldherthroughthenight.”
Isuckinabreath.Itisme.Ihangup,hearingeverythingIneededto.Ilookuptothedoctorwithweteyesandsay,“Sorry,I’m…aweddingplannerandI’mhereinsteadofthewedding.”
Thedoctorisanolderwomanwithkindeyes.“Aw.Didyoujusthearthevows?”
Ibitemylipandnod.29AmaTHEWEDDING
It’sahairlinefractureacrossmymetatarsal,whateverthatmeans.ThedoctorgotmeintoradiologywithintwentyminutesbecauseIcouldn’tstopcryingabouthowIwasgoingtomissthewholething.
Onthewayoutofradiology,Elliotcalls,andIwalkhimthroughthecuesfortheceremonyagain.HerememberseverythingIsaidinthewaitingroom,andnowit’sjusttrustinghimtoknowhowtocountmeasuresofmusic.Icuetheweddingwithhimasthenurseswheelmebacktotheexamroom,andwhenIsay,“Gobride,”oneofthepatientsinthehallwaylooksatmelikeIbelonginthepsychward.Oncetheweddinghasstarted,Elliothangsuptofocus,andIsendhimthephonenumberofthebridalcarriagedrivertocue.
ThedoctorsetsmeupwithcrutchesandawalkingbootandgivesmeanappointmenttocomebackonMondaytogetacastonit.ItakethepainkillerstheygivemeandorderanUberasIbuyapairofflatshoesinthehospitalgiftshoptofitmyonegoodfoot.
Elliottextsthegroupchatofme,Mar,Sarah,andJaketosaythebridalcarriageisoffandthefirstguestcarriageisloading,soIsettheUberdestinationforthereception.Ihavetotellmydriveraboutthestreetclosuresaroundthepark,towhichhesays,“That’sridiculous.”
“It’sawedding,Ithink?”Isayinnocently.
“Whatgeniusthoughtofthis?!”
Ipressmylipsshutandstareoutmywindowashefollowsthedetoursigns.
Hedrivesupthesidestreettodropmeatthebackentrance,wherethecaterersentered.Hehelpsmegetonmycrutches,soI’llforgivehimtheremarks.
AsI’mnavigatingsteppinguptothecurb,Bea’svanpullsuptothefront,abouttwentyyardsaway.Itakeafortifyingbreath,knowingI’mlikelytoenduponTLCinmybootandcrutches.Thetwocameramenandthesoundguyjumpout,grabbingtheirequipmentandscurryingtobeinsidewhenthefirstguestsarrive.I’mjustreachingforthebackdoorwhenBeajumpsoutofthedriver’sseat,andthepassengerdooropenstorevealWhitneyHarrison.
Mybreathstops.She’sdressedinherpaleblueStellaMcCartney—herfavoriteforinterviewsorimportantweddings.ShehasaniPadinonehandandaBluetoothinanear.She’stalkingquicklywithBea,noddingandlookingoverthevenuewithlaser-focusedconcentration.
Shelooksliketheweddingplanner.ShelookslikeHazelandJackie’sweddingplanner.
Itoldhernottocome,andshecameanyway.
I’mtryingtocatchmybreathasmythoughtstumblearoundmyhead.
Beacatchessightofmefirst.ShesmilesinsuchreliefthatIdon’tknowwhattothink.Assherunsovertome,Whitneylooksoutoverthestreet,waitingforthefirstgueststoarrive.
“Ama,god!”Beareachesoutformyelbowtohelpmeuponthesidewalk.“Whathappened?”
“What’sWhitneyHarrisondoinghere?”Myvoiceishollow.Asifherearswereringing,Whitneyturns,seesme,andwavesmerrilyfromhalfwaydownthestreet.
“What’s—Whatdoyoumean?”Beasays,browsdrawingtogether.“Shesaidyoucalledhertocomerunthewedding.”
“Elliotranthewedding,”Isnap.
“Yeah,but—well,WhitneymanagedHazel.ShewalkedheraroundtheparkwithJake,shetookthe‘gobride’cue—”
MycrutchesreallygetinthewayoftheangrystrideI’mtryingtoaccomplish,butIstillmakeittothrowingdistanceofWhitney.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Isnap.
“Ama,ohmygoodness,”shesayssweetly.“Isitbroken,dear?”
“ItoldyouIhaditundercontrol.ItoldyouIdidn’tneedyou.”
Whitneygivesmethatface—thatfacethatsheusedtogivebrideswhoaskedifshehadanycheaperpackages—asiftosayBlessyourheart.
“Ama.Clearlyyoudoneedme.Therewasnoweddingplannerhere!”Shechuckles.
“Theweddingwascalledperfectlywithoutyou—”
“Ofcourse,andElliotdidwellwithwhatlittleexperiencehehas,butHazelReneewasclearlynothappywithyou.”Shereachesouttosqueezemyshoulder,andIjerkitback.“Ama—”
“Whydidyouoverbookyourvendorsfortoday?”Isay.
Shetiltsherhead.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Iknowyouscheduledatleastthreefictionalweddingstoday—afterIgaveyouthedate.AfterIcametoyouforadvice.”
“Ama,youleftmycompanyongoodterms,”shesayssimply.“Iwillalwayssupportyou,butI’mnotgoingtoturndownworkforyou.Afterwetalked,Ibookedup.Imean,howlongdidyouwaittocontactthosevendorsafterwetalked?HowlongwasIexpectedtowaittobook?”
Acidinmystomachburnsuptomythroat.“Whathappenedtothosethreeweddingsthen?Youonlyhaveonelatertoday.That’swhatyoutoldme.”
“Theycanceled.”Sheshrugs.Likeit’seasy.“Thingschange.Oneday,whenyoustartworkinginashighofavolumeasIdo,you’llseethreeweddingscancel,justlikethat.”Shesnaps.
Idon’tbelieveher.IhaveElliot’svoiceringinginmyearfromyearsago,tellingmethatshecopiedmydesigns,thatsheunderpaidme.Icanfeelhernailslikeclawsinmyarm,hissingBeaprofessionalinmyearasmyhandthrobsandmytearsfall,myskinstillbuzzingwiththememoryofastranger’shandonmyass.Aclaritywashesoverme,warmandfocused
“You’reright,”Isaysoftly.“Oneday,I’llknowwhatit’sliketohavefourweddingsinoneday.Oneday,I’llunderstandwhatit’sliketobookupsoquicklythatIforgettheconversationIhadtwodaysago.”Inod,asmilecurlingmylips.“BecauseI’mcoming,Whitney.I’monmywayup,andnothingyoudotosabotagemybusinessisgoingtostopme.I’mworthtenofyou.I’vealwaysbeenworthtenofyou,andyouwererighttofearmemovinginonyourmarket.”
Somethingshiftsbehindhercoolblueeyes.Istepintoher,ignoringthepainthatlancesupmyleg,andsay,“Now,backthefuckawayfrommywedding.”
Whitney’slipsaretight.Hergazecold.ButI’mnotafraidofheranymore.Iheartheclickofhorsehoovesasthefirstcarriagesapproach.It’sonlynowthatIseeoneofBea’scameraspointedatthetwoofus.
Sheleansintome,andherteethclickoverherconsonants.“Youthinkyoucanspeaktomelikethat?Imadeyou.HowmanyclientshaveIsentyourway,justforyoutorepaymelikethis?Youthinkyou’removinginonmymarket?Mymarket?!I’vebeenworkingnationallywhileyou’vebeensluttingitupatbachelorettepartiesandflirtingwithmyvendorsjusttogetthesamediscounts.”
Myjawdrops.Alaughburstsfrommythroat.“Idon’tknowwhat’sfunnier—thatyouthinkSanFranciscoandLakeTahoequalifyas‘nationally,’orthatyouthinkyou’retheonlyweddingplannerwhogetsindustrydiscounts.Bye,Whitney.Ihaveareceptiontorun.”
Herclawsreachout,snatchingmyarm.“Don’twalkawayfromme,youungratefulbitch—”
IgettoseethemomentWhitneyrealizeswe’rebeingfilmed.Itis—byfar—thegreatestmomentofmylife.Shegoespaleunderneathherconcealer,andhernecksnapstothecameramaninchingclosertous.She’sspeechless.
Iplaceacondescendinghandonhershoulder,likeshealwaysdidtome.“Whitney,comeon.Beaprofessional.”
Sheseethes,steampracticallyspoutingfromherears.Shespinsonherheelandmarchesintothestreetjustasthefirsthorsearrives.Whitneyjumpsback,screeches,andthehorserearsonhishindlegs.Igasp,slappingmyhandovermymouth.Shescurriesoutofitswayinjustenoughtime,butthecarriagedriverhastosoothethehorse.
AssoonastheshockhaspassedandIrealizehowcomicalthatreallywas,IturnovermyshouldertoNick,thecameraguy.“Didyougetthat?”Isaywithasmile.Henods,smirking.
Itakeadeepbreathandpasteonasmiletogreetthefirstguests,apologizingforthatmomentwiththehorse.Beaisstillstandingonthesidewalk,grinningfromeartoear.
“So,youprobablycan’tusethatfootage,huh?”Isay.“Shewon’tsignawaivernow.”
“Shealreadysignedawaiver.”Bea’slipstwitch.“Atthebridalboutique.Whensheapproachedmeaboutbeinginterviewed.”
Iblinkather.“Youinterviewedher?Whatdidshesay?”
Beastepscloser.“Shesaidthatyouworkedunderher.Shetaughtyoueverythingyouknow.And…thatyouweretooinexperiencedforaweddingofthismagnitude.”
Heatflushesmycheeks.Myteethgrindtogether.
“So,”Beacontinues,“I’mjustimagininghowgreatthatwillbe,juxtaposedwithwhatjusthappenedhere.”Shebeamsatme.“Ilovegooddrama.”
“Well,you’reverywelcome.”Ileanonmycrutches.“Let’sgohaveaparty.”
Beameetswithherteam,andIhobbletothebackdoor,notwantingmycrutchesandstaineddresstocatchtoomuchattention.ThecateringcoordinatorgreetsmelikeIhaven’tbeenmissingthiswholetime.There’saquickexchangeofwordsaboutmybootandcrutches,butsoonI’msteppingthroughthemakeshiftkitchenandintothefairytaleweddingthatIcreated.
Eventhougheverythingherewasinadesigneitherdrawnorrenderedbyme,itstillknocksmeoffmyfeettoseethisolddancestudiothatweturnedintoaweddingreception.Elliot’sfloralchandeliersarebeinglitfromthesidesbysoftLEDs,andhiscolumnswithvasesofqueenproteasitineverycorner.TherewasnotimeforfirstlookwithHazelandJackie,butthediningareaiswellpreservedfortheirgrandentrance,astheguestsaredirecteduptotheroofforcocktailhour.Thegirlswillseeallofthisforthefirsttimewhentheyarrive.
Imillthroughitastheguestsarrive,checkingeveryplacesetting,everycenterpiece.Ishiftthingsslightly,Istraightenknives,butreally—it’salmostperfect.
Aguestcomesdownthestairsandgesturestoherfriend.“Youhavegottoseethis!”
AndIjustknowshemeansthedancefloor.
AfterIconfirmthatalltheguestcarriageshavearrivedandeveryonehasheadedtotheroofforcocktailhour,Iheavemywayovertothebottomofthestairs.IshakemyheadatthestairliftthatweinstalledtomeetADAstandards.Isighandpushthebuttonforthechairtocomedowntome,chucklingathowthingshadturnedout.
WhenI’matthetopofthestairsandbackonmycrutches,IgettoseetherooftopforthefirsttimesinceThursday.
It’sabsolutelyremarkable.TheguestsstepoverElliot’sgorgeousdancefloortentatively,asifafraidtowalkonit.Someofthempointdowntoit,noddingtotheirfriends,takingpictures.Thecocktailtablesaresetperfectly,andtheboxwoodliningthesidesoftherooftopbrighteneverythingup.Iseethecanapésbeingrotated,andtheguestsgivingorgasmeyesafterthefirstbite.Iseethesecondbarline,justasfullasthefirst,andIpatmyselfonthebackforknowingmyHollywoodwinos.
AndIalsoseeanantiquetubholdingcraftbeer,displayedongodknowswhat,butit’sthreefeettallandperfectwithatablecloththrownoverit.Andnexttoit,Jackie’smomisplacingaproudhandontheside,showingitofftowhoeverwilllisten.
“Basin,”Ihuffundermybreath.Andthat’swhenIfinallyseeMar.
She’sstandinginthecorner,eyesflittingovereverything,likeshe’scatalogingtheplacesshecouldhavemissedsomething.Hergazelandsonmeandshejumps.Sherushesovertomeonherlonglegsandsweepsmeintoherarms.
“Ama.”
“Youdidit,babe.You’rekillingthis.”
“Youdidit.”Shepullsbackfromme.“Youdidallofthis.”
Atthatmoment,theweddingannouncertakesthemic.“Ladiesandgentlemen,pleaseturnyourattentiontotheentrance.Thehappycouplearealmosthere.”
Thecrowdtitters.Ifrownatmywatch.“Already?”
“Yep,”Marsays.“Elliotkeptusontime.”
Asthebridesmaidsfinallymakeitupstairs,Igettoseethewowontheirfacesastheyemergeintotheautumnair.Beaandhercrewarecatalogingeverymoment.Notfiveminuteslater,IhearJackiescreamfrombelow,andbeforeIcanbeconcerned,Hazelstartslaughing.
IwishIcouldbedowntherewiththemtoseetheirreactiontotheoncebat-infested,abandoneddumpIremadeforthem.ButIknowBeaisgettingit.
“Ama.”
Iturnandthere’sLauraGilbert.Myheartjumps.
“Senator.Thankyousomuchforyourhelptodaywiththepermits.”
Shewavesherhand.“Notatall.AndcallmeLaura.”
Iabsolutelywillnot.
Shecontinues,“Iamsoblownawaybythis.Imean,Iadoredmywedding,butthisisclearlyyourforte.I’msogladIpushedJackietowardhiringyou.”
“Metoo,”Isaywithasmile.“Iwashonoredthatyoudid.”
“Well…”Sheleansinconspiratorially.“Icouldn’tletthatwickedwitchhaveallthefun.”I’mabouttotellhershe’llenjoywhatthefilmmakerscaught,whenshesays,“AndIwashappytoseeyouandElliotworkingtogetheragain.Yougosowelltogether.”
Myvoiceisstuckinmythroat.
“Inbusiness,Imean,”shesays.Whenshewinks,IthinkIpassoutforafewseconds,thentheannounceristappingthemicagain.
“Forthefirsttimeasacouple,pleasewelcomeHazelReneeandJackieNguyen!”
IrefocusmyattentionandletLauraGilbertslipawaythroughthecrowd.
Theguestswhoopandyell.JackieandHazelrunupstairs.Jackieisalreadysobbing,andherfriendsandfamilylaugh,likethisistobeexpected.Iwonderifshecriedthroughouttheentireceremony.I’llhavetoasksomeone.
Hazelisspeechlessonthethreshold.Iseehertakeineverything,holdingontoherbride,andbeaming.Shegoesoffscriptwhenshegesturesfortheannouncertohandherthemic.ShedragsJackieupontothedancefloortostandcenter.
“Ijusthavetosay—IknowI’mnotsupposedtospeakyet,”Hazelsays.Thecrowdlaughs.Jackiesobs.“Butourweddingplannerwouldn’tletusseethisforthelasttwomonths.Youdon’twannaknowwhatwasherewhenwelastsawtheplace!SoIhopethatexplainswhyJackiecan’tgetaholdofherself.”
There’spolitelaughter,butnoneofitislouderthanJackie’swhimper.Jackiebrusheshereyelashesandthengasps.“Mygrandpa’stub!”
Myfootthrobsingratitude.
Hazelcontinues,“Andourweddingplannerisreallythebrainsbehindthis.Shecreatedthisfromnothing.She’sbeenoutofcommissiontoday,unfortunately—”
Jackiejerks.She’spointingatme.“Ama’shere!”
AndsuddenlyI’mcryingandwavingandhobblingforward.JackieandHazelcrosstheroomtomeandbothhugme.It’satornadoofquestionsandanswersandgratitudeandjoy,andI’msosweptupinitthatI’msurprisedIevennoticeElliotenteringtherooftopfromthedoor,lookingforaplacetojustresthisfeetfortenminutes.Helookshaggard,neverhavingchangedintonicerclothesfromthismorning,anddirtyinthewaythathemakeslookgood.
HecatchessightofmeattheedgeoftheplatformwithHazelandJackie.Hiseyesslidetotheboot,andheglares.ItseemsI’mintrouble.
Igettheannouncertocontinue,invitingthegueststogetdrinksatthebar,findtheirtablenumbersontheseatingchart,andthenheaddownstairstotheirtables.IencourageJackieandHazeltotakeafewmoreminutesuphereandthenstartmovingthemselvesbackdownstairstotheheadtable.Isnapforthephotographyteamtocatcheverymoment.
Onceeveryoneisclearedfromtherooftop,ItakethechairliftdownandsetupinacornerwhereIcanseethewholeroom.Margladlyhandsoverthewalkie-talkieandgoestograbmeachair.Iputtheearpiecein,presstheTalkbutton,andsay,“Ama’sonheadset.”
Jake’svoicecomesquickly.“Oh,thankgod.”
“Sarah,howistheRoseGarden?IsGeorgealmostdonepackingup?”
“WhoisGeorge?”sheaskslazily.
Itakeadeepbreath,remindingmyselfIcan’tkillheruntiltheweddingisdone.“Heistherentalcoordinator.”Whenshedoesn’trespondtothat,Isay,“Large,redhair,fifties.Youaresupposedtobewaitingforhisteamtofinishpackinguptheceremony.”
“Oh,yeah.He’salmostdone,”shesays.
“Okay,”Isay.“IneedJaketomeetwithVinceandthehorsestomakesurewe’reallsquaredaway.Jake,you’llneedtodismantlethearches.I’llsendMarwithyou.”
Margroansandthenreluctantlynods.
“Icango.LetMarstay.”Elliot’svoice.Isearchforhiminthecrowd,butIcan’tfindhim.
“Perfect,thankyou.IcoulduseMar’sfeet.You’llletmeknowifyouhaveanissuebreakingdownthefloralarches?”
“Yep.”
IturntoMarandsayoff-walkie,“Canyoudoaroundformeandchecktomakesurewe’renotslowingdownoncanapés?”Onceshe’sgone,Isayintothewalkie,“I’mbackinaction.Youalldidamazingworktoday.Ithinkthebridesarecrazyhappy,andit’sallthankstoyou.”
Thenexthourgoeslikeallreceptionsdo—inablur.Thefoodisreadytocomeoutontime,buttheguestshovernearthedownstairsbar,soweholdforfifteenminutesandgivethebartendersaspieltosayaboutdinnerstartingsoon.AfterthethirdserverstopsmetoaskhowIhurtmyself,Iditchthecrutchesandhobbleonmyboot.There’sacordsituationwiththeliveband,andthebassistissecondsawayfromrunningtoGuitarCenterwhensomeonetapsmeontheshoulder.
“Doyouneedaquarter-inchcable?”
Ilookup,up,upabroadchesttoastern-looking,dark-hairedguyinablackleatherjacket.Hislashesarelong,andhisjawisperfectlychiseled.Whoa.
“Yes,”Isqueak,realizinghe’soverafoottallerthanme.Iseethecellocaseinhishand.“Oh!AreyouXander?Ourceremonycellist?”Henods.“Iheardmyassistantaskedyoutokeepaneyeonthingsearlier.Thankyousomuchforthat.Wehadareallyimportanterrand,andwewouldneverusuallyask.”
“Sure.”
Iwaitforhimtosaymore,butit’spossibleI’vefoundsomeonewhospeakslessthanElliot.
“So,youhaveacable?”
Hekneelsdowntoopenhiscase,andgrabsacordfromasidepocket.AsI’mtextingthebassisttolethimknowI’vegotthecord,Xandersays,“Thisisareallynicewedding.”
Igrinupathim.Itlookslikegivingcomplimentsphysicallypainshim.“Thankyou!I’msogladyoucouldflyinforit.Pleaseenjoytherestofthenight,andI’llgetthisbacktoyou.”
Heshakeshishead.“I’mheadedtotheairportnow.Justkeepit.”
Withoutmuchmoreceremony,hegrabshiscellocase,squeezesHazel’sshoulderingoodbye,andwalksoutthedoor.
Hazelcatchessightofmefrowningafterhimandsidlesuptome.“I’msorryifhewasshortwithyou.He’salwaysbeentemperamental,evenwhenwewerekids.”
“Oh,no,”Isay.“Hejustsavedtheday,actually.”
“You’llbeseeingmoreofhim.HeandIhavedozensoffriendswhoareengaged.”
Iknockherelbow.“WhywouldyourLAandNewYorkfriendswantaSacramentowedding?”
“Youthinkyou’llbestuckdoingonlySacramento?Ama,IhavetenNewYorkcoupleswhoarealreadylookingatyou.Iwanttointroduceyoutosomeofthemtonight.”
Mystomachflutters,andIlookdownatmydirtydressandwalkingboot.“Great.Hey,I’msorryIwasn’tthereforyoutoday.”
Shewavesherhand.“It’sfine.Iactually…”Shesighsdramatically.“IdidanInstagramLivetodaythatwasunfairtoyou,Ithink.”
“Ohreally?”Iaskinnocently.
“I’dliketofixitthough.”ShetakesoutherphoneandopensInstagram.Shetakesaselfiewithme,andbeforeIknowit,Jackieisjoiningus.TheybothkissmycheeksfromeithersideandI’mbeaminglikeadork.
WhenI’mtaggedtwominuteslater,Hazel’scaptionsaysThisismyweddingplanner,AmaTorres.SheworksinSacramento,butLAbetterlookout.WhenIslidetothenextframe,she’sgotamazingshotsofthereceptionandthehorse-drawncarriageride.Thelastframeisjustabluebackgroundwithmyname,email,andwebsiteinwhitelettering.
Ishakemyheadandgrin.It’snotanInstagramStorythatwillgoaway.Itwillalwaysstayupaspartoftheweddingpicturessheposts.I’mstillpinchingmyselfthatIgotthisgig,butevenmoreso,thatImightbefriendswithHazelRenee.AndJackieNguyen.Theworlddidn’tendwhenIallowedmyselftogetclosetothem.Infact,itgotbiggerandbetter.
Oncethecakeiscut,Istepoutsideintothealleyandbreathe.Myfootiskillingme.IhaveasoreassfromwhereIfellthismorning,andmybodyisrebellingbecauseIhaven’teaten.
Thedooropensnexttome,andIjerktoseeElliotsteppingout.HeextendstheBluetoothtome.
“Didyoulikeyourfirstgigasaweddingplanner?”Itease.
“Uh,no.I’llsticktoflowers.”ThenheproducesawaterbottlefromthebarandtwoAdvilfromhispocket.
Iswallowgreedily.“Whydidn’tyousaythatWhitneyshowedup?”Iask.
Hecockshishead.“Shesaidyoucalledher.”
“Ididn’t.”
Hiseyesharden.“Ah.Well,youmentionedherintheER,soIassumed…”
“Isentherpacking.Beagotitallonfilm,”Isayproudly.
Hismouthtwitches.“That’sallthereasonIneedtowatchthisstupidshowwhenitairs.”
Ismileathim.“Thankyoufortoday.Andnotjusttoday.Thiswedding…thisreception…it’sinsane.Thefloralisastounding.Ican’tbelieveImadeyoudoallthis.”
“Youdidn’tmakeme.I’m…I’mhopingtoelevateBlooming,sothisisjustas…‘insane’forme.”
Inod.“Good.You’re…you’resospecial,Elliot.”Tearsprickbehindmyeyes.“AndIcan’teverthankyouenoughforgettingthisweddinguponitsfeettoday.You’vealwaystoldmethatIneedmorehelp,butIreallythoughtIhadthisoneundercontrol.”
Ichokeonmywords.Thefullweightofwhathappenedtodayhitsme.
“Itcouldhavebeenreallybad,”Isay.“Iwas…Icouldn’tgettomyphone.AndIjusthadtowaitforsomeonetocallmeorIhadtoscreamfortheneighbors,andIjust…Andthenyoucalled.”
“BecauseIbrokethearch,”hejokeslightly.
“Right.”Ismile,sniffling.“Maybeit’syourturntogetanassistant.”
Hesmilesatme.Andit’sthefirsttimeI’veseenitdirectedtowardmesince—sinceheaskedmetomarryhim.Myhearthurtswiththeabsenceofit.ImisshimsomuchevenwhenI’mnearhim.IcanhearhiswordstoJackiebeatingagainstmyskull,andIdon’tknowifheknowsthatIheard.ButIdidhear.
He’sstandingthereagainstthebrickbuildingwithme.Istepforward—limping—andriseuponmygoodtoes.Hetiltshismouthdowntomeetmine,andthesimplemovementcracksmychestinhalf.Isobagainsthislipsforamoment,threadingmyhandsintohishair.Hisarmswraparoundmyback,andIcanfeelhishandssearchingfortheendsofmyhairliketheyusedto,butmyhair’scutshortnow.Ipressmyselfagainsthim,anditallfitsagain.Hesmellslikesoilandroses,andI’msoshortwithoutheelsonthatIneedtoclimbhimlikeamonkey.Hismouthpartsagainstmine,andIcrymore.
Iwhisperintohisskin,“Iloveyou.Elliot,I…Ido.”
Heholdsmeforasecond,andI’mwaitingtohearhimsayitback.
Hisarmsslipfromaroundmyribs,andcarefully,heputsmebackastep.Hewon’tmeetmyeyewhenhesays,“Ican’t.Not…notagain.Ican’t.”
Headdown,hemovesawayfromme.Hedisappearsaroundthecorner,walkingdownthealley.Itrytofollowhim.Icallhisnameonce.Hedoesn’tturnback.
30AmaTWOYEARS,NINEMONTHS,ONEWEEK,ANDONEDAYAGO
NewYear’sEve
Myfeetcarrymeoffthedancefloorandawayfromhim.IhavetheurgetokeeprunninguntilI’minadifferentcountry,butIfindaclosetinanabandonedhallway—andthatwilldojustfine.
AcallisbeepinginmyBluetooth,andIknowit’shim.Iripitoutandstuffitinmypack.Oncethedoorisshutbehindme,Ileanback,inhalingthescentofbleachandcleaningproducts.
Marryme.
Hisvoiceisstillsoclearinmymind.IcanseehisdarkeyeswhenIclosemyown,staringatmelikeapaintinghewantstolookatfortherestofhislife.
Heruinedit.Withtwowords,he’ssetitonfire.
Pressingtheheelsofmyhandsintomyeyes,Ifocusontakingdeepbreaths.
Ormaybeitwasme.MaybeI’mtheproblem.Maybetherearenextstepsthatareobvioustoeveryonebutme.
What’sthenextstepthen,Ama?
WhatdidIexpect?IsupposeIexpectedustooutgroweachothersoon.Sixmonthsisalongtime.IsupposeIwaswaitingforittoend,likeallthingsdo.Buthe’srightaboutalot.Iwasplanningforthefuture.Iwasokaywithtanglinghimupinmylifeforever,notexpectinganending.
Mythroatistight,andmyfingernailsscratchatit.
Avoicefromoutsidetheclosetmakesmejump.“What’swrong?”
IrecognizeLauraGilbert’svoice,andIslapmyhandtomymouth.DoessheknowI’minhere?Ipressmyeartothedoor.
“IsawyoudancingwithAma,”Lauracontinues.“Youmakeafinecouple—”
“We’renot.”
Elliot.Ijerkbackfromthedoor.MyheartispoundingsoloudlythatIknowthey’llhearmesoon.Ididn’tseehimfollowmeoffthedancefloor,butnowhereheis.
“That’sfine,”Laurasays.“Youworktogetherafterall.”
Itsoundscold.Minimizing.It’sexactlywhatIsaidtohim.
Istareatthedoor,knowingElliotisontheothersideofit.Ipressmypalmtoit,halfwishingtoswingitopentobewithhim.
There’snothingforawhile.Ileanclose,waitingtoseeifthey’restillthere.
Astrangehum,arumble.It’sanechoofElliot’slaugh,onlyhollow.Hebreathesdeeply,andIheartheaircatchinhisthroat.
Sadnessrattlesoutofhim.Ifreeze,listeningtosomethingsoprivate,somethinghehasn’tgiventomeyet,despitethemanytimesI’vecriedinfrustrationtohim.
Hegaspsforair,andIallowmyselftodothesame.
Maybeitdoesn’thavetobethisway.Hesaidnothinghadtochange—itcouldbeunsaid.ButIwouldalwaysknowitinmyheart.IwouldalwaysknowthathecriedwhenItoldhimno.Thathefoundaquiethallwayandwept.
Hesniffs,andIhearhimcomposehimself.Heclearshisthroat,andhisheavyfootfallsmoveaway.
Myhandreachesforthedoorknobtogoafterhim—
Anditdrops.
Idon’tevenknowwhatIwouldsayifIwentafterhim.Idon’twantanythingtochange,andhedoes.Wouldn’twebeinthesameposition?
Mychestaches.Ifeellikethere’samuscleoverworkedbetweenmyribs,tuggingandrefusingtostretch.Iwipemyeyesandsneakoutofthecloset,crossingquicklytotheexitandoutintothestreet.
Igettomycar,andbeforeIcanoverthinkit,I’mdrivinghome,ditchingthewedding,ditchingthecleanup.I’llcomebackwhenit’sover,butforrightnow,Ineedtogetawayfromhim.
Iturnontomystreet,andmycarslows.DoIreallyneedtogetaway?Isecond-guesseverythingfromthelastthirtyminutes.Whatwouldhavechanged?Yes,thingscouldend;yes,itmaybeaterribledecision—butisitanydifferentfromrightnow?
IfI’mopposedtomarriage,doesthatmeanI’malsoopposedtobeingtogetherforaslongaswebothshalllive?ForeverwithElliotfeelsdifferentfromanyotherkindofforeverI’vethoughtof.Itfeelssoftandinviting.ItfeelslikewarmbathsandSundaymorningsandflowerswithperfect-shapedpetals.ButIstilldon’twanttobindustogetherbasedonthesefeelings—changeableanderraticfeelings.
IcouldaskhimifIcouldhaveforeverwithoutawhitedressandapieceofpaper.
Mycarstops,andjustasI’mturningthewheeltoflipitaroundandrunback,Iseemymother’scarparkedinfrontofmyhouse.Curious,Ipullforwardandparkbehindher.ShewavesandgetsoutofhercarasIdothesame.
“Mom?What’swrong?”
Shesmiles,andthere’ssomethingmissing.“BobandI…”Shakingherhead,sheknowsshedoesn’tneedtosaymore.
“Why?”Iask,suddenlyneedingtoknow.I’veneveraskedinthepast,butI’mdesperatetohearhertellmewhatendsarelationship.
Sheshrugs.“We’regoingdifferentdirections.Andit’seasiertogetaheadofitbeforeitgoestoofar.”
IthinkofthedirectionElliotisgoing,andthewayIwanttobeparalleltoit.ThespaceIwantedtocarveoutformyselfinhislife,inhiswork,inhisshop.Howallofitisgonenow.Inod,pretendingtounderstand.“Andwhatdoesthatmean?”
“Well,BobwantedtostarthousehuntingoutsideofCalifornia.Ididn’t,”shesays.“There’snoneedforoneofustosacrificewhatwewantnow,whenitwillalljustcomeapartoneday.”
Sacrifice.EitherwegobackhowitwasandElliotsacrifices,orwegetmarriedandIdo.
“Whenthingsend,”Iask,“isityouwhoendsthem?Orthem?”
“Hm…Itdepends.Today,itwasme.”Shegrabsherovernightbagoutofthecar.“Whydoyouask?”
Istandinthemiddleofthestreet,mykeysstilltightinmyhand.Iignoreherquestionandsay,“Doyouthinkanyofthemwilleverbetheone?Thefinalone?”
Shetiltsherheadatme.“Maybe.ButIdon’tthinkso.”Heavingherbagontohershoulder,sheconsidersforamoment.“There’snoperfectsomeoneforeveryone.There’sjustpromisesandweddings.Onecanbebroken.Theother—”
“Isjustaparty,”Ifinishforher.Shesmilesatme.
Sheshutsthecardoor,andIwatchherwalkuptomyporch.Istaredownatmykeys.
IcouldmakeapromisetoElliotthatwillonlygetbroken.ButwhywouldIputhimthroughthat?Whyagreetomarriageorevenjustgoingbacktowhatwehad,whenIknownowthatitwillend?Itwill,becausehewantssomethingIdon’tbelievein.
Thewindpushesthroughmyhair,twistingitaroundmyface.Whybegin,whenitwillend?
Ipocketmycarkeysandfollowmymotheruptomydoor.ItextmyassistantsattheSutterClubthatIcan’tcomeback.
31AmaTHEDAYAFTERTHEWEDDING
OnSundaymorning,there’sanemailinmyinboxfromSacramentoMagazine,askingtodoafeaturepieceonmeandtheHazelReneewedding.Justunderit,TheKnot.comhasaskedforanexclusive.
It’salot,toseeitallcometrue.ThisisexactlywhatIwanted,onlyIthoughtI’dhavefullmobilityandthatmaybeI’dgettoseetheweddinginquestion,butregardless,I’monmyway.
IjustneverthoughtI’dbecurledupthenextmorning,wishingIhadn’tkissedElliotBloom—thatmyoneregretwouldbeElliot,again.
There’saknockonmydooratninea.m.,andIletMarinwithherboxofdonuts.She’schattyandexcitable,relivingallthewonderfulthingsfromyesterday.
“CanIhireyouon?”Iask,interruptingher.“Photographywillalwaysbeyourmainpurpose,butcanIgiveyouanassistantjob?”
Marshrugs.“Youknow,Ireallylikedyesterday,butIdon’tthinkit’smything.”Shesmilesatmeoverhercoffeecup.“ButJake,ontheotherhand…”
“Ugh.No.”Iclosemyeyes.
“Yes,Ama.He’sobsessedwiththiswholething.Thinkofyouwhenyouwereyoung.Didn’tyoudostupidshitinyourfirstyears?”
Awhitehandkerchiefflashesinmymind.Thestingofbruisedknuckles.“IknowIdid.”
“Givehimachancetogrowoutofhisjackrabbitanxietystage,”Marsays.“It’llbegoodforyoutohaveaneagerkidjustitchingtoruntoCVSforyou.”
Inod,chewingmychocolateold-fashioned.“So…WhatdidyoupromiseMichaeltogethimtocomehelpyesterday?”
“No,no,no.”Shesetshermugdown.“YouthinkIcameoverheretotellyoutohireJakeandcomplainaboutmyex?No.IwanttoknowwhatyouandElliotareupto.”
“Nothing,”Isay.“There’s…Hewasthereformeyesterdaybig-time.But…”Ihesitate,butthere’snouglypartofmethatMarhasn’tseen.“Ikissedhimandheran.”
Hereyeswidenbeforeshecancatchherself.Shepickshermugupagain.“Okay.Okay,that’s…Okay.”Shesips,tryingtokeepitin.“Sothat’sactuallywhatyoudid.Essentially.”
“No.No,heproposedlasttime.”
“Andwhatdidthatkissmeanifnotaproposal,Ama?”
Mychesttightens.Itremindsmeofhismother’swedding,whenheaskedwhereIthoughtwewereheadedifnotmarriage.
“Because,”Marcontinues,“Iknowyoudidn’tkisshimjusttohookupagain.AndIknowyou’resmartenoughtoknowhe’snotgoingtowanttojustpickbackup—”
“AmI?”Idropmyheadinmyhands.“AmIsmartenough?Ifeelvery…unsmart.”
MarissilentuntilIfeelIcanlookatheragain.Sheletsmejustchewonmylipandthinkforabituntilshesays,“Whatdoyouwant?Iftherewerenoconsequencestoyouractions,whatwouldyouwant?”
“Tobewithhim,”Isaysoftly.Isniffbackthetearsthatspring.
“Forhowlong?”
Ipressmylipstogether.Ilookupather.
IpullintotheBloomingparkinglotatninethirty.TheyopenattenonSundays,butIcan’twaitforthis.Idroveoverwithmyleftfootonthepedalsincemyrightisinaboot.Ihaven’tshowered.I’mnotevensureIbrushedmyteeth.
Icrutchmywayovertothefrontdoor,andafterIpeerintoseeifit’sdark,Ihobbleovertotheparkinglot.Histruckishere.Ipoundonhissidedoortotheshowroom.
Whenthemetaldoorswingsopen,Ilosemybreathatthesightofhim.He’sinoneofmyfavoriteHenleysandthetightjeansthatIcanbarelyfitmyhandinto.Heblinksdownatmebeforeopeningthedoorwidetoletmein.Isqueezepasthim,mycrutchesclickingonthefloorinthesilence.
“What’stheoccasion?”hesays,frowningdownattheboot.
OnceI’veleanedthecrutchesonthewall,Iturntohim.“Imadeamistake.”
Hislipspresstogether.“Wecanforgetaboutthekiss.”
“Notlastnight.Kissingyouwasverypurposeful,”Isay.“Afewyearsago.”
Hiseyesdartbetweenminebeforehecrosseshisarmsandwaitsformetocontinue.
“IkissedyoubecauseImissyou.BecauseIstillwantyou.”Myheartpounds,andIwatchhimswallowbutremainstill.“BecauseIshouldn’thaveleftyourmother’swedding,andIshouldn’thavegivenyouthegiftoftheFrankliniaandthenmadeyoufeellikeweweren’tevenclosetotalkingaboutforever.Becausewewere.Wewereforever.Ijustdidn’twantamarriage.”
Hestaresdownattheworkbench—theoldweatheredonethatfeelslikehiminthisstudioofbrightfluorescentsandwhitewalls.
“Youtoldme,andIdidn’thearit,”hesays.“Itwasmyfault.”
“Itwasn’t.”Istepforwardonmygoodleg,andhereachesoutquicklytosteadyme.Hewrapshisfingersundermyelbow,andIplacemyhandoverthem.“Iwasn’tready.Youweremyfirstrelationship,andI’vegrownupknowingthatyoudon’tonlygetone.But…Ionlywantone.”
Heslipshishandfrommyskin,andbeforehecanrun—beforehecansayanything—Ituckmybadlegbehindme,andIkneelontomyrightknee.Ilookupathimfromthefloorofthebackroomwhereweusedtomakelove,fromtheplaceIfirstfellinlovewithnotonlyhisworkbuthim,andIsay,“Ionlywantyou.AndI’mreadynow.”
Ican’treadhisface.Myeyesarepricking,andhe’sgettingblurry.SoIclarify,repeatinghiswords.“Marryme.”32ElliotNOW
It’sbeentwoyears,ninemonths,oneweek,andthreedayssincewe’vebeeninthisbackroomalonetogetherlikethis,andallthememoriesfloodedinwithherwhenshecrossedthethreshold.Istareather,ononeknee,onefootinawalkingboot,andhereyeshopeful.
Icanstillfeelthepressofhermouthagainstminefromlastnight.Thewaysheclungtome.Icouldn’tsleeplastnightwiththeghostofithangingontome.
Marryme.
Iclearmythroattokeepfromchokingontheanswer,andIstepbackward.Iseeherfacefall.
“That’snot…That’snotnecessary,”Irespond.Itfeelsdullandstupidonmylips.
Shestaysthere,ononeknee.Waitingforme.Itburnsaholeinmychesttoseeherconfidencedrainlikethis,butIcan’tdothis.Ican’tallowhertochangeeverythingshewantsafterjustonekiss.That’swhatwedidlasttime.Andlookwhereitgotus.
Amalovesbiggestures.It’stheweddingplannerinher.IthinkoftheemailabouttheFrankliniatree—howshejustwantedtogivemesomething,andinreturnItooktoomuch.There’sapieceofmychestthat’sfightingtoslotbackintoplace,hearingthatshestillwantsmeandhoping.ButAmadoesn’twanttogetmarried.
She’sstillontheground,soIkneeldownandgripherelbowstohelpherstand.Butshestopsmeandkeepsmeonthegroundwithher.
“Notnecessary,”sherepeats.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Hereyesarewet.Icansmellherhairfromthisclose.
“It’snot—”Ishakemyhead,gazingataplacebeyondherear.“Youdon’tneedtodoallthis.”
Ifeelherfingerspushintomyshoulders.Hereyesarewideandalmostscared.“IheardyoutalkingtoJackie.Youtriedtomute,butyoudidn’t.”
FuckingBluetooth.MymindhurriestorememberallIsaid.Thingsaboutnoteverfallingoutoflove,aboutneedingtofeelusefultoher,andtallyingthedays…Wakingupinthemorningandcountingeverymomentbackward.Threeyears,fourmonths,twoweeks,andtwodayssinceourfirstkiss.Threeyears,twomonths,andtwodayssinceIfirstsleptover.Twoyears,ninemonths,oneweek,andonedaysinceImadeahugemistake.
Ilookintohereyes,prayingshedoesn’tknowwhatImeant.Suddenly,shelooksawayfromme.
“Right,”shesays.“Itwas—itwassomeoneelse.Sorry.I’m—Igotconfused,butwecanforgetthis.”
I’mstilltryingtomentallycatchuptoherwhenshestartstopushtoherfeet.Ihelpherup,readytomakesuresheunderstands.“Ama—”
“Canweworktogetheragain?”shesaysquickly.“I—Igetnowthatwewon’tbetogether,butthewedding…Theworkwedoistooamazing,Elliot,andIdon’tthinkIcanloseitagain—”
Apuffofairburstsoutofme.Irunahandthroughmyhairandtrynottolaughather.“You’reneverdoneworking.You…”Ismileandshakemyhead.“Youjustproposedtome,andpivotedsoquicklytobusiness.”
Iwatchhertrytofigureoutifthat’sagoodthingorabadthingandcan’thelpthefeelingthatwe’reinchingclosertoit—tothemoment.Sheneedsmeagain.Shewantsmeagain.AndI’veneverstoppedlovingher.
Iwanttosayit,butthelasttimeIdid,itwasforme,notforher.
Shelooksaway,andIwatchherfingersrunabsentlyovertheindentsofmyinitialscarvedintotheworktable.Shetapsthem.
“Youknow,thistabledoesn’tgowithanythingnow,”shesayssoftly.“Youshouldupgrade.”
“Icouldn’tgetridofit.”Memoriesrise—herspreadoverthetable,rosepetalsstickingtoherskinasshetuggedmyhairtogetmeclosertoher.Threeyears,twomonths,andfivedaysago.
Hereyesmeetmine,andIknowshe’srememberingthesame.Idon’tlookaway,tryingtoshowherthatIkeptitforthememoriesofher.ThatIcouldnevergetridofapieceofher.
“WhowereyoutalkingabouttoJackie?”sheasks,whispering.Hergazeflickersovermyface.
Istepforwardandreachouttobrushmyfingersoverherjaw.Sheleansintome.
“SomeoneImetfiveyears,fourmonths,threeweeks,andfivedaysago.”
Asobbreaksfromherchest.Shebringsherhanduptocoverhermouth,butIgrabherwristandpullhercloser,draggingherfacetomine.
Thistimewhenwekiss,itdoesn’tfeellikegoodbye,oramistake,orsomethingtooverthinkinthemorning.It’sjust…starting.33AmaNOW
Thistimewhenwekiss,Ifocusonthetasteofhim.Thewayhethreadshisfingersthroughmyshorterhair,asifhelearnedhislessonyesterdayaboutreachingupmybackforthetendrilsthataren’tthereanymore.Thewayhisarmwrapsaroundmywaistandlifts,tryingtokeepmyweightoffmyfootforme.
Iopenmymouthtohim,andIfeellikeamillionquestionswillpourout.Heclutchesmecloser,andthenspinsusanddropsmeontotheoldworktable.Hishandsrunupmythighs,andhepuffsoutalaugh.“Theonedayyou’veeverwornjeans,andwecan’teventakethemoff.”
Ilookdownatthemassiveblackbootoverthetopofmyrightjeansleg.Ismileupathim.“Andyou?Didyouwearthesejeanstodayforanyparticularreason?”Ireachforwardandrubmyhandoverthefrontofhim.
“Ididn’texpectyou,”hesays.
“Didn’tyou?”Ikisshim,pressingmychestintohisandreachingforwardforhisHenley.Irollituphisstomachandwhisper,“Letmeseethenewone.”
Myhandtravelsuptowardhisleftpec,whereI’dseentheinkcreepingtowardhiscollar.Hefreezesandstuttersout,“I—Idon’t…”
“Ihavetoseeit.Please.Whatisit?”
IpushthesweaterupandrevealaRedPearl.Anamaryllis.Itspetalsbloomout,coveringhisheart.Thestemvinesuptohisshoulder.Ican’tbreathe.
“Amaryllis?”Iask.“Butit’snotextinct.”
Herunsahandthroughhishair,andIcantellthatIwasneversupposedtofindoutaboutthis.
“It’s…Itwasneveraboutextinction.Thetattoos…”Heblowsouthisair.“They’reonesthatI—thatIcan’thave.Onesthatcan’tbeusedinarrangements,can’tbekeptintheshop.”Helooksuptome.“OnesthatarelikelytodisappearbeforeIcanlovethem.”
Itakeashudderingbreath.MyfingerstracetheedgesoftheRedPearlpetals.Ilowermyfaceandkisstheink,likeIusedto.Hisstomachtightens,likeitusedto.
“You’reasap,ElliotBloom,”Iwhisperintohisskin.
Alaughbubblesfromhischest.“Yeah.Yeah,Iam.”Hepushesmyhairoutofmyeyes.“I’mnotgoingtomarryyou.”
Iblinkathimandswallow.“Okay.”
“I’mgonnadatetheshitouttayou,though.”
Bitingbackmysmile,Ilookupathimthroughmylashes,justlikehe“hates.”Heleansintokissmeagain,droppinghishandsonmyknees.
There’salotthatgoesonwhenElliotBloomkisses.Thingshe’snotevenawareof.ThingsI’llnevertellhim.Hemoansinthebackofhisthroat—alot.It’scompletelyintoxicating.Also,hetugsmybodyascloseasphysicallypossibletohim,anditdrivesmeinsane.Hekisseslikesomeonewhodidn’tkissalot,andalthoughwe’vefoundarhythmtogetherbynow,itstillshocksmewhenhefumblesorwhenhelosesconcentrationasIunziphim.Likenow.
Elliotlooksdownatmyhands,asifhemightstopme,butmyfavoritethingintheentireworldisputtingmyhanddownhisjeans.Hisbreathcatches,hiseyeshaze,andhelookslikehecan’tbelieveIwanttotouchhim.AndIgettofeelhimlengtheninmypalm,hardenandswell.
“Ama,”hemurmurs,andIkisshimagain.
Hishandstugatthebottomofmyshirt,andonceit’soff,hismouthlatchesontomyneck.MyskintingleswhenIrememberthebruiseshelikestosuckintomyskin,thewayI’dhavetocoverthem,andthereactionhehadtofindingtheonesIdidn’tcover.
Asuddenthoughthitsme,andIhavetotellhim—
“Elliot,”Isay,pushinghimback.“Iwasn’twithanyonethisyear.You—youtoldJackieIhadsomeoneover,butI…”Iswallow.“IthinkyouheardMaronthephoneonemorning.”
Iwatchhisjawworkashisgazeflashesbetweenbothofmyeyes.“Okay,”hesays,almostdistrusting.“It’sokay,though,ifyouwere—”
“Iwasn’t.Icouldn’t—Iwasn’tableto.”IglancedownathisamaryllistattoosoIdon’thavetolookathim.“Itriedafewtimes,butitdidn’tgowell,so…”Itakeadeepbreath.“Andyouwereseeingsomeone?Kate?Wasitserious?Imean—god,sorry.Youdon’thaveto—”
“No,itwasn’tserious.”
Ilookupathim.Hiseyesareblack.
“Ihaven’tbeenwithanyonesinceyou.”
I’monthevergeofburstingintotearswhenhewrapshisfingersundermykneesandtugsuntilI’monmybackontheworktable.He’squicktounbuttonmyjeans,shuckingthemdownmylegs.I’moutofbreath,completelyflooredbymyownemotions.Heripsoffmyoneshoe,pullsmyjeansoffoneleg,andplacesahandonmystomachtoholdmedownashisfulllipsdropoverthelacecoveringmycenter.
Igasp,slappingahandtomymouth.“Ell—”
Hisfingerstugthelacetothesideandthenhistongueisonmeagain.Andjustlikeitdidyearsago,mybrainleavesmybody.I’mhardlyawareofmyjeansdanglingfromoneleg.Ican’tevenkeepmyeyesopenashismouthmovesoverme,kissingandlickingandsucking.
“Imissyou,”Imuttertotheceiling.
“I’mrighthere.”Thevibrationofhisvoicecurlsmykneestomychest,andhequicklypressesmythighsopen,spreadingmewideforhim.Istartheavingforairashistonguedipsinsideofme—andthemoaningstartsfromhisthroat.
I’venevercomeasquicklywithanyoneasIhavewithhim.It’snotjustthesizeofhim;it’smomentslikethiswhenhetakeshistime,drivingmecrazyuntilIpoplikeacork.
Islapmyhandsdownonthesidesoftheworkbench.“Didyouthinkaboutthiswhenyouworkedonthistable?”
Hisanswerisquick.“Everytime.”
Mythighsshake.I’mcrestingtheridgethathealwaysrocketsmetoward.
“Itwastheworstprofessionaldecisionofmylife,”hesays,“tokeepthetable.”
Ilaugh,andthenhislipscloseovermyclitandIscream.Icanhearmyselfcursing,mumblingnonsensewordsaboutloveandforever,suckingairbackintomybody.
Hedoesn’tstop.Hepushestwofingersinsideofme,andIquakewithit.Hislipsaresuckingatme,hisfingerspumpingintome,andIbreakapartagain,shakingandsobbing.Ican’tkeepmyhipsstill,fuckinghismouthandrollingagainsthisface.
Whenhepullsbackandquicklypushesdownhisjeans,hesays,“I’mgonnacome.I—Ican’t—”
“Inside.Insideplease.”
Mythighsarestillshakingwhenhetugsmetotheedgeofthetable,lineshimselfup,andpushesin.Hegroansfromhischest,andIcan’tbelievehowwrongIgothissize.Itriedtoystomatchhim,andIwaswrong.MyeyesrollbackinmyheadandI’mcomingagain.Ican’tfocusonanythingbutthepleasurericochetinginsideofme,thesoundofhishipsslappingagainstmyskin.
Ihearhimyellout,andIknowfromexperiencethathe’scoming.Butmyknucklesarebetweenmyteethtokeepmyselfgrounded,tokeepfromscreamingagain.
Hegrabsmywristandtearsmyfingersfrommyteeth,thrustingonce,twicemore,andIletlooseacrythatwouldembarrassmeifIhadabrainanymore.
Whenwe’repantingagainsteachother,heleansdown,movesthefabricofmybratotheside,andlayskissesonmybreasts.Likeanafterthought.Likeheforgotto,andheneedstomakeituptothem.Myskinhums.
“Iloveyou,”Iwhisper.
Hisdarkeyesflickuptome.“That’sthesecondtimeyou’vesaidthattome.”
HeatfillsmycheeksasIrealizehehasn’tsaiditback.Notsincehismother’swedding.“Oh.Icanstopifyou—”
“I’mjustsomadthatyouthoughtyoucouldwalkinhere,propose,andtellmeyouloveme.”Hesmiles,hisnosebrushingagainstmycheek.
“Thingsdon’treallychange,dothey?”Isay.“I’vealwaysdonewhateverIwantedinthisbackroom.”
Hebrushesmyhairovermyear.“That’swhyIloveyou.”
34AmaSIXMONTHSLATER
Inthemornings,IwakeupineitherElliot’sbedormine,buthisarmsarearoundmejustthesame.Iturninhisembraceandrunmyfingersoverhiseyebrowsuntilhewakesup.Whenhislashesflutteropen,Isay,“Willyoumarryme?”
Heshakeshishead.Ormumblesano.Orturnsoverandtellsmetofuckoff.
AndIsay,“Whenthen?”
“Maybetomorrow,”healwayssays.
IliketogatherupLadyCat-ryninmyarmsonElliot’sgrumpydaysanddropherfromaheightovermyheadontohisstomach.
Iusedtobeabletowandertomylaptopsomewherebetweeneightandteninthemorningandstartmydaywhenever.That’snotpossibleanymore.TheTLCspecialairedthreemonthsago.I’mnowbookedouttwoyearsinadvance,andayearfromnow,whenJakehashadenoughtraining,I’mstartingdouble-weddingSaturdays.Sonow,ElliotandIheadintoBloomingateighta.m.everymorningandgettowork.
Andit’snotjustthatHazelandJackie’sweddingwashighlightedperfectlyonFabulousDreamWeddings,puttingmeinthespot-light.It’sthatnomatterhowhardherlawyersfought,Whitneycouldn’tgetBeatodropherfromtheepisode.Heroutburstwastelevisedtothenation,includingcallingmeaslutandbitch.Andifthatdidn’truinherreputation,thehorsememedid.
Whitneyalmostgettingrunoverbythathorseisnowanationaltreasure.Thewayshejumpedback,screamed,andrecoveredallinonetakehasgoneviral.I’veseenseveraldifferentcaptionsforit.
Whenyougetyourtabatthebar
Megoinginto2024like
Whenshesaysshewantstoseeyourpornfolder
Horsegirlsencounteringrealhorses
Igotmeme’dtoo.Itdidn’tsticklikeWhitney’s,butWhitney,comeon.BeaprofessionalmadetheroundsonTwitterasaclapbackforawhile.Andthedaytheepisodeaired,HazelReneetweeted“BecauseI’mcoming”andnothingelse.ItwaswhatIsaidtoWhitneywhenItoldhersheshouldfearme.
Twoweekslater,ElliotreplacedtheBloomingrosewallintheshowroomwithBecauseI’mcomingspelledoutinwhiterosesagainstapinkrosebackground.Hedidn’tsayanythingaboutit,justcontinuedonwithhisday.They’resilkflowers,sonow,allfuturecoupleswhomeetmeforthefirsttimeatmyofficeinBloominggettoseemycatchphrase.
Iclearedaspaceformyselfintheshowroom.It’sasimpledeskwithmylaptopandmyRolodex,nexttoaportionofJackieandHazel’sdancefloorhangingonthewalllikeawindow—wedriedtheflowerssothatitwouldbeapermanentreminderofthatday.MylittleofficeislikeaStarbucksinthemiddleofadepartmentstore.
“Junefourteenthisagreatdate,”Isaytothecouplesittinginthechairsinfrontofme.“I’llbeabletoaddyoutothecalendarnow.”
“Wonderful!”thewomansays—Beth.Shesitsbackinherchair,asifallherproblemsarenowover.Andtheymightbe.“I’msogladwecouldnailyoudown.”
“Andremember,”Isay,“ifJuneofnextyearistoofar,youcanalwaysgowithadifferentplannerwhohasavailabilitythisyear—”
“No,no,”thegroomsays.Hewaveshishand.“She’sreallyadamantaboutyou.”
Bethnodsvigorously.Ismile.“Okay!Soundsgood.”
“Doyouthink…”Bethleansin.“DoyouthinkwecoulddoafoundspacelikeHazelRenee’s?”
“Absolutely.Wecantalkbudgetandwishlistatournextmeeting,butsendmethatPinterestboardthatIknowyou’vebeenbuilding,andwe’llgetstarted!”
Elliotcomesintotheshowroomthen,cleaninghishandswitharag.“Ihaveaninstallationatthehighschooldancetogetto,butI’llbebackinanhour.”
Inodandstandfrommychair.“Willyoupickuponthewayback?”Iask,andherollshiseyes.“Please?YouknowJakeisinclassrightnow.”
“Chocolateold-fashionedandamaplebar?”
Ibeamathimandpressuponmytoestokisshimgoodbye.WhenIturnbacktoBethandRobbie,Isay,“YouareundernoobligationtocontractBloomingforflowers,bytheway.I’llgooverallyourvendoroptionsatthenextmeeting.”
“That’scool,though,”Robbiesaysoffhandedly.“Thatyouguysarelikeateam.IthinkIlikethat.”
Bethleansintome.“IsawfromHazelRenee’sTwitterthatsheandherwifesetyoutwoup!Thatisthemostamazingstory!”
Ismile.“Itis.HazelandJackiewereexcellentmatchmakers.”IsendElliotawink,andhegrumbles.
HeloadsupthetruckwiththerosewallSt.Joseph’sorderedfortheirphotobackground,andRobbiewon’ttakenoforananswerwhenheofferstohelpElliotliftitintothetruckbed.
Bethturnstome.“Itmustbesohardtoplanothercouples’happily-ever-afterswithyourownboyfriend.Whenareyoutwogettingmarried?”
Ismileather,foldingmyhandsundermychin.“Ikeepaskinghimthesamething.”
“Ah,noncommittaltype?”sheprieswithagrin.
“Somethinglikethat,”Isay.“So.Tellmeaboutyourproposalstory.They’remyfavorite.”
AsBethtellsmeeverythingIneedtoknowtomakeherweddingtheperfectday,Irealizeit’saprettygoodone.They’llprobablylast.
Iloveagoodproposalstory,butmyfavoriteoneI’veheard?Well,I’llletyouknowwhenhesaysyes.DON’TMISSJULIE’SNEXTBOOK,COMINGSOONIN2024!AUTHOR’SNOTE
WhenIwasgrowingup,itwasatruthuniversallyacknowledgedthatSacramentowasaplacetoleave—atleastinmyexperience.ThetheaterwasinNewYork.ThebeacheswereinLA.TheculturewastwohourswestinSanFrancisco.AndwhatevenwasCSUSacramento?IgrewupsurroundedbypeoplewhoagreedthatSacramentoisagreatplacetoraiseafamily,butifyou’regoingtobeanartist—getout.AndIdid.ButlikemostHallmarklovestorieswhereacitygirlmustreturnhomefromNewYorkandlearntoloveherhometownrootswiththehelpofaroughandruggedcarpenterormechanicorboatswain,IcamehometoSacramento.Andthatboatswain,forme,wasForgetMeNot
SettingthisbookinSacramentodidn’tseemlikeahugedealtomeuntilIwasaquarterintowritingit.Suddenly,everythingwasveryspecific,andtherewasnowaytogetthebookoutofSacramento.ItwasincrediblyeasytoknowwhereAmaboughtherdonuts,whereElliottakesherforadate,whichhighschoolAmawentto,andwhatotherpeoplethinkofthat.Somethingswereinstinctual,likethepreciselocationofElliot’sflowershop—it’stheshopwhereIpickeduppromcorsagesandboutonnieres,thoughnowclosed.Aboutseventy-fivepercentofthelocationsmentionedinthisbookarereal,andofthatremainingquarter,aboutfifteenpercentarelocationsthathaveeitherclosedtheirdoorsorwillbeaninsidejokewithSacramentans.Somenamesarecleverlyveiledtoprotectmytown,butifyouknow,youknow.
IgrewupdrivingpastweddingsintheMcKinleyParkRoseGarden,whereahugepartofthisbookisset.Iwasneveralittlegirlwhodreamedofherweddingday,butwhenIsatdownandtriedtofigureoutwhataperfectSacramentoweddingwouldlooklike,IfoundmyselfgravitatingtowardtheRoseGardenandMidtown.IsithowI’dliketodomyweddingoneday?Maybenot.ButIknowI’dliketohaveAmaasmyweddingplanner.
ItwasimportanttomethatAmahadn’tlefttownforcollegeorabigcareerandthenhadtocomebacktoSacramento,asifiittwasasecondchoice.That’ssomethingIalwaysregretaboutmyfirstseveralyearsbackinmyhometown—thatIfeltlikeI’dfailedthequesttogetoutofSacramento.ForAmainForgetMeNot,herdreamshadalwaysalignedwithwhereshelived.Shedidn’tneedtogolivethecitygirllifebeforecominghometofallinlove.Sheknewshecouldaccomplisheverythingshewantedfromtwoblockseastofwhereshegrewup.Andsure,Ithrewinaroughandruggedboatswainwhoownsaflowershop,butcanyoublameme?ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
OMGIT’SABOOK!Icannotbelieveyoupaidfor,checkedout,orpiratedmybook!Whatfun!
ImighthavetothankAliHazelwoodfirst.ThatmightbeinthecontractIsignedwithher.Sothankyou,Alison,forconvincingmetopull-to-publisha(completelydifferent)storywhilewewerebrowsingatoystore,liketheadultsweare.Withoutyourencouragement,guidance,andsupport,thesepeoplewouldneverhavebeenabletopiratemybook
GaiaBanks—myagent,mymotherearth—deservesallmyaffectionforlightinguplikeaChristmastreewhenItoldhermyideaforthisbook.Imustthankherchildforcomingintotheworldatexactlytherighttimesothatthisbookexistsinthewayitdoes.Thankyou,Gaia,forbelievinginme,andthankyouforstayingupwaypastofficehoursduringThatWeekduetothetimedifference.ThankyoutoeveryoneatSheilLandAssociates,includingMaddieandAlba.
Ahugethank-youtoeveryoneatForeverandHarperCollinsUKforbelievinginForgetMeNot,especiallymyINCREDIBLEeditorsJunessaViloriaandMarthaAshby,whobelievedinthisbookwhole-heartedly.Thankyouforpullingmebackfrommyquestionablejokesandremindingmethatnoteveryonelivesinmyhead,likeI’dalwaysassumed.Thankyoutothemarketingandpublicityteams,especiallyDanaCuadradoandQueenEstelle,foreverylittlebitofcreativityandpassionyouputintothis.AndthankyoutoBeth,Sabrina,Leah,Stacey,andDaniela,andanyoneIforgotatForeverandHarperCollinsUK,whichisprobablyalotbecauseIhaveliterallyspokentoonlythreeofyouatthetimeofwritingthis.ThankyoutoLoriPaximadis!ThankyoutomyGerman,Polish,andBrazilianeditors,MariaRunge,AlicjaOczko,andFriniGeorgakopoulos,fortakingachance!
ThankyoutoallthebridesI’vebridesmaidedfor—whichisalot.Whilenotyetat27Dresseslevel,myfutureisclear.
Inmuchofthisbook,I’msureIsoundlikeIdon’tknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,buttheseladiesdidtheirbesttohelpmeonallsortsofsubjects:CatDionisio,MichelleAdamsky,AngelicaWhaley,AshleyMortensen,andAdrianaDaftnéeZerioalldeservetheworld.(ButanythingIgotwrongisclearlytheirfault,thankyouverymuch.)
Theonlywaytosurvivepublishingorapandemicorpublishingduringapandemiciswithsupportivespaces.ThankyoutomybestiesinGremlins,MW,Krampus,WordsAreHard,andespeciallyClaire,Jen,Ali,andKateGoldbeckinTheEdgeChat,whowantedgoodthingsformeandthisbookwhenIcouldn’twishforthegoodthingsmyself.Thankyou,Lucy,foralwayshavingmybackandsettingmeupforsuccess.Thankyou,AnnaConathan,forbeingthebestcoacheverandforintroducingmetomyCreatorGoddess.AndtoMar,Cat,andAmanda—thankyouforbeingmycheerleaders,sidechatbitcas,existentialcrisiscounselors,firstbetareaders,andall-aroundbestfriends—fandomornofandom.
SpecialthankstoFran,notonlyforthenuggetthatbecamethisbook,butalsoforyourselflesscreativitythatleadssomanypeopletocreategoodstories(followherat@galacticidiotsonthebirdapp).ThankyoutoAbbyJimenezfortheearlyblurb!ThankyyoouuttooNikitaJobsonformyUScover!*hearteyes*Thankyyoouuforeverypieceofartyou’veeverbeenkindenoughtocreateformyfics.I’msohonoredtohaveyouasmycoverdesignerandgladyou’regettingtherecognitionyoudeserve.
ToeveryonewhoknowsmeasJulsorLovesBitca8,thankyou.Fanfictionisnotasteppingstonetotraditionalpublishing.It’sahomethatwillalwaysbeapartofme.ThankyoutotheRightsandWrongsmembersandthefriendsatRoR.Thankyoutoeveryonewholeftacommentorakudosorreachedouttotellmethatmyworkmatters.
ThankyoutoSacramento,forbeingtheplaceyoualwayswanttoleave,butcan’tseemtogetyourheartoutof.Aboutseventy-fivepercentoftheplacesinthisbookarereal.Irecommendvisitingthisterrible,wonderfulcity(justnotinthesummer)andgoingtotheMcKinleyParkRoseGarden.
ThankyoutoJenniferBorasi,RichardWeldon,andJoshuaMcKinneyforteachingmehowtowriteandhowtoenjoywords.Thankyoutomyfamily,especiallyGrandmaGlo,whosedirtymindandwickedhumorIinherited,andGrandmaMarion,ofwhomIhaveonememory—givingheraflower.Andfinallyandmostimportantly,thankyoutomyparentsforbelievinginmewhenIwantedtobeanactress,whenIwantedtobeamusicalwriter,andnow,asIhavebecomeanauthor.Thirdtime’sthecharm,maybe?Thankyoutomymotherforthetitleofthisbook,andthankyoutomyfatherforreadingmy*edited*version.AbouttheAuthor
JulieSotoisanauthor,playwright,andactressoriginallyfromSacramento,California.Sheisamusicaltheatregeek,fandomnerd,andtheauthorofmanyspicyfanfictions.
ForgetMeNotisherdebutnovel.
JulienowlivesinFortBragg,California,withherdog,Charlie.
@JulieSotoWrites
@juliesotowrites
/JulieSotoWrites
JulieSotoWrites
www.juliesotowrites.comAboutthePublisher
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