A Very Perry Wedding

by Marie Landry

  Up ahead, a booth boasting an array of colorful hats, boas, scarves and other items catches my eye. As we approach, my eyes home in on a black top hat adorned with fall foliage and tiny birds. After ditching my now-empty paper cup in a recycling bin, I pull Jasper to a stop with one hand while plucking the hat from the table with the other. Without a word, I plunk the hat on Jasper’s head, watching in amusement as his eyes grow wide.

  The guy running the booth leans across the table, grinning at Jasper as he says, “Suits you, mate.” He’s got a sexy Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time vibe with his British accent, thick eyeliner, and sweeping leather duster. He’s wearing a similar top hat to the one on Jasper’s head, except his has small woodland creatures instead of birds mixed with the foliage. He ducks out of sight and returns a second later holding a large mirror, which he aims at Jasper.

  I expect Jasper to take the hat off when he sees his reflection. I’m shocked he didn’t knock it off his head the minute it landed there. Instead, he smiles at the sight of himself and tilts the hat so it’s sitting at a jaunty angle. He nods to Captain Hook, who shoots him a wink and spins away to greet the kids who just approached the booth.

  Jasper scans the table and makes a small sound of triumph before plucking a crown of bright red and orange leaves from the pile. “Elizabeth might be too young to appreciate a flower crown—or a leaf crown, as it were—but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy this. It even matches your lovely auburn hair.” He places it on my head and, with gentle fingers, gets it settled in my hair. The soft smile he’s wearing when he steps back to admire it makes my cheeks tingle with heat.

  “We’ll take these two, please.” Jasper is still looking at me as he says this, so his words don’t make sense until a flash of color catches my eye and I realize the stall’s owner has returned. Jasper fishes out his wallet and hands the guy some money. I’m too stunned to protest over him paying for mine.

  Before we step away from the stall, I take out my phone and switch it to selfie mode so I can see my leaf crown. Jasper was right about it matching my hair; the way the sun hits it makes both my hair and the crown glow in shades of gold, brown, red, and orange. I wonder how Gwen would feel about me wearing this to her wedding because I never want to take it off.

  As we begin walking again, I give in to the impulse I had earlier and link my arm through Jasper’s. He gives me a brief raised-eyebrow glance before his gaze returns to the street ahead. A few people grin or chuckle when they see our headwear. I expect Jasper to be embarrassed and maybe even take the hat off, but he leaves it on, nodding to people as we pass. When he tips the hat in greeting to a little girl who has stopped to stare, I laugh under my breath, drawing his attention.

  “You’re having fun.” My words are a statement rather than a question.

  “You were right about me taking things too seriously,” he says. “So while it’s a bit of a foreign concept for me, yes, I am having fun. Thank you, Willow. I’m glad we were selected as teammates. It’s nice to have a friend—someone who’s not related to me or about to be, like Gwen. I know you and I were paired together, so it wasn’t your choice per se…”

  “Just to make things clear, Jasper, being friends with you is a choice. One that goes beyond Gwen’s random pair generator, and one I’m making willingly, knowingly, and happily.” I give his arm a squeeze and he pats my hand. His touch lingers for a moment before he drops his hand back to his side.

  Friends. Jasper and I are friends. I repeat this to myself as we carry on, arm in arm, down Front Street.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Black pants that show off all the bootylicious stuff I’ve got going on? Or red skirt that hits mid-thigh, paired with funky tights?”

  Marisol stands in front of me wearing nothing but a sheer pink camisole and underwear—thankfully a pair of bikinis so I don’t get an eyeful of her ‘bootylicious stuff’. She holds black trousers in one hand and a red skirt in the other, shifting them up and down as if she’s literally weighing her options.

  “I need more details,” I tell her, setting down my pen to give her my full attention. It’s the first Saturday in October and, after working most of the day, I’m now camped out on my living room floor with papers, notebooks, and pens scattered around me. I had planned to stay at the café a while longer until Marisol convinced me it was time to give Cami and Naveed more responsibility and let them handle the evening shift and closing, with us available by phone if needed.

  It’s not like I’m present at Cravings twenty-four-seven, but since we opened nearly four months ago, one or both of us have been there for opening and closing. I wonder if this is how mothers feel when they leave their babies with a baby-sitter for the first time.

  “We’re seeing a show at the playhouse and then having a late dinner,” Marisol says.

  “Okay, so which of those is most comfortable to sit in for a few hours?”

  She eyes the pants and skirt with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Neither,” she says after a minute. “I think I’ll wear a dress instead. That way there’s no waistband pressing into me for hours. This is why I come to you for help!” With a cheeky air kiss in my direction, she whirls around and disappears into my bedroom.

  “Glad I could be of assistance,” I say, even though she can’t hear me. Marisol has way more fashion sense—and confidence—than I do, and yet for some reason she’s always come to me for advice. I’ve always longed for a friend I could share clothes with, but despite the fact we’re both thick through the butt and hips, my thickness is spread out over the rest of me too.

  Smiling to myself at the sound of Marisol’s quiet singing from my bedroom, I pick up my phone. No new texts, no missed calls. I promised Marisol I wouldn’t phone or message Naveed or Cami to check in. Thankfully, Cami understands my desire to be what she calls hands-on—and what I call anxiety-riddled—and she assured me she’d update me throughout the evening and let me know when she had locked up and headed for home.

  There’s no use returning to my work plans until Marisol leaves for her date, so I open the photo gallery on my phone and swipe through some of the pics from last weekend’s Fall Festival. Jasper was in charge of taking photographic evidence for the scavenger hunt—which we won—but that didn’t stop me from snapping shots of the beautiful early-autumn day, some of the food we ate, and our friends.

  My favorite shot is one Gwen took of Jasper and me after our winning dinner at Luigi’s. With the eight of us crammed around a table, Jasper and I brushed shoulders and knocked hands throughout dinner. When Gwen went to take the picture, I instinctively leaned closer to Jasper. In the picture, we’re still wearing our Fall Festival hats, and my smile looks borderline giddy, likely because Jasper had just surprised me by shifting even closer and sliding his arm across my back. The best part of the picture, though? Jasper is actually smiling. It’s small, but it’s enough to light his eyes and make tiny crinkles form in the skin around them.

  When Gwen sent the picture to me later that night, her accompanying text said, ‘You two look like a couple’ with a bunch of heart-eye emojis.

  “How’s this?” Marisol asks, emerging from my room wearing a form-fitting burgundy sweater dress with a loose belt that accentuates her waist.

  “Gorgeous.” I make a spinning motion with my finger. She obliges, turning in a slow circle and then striking several exaggerated poses that make me laugh. “Who are you going out with anyway? Diana?”

  Marisol waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, we stopped seeing each other a few weeks ago. She wanted to get serious, but I wasn’t feeling it. Tonight’s date is with Ted, that cute ginger guy who comes into the café every few days. He kept dancing around asking me out, so I finally asked him last week.”

  “Good for you. I’m sure you guys will have a great time.”

  Not only do I wish I had Marisol’s confidence, I also wish I could be as laissez-faire as she is about dating and love. Marisol has a strong belief love will find her at the right time and until
then she wants to have fun. She dates a lot, doesn’t get attached, doesn’t seem afraid of getting hurt. There are times when I’m envious of her attitude and other times when I feel sad for her that she’s never experienced anything deeper than dating or short relationships, especially since I know she has so much love to give. To each their own, though. At least she’s not afraid to take chances, and she doesn’t let her own history affect her life the way I do.

  Marisol eyes the array of notebooks and colored pens spread out on the floor in front of me. “You’re missing the point of a night off by continuing to work, you know.”

  “This doesn’t count,” I say, waving a hand toward the closest open notebook. “I enjoy coming up with plans and dreaming up unique ideas for the café, and I haven’t had much time to do any of this lately. If it makes you feel any better, I promise to spend the latter part of the evening vegging in front of the TV.”

  She gives me an indulgent smile. “Okay.” She inhales deeply, her gaze trained on me with an inscrutable look. As she blows out the breath, she steps over my mess and perches on the edge of the couch, patting the seat next to her.

  I lift myself from the floor onto the couch, wariness tickling my senses as I shift to face her. “What’s up? Don’t you have to leave soon to meet Ted?”

  She waves me off and takes one of my hands in both of hers, setting them on her lap. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Yes…” I say slowly.

  “Because I do. So just know I’m saying this from a place of love.” When she pauses to take another deep breath, my wariness turns to full-blown anxiety, causing my whole body to go cold and then tingle with prickly warmth. I’m not sure what my face is doing because I can’t currently feel it, but Marisol’s eyes go wide. She releases my hand and scoots closer, throwing her arms around me. “I didn’t mean to freak you out! It’s nothing bad, I promise. I should know better than to start a conversation like that.”

  “Yes, you should,” I say through shaky laughter.

  She sits back and picks up my hand again, raising it to her lips and kissing my knuckles. “Okay, let me try that again. I know Cravings is your passion project. It’s mine too and I couldn’t be happier or prouder of everything we’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. Most people don’t even stay friends past high school, let alone live out the seemingly impossible dreams they cooked up together as kids.”

  “It is pretty amazing.” My voice is still quivery even though my skin has stopped tingling. My anxious brain went straight to thoughts of Marisol telling me she wasn’t content with our arrangement or I was doing something wrong or any other number of dire scenarios.

  “We both know the first year is make-or-break-it time, and new business owners usually have to work like mad to keep things afloat and keep track of all the moving pieces,” she says. “But I think we can agree we’re doing better than expected. It helps that there are two of us and we each have our own strengths.”

  “Right.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

  “I’m not saying we drop our guard or start planning extravagant vacations or anything just yet, but I think we can afford to loosen the reins a little bit. Take a step or two back and enjoy the fruits of our labor. Do you agree?”

  “Honestly?” I ask and she gives an enthusiastic nod. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She stares at me for a minute and then bursts out laughing. “Wow, okay, I suck at this.” Her hand squeezes mine before she drops it and flops back on the couch. She sits up again immediately and pats her hair, smoothing the luxurious waves. “I think we need to hire more people at the café. Business is picking up and it’s only going to get busier with the holidays coming. I know the idea freaks you out because you’re worried we can’t afford it and you also hate giving up control, so I suggest we hire a couple of people on a trial basis for the rest of October through December. If I’m right and this works out, I guarantee by January you’ll see we can keep our new employees and maybe even hire more.”

  It takes me a moment to process everything she said. While I excel at the creative aspect of the business—fresh ideas for food and drinks, social media, ways to bring in customers—Marisol’s area of expertise is the actual business side, so I trust she knows what she’s talking about. Even if she’s right about it scaring me.

  Before I can speak, she says, “You have to stop being afraid of success, Will. Allow good things to happen. You deserve to have good things happen. Stop pushing it away because you think things ‘should be’ a certain way. I know money has been tight and you’ve been struggling, but I also know your mom has offered to help and you won’t let her do more than little things here and there. Well, my abuela has offered me some money. I’m going to accept it and put a chunk of it into the business.”

  She says all of this quickly and emphatically. When she pauses to suck in a deep breath, all I can do is blink at her. I guess I haven’t been doing as good a job at hiding my money issues as I thought. I also have a sneaking suspicion Marisol and my mother have been talking without my knowledge, considering she knows Mom has offered to help.

  “We’ve both been eating, sleeping, and breathing the business,” Marisol says. “I know that’s common for people who are just starting out, but it doesn’t have to be that way for us. We can have lives outside the café.”

  “You’re right,” I say faintly.

  Marisol opens her mouth and then shuts it again quickly. She clearly expected me to argue and was geared up with her rebuttal. “Come again?”

  “You’re right.” I poke her in the arm and she grabs my hand and holds it once more, laughing. “And you’re right about me getting caught up in thinking things need to be a certain way. I wanted us to succeed on our own, you know?”

  “I get that, believe me. Having people lessen our financial burden doesn’t make us any less successful, though. We’re still the creative forces behind Cravings and we’re still the ones doing the work. But with a little help, we can do the work and have a life. And you can eat stuff other than leftovers from the café.”

  “You’ve noticed that, huh?” I ask, scrunching up my face.

  “No judgment here, I do it too. It’s one of the perks of owning your own café.” She winks at me as she pushes to her feet, smoothing her dress over her hips and then making ‘gimme’ hands in my direction. “Now give your best friend a big kiss and wish me luck with Ted.”

  After standing and hugging her tightly, I kiss both of her cheeks, then place a noisy kiss right on her lips, making her squeal with laughter. “Good luck with Ted. You look gorgeous, and I hope you have a fantastic time.” I walk with her the short distance to the front door, where she slips into her flats. Knowing her, she has a pair of sexy heels in the car she’ll change into later.

  After undoing my many locks, she hesitates with her hand on the door, giving me an appraising look. “You good?”

  “I’m great,” I assure her. “I heard everything you said. I’ll do my best to loosen the reins and enjoy this whole ride more.”

  “And to allow good things to happen,” she prompts. “Because you deserve it.”

  “Yes. That too.”

  Her expression tells me she’s not quite sure if she believes me, but she nods and opens the door anyway. “We’ll work on it. And you don’t work on café stuff all night. Love you.” She kisses my cheek again and steps into the hallway.

  “Love you too. Have fun.”

  I return to the living room and contemplate the organized chaos on my floor. While planning may be considered part of work, it’s also a creative outlet for me, which is therapeutic. When I was working at the café in Toronto, they appreciated my creative input and used most of my suggestions. Some of the ideas I came up with didn’t work with their overall aesthetic, so I kept those to myself with the hope of using them ‘someday’. That someday has arrived, and now that I have the freedom to take Cravings in any direction I want—as long as Mariso
l agrees, of course, which she always does—I can finally start implementing some of these plans.

  I settle into my pile of cushions on the floor and pick up where I left off, jotting down ideas for events, menus, decorations, and social media posts. When my phone rings, I assume it’s Cami calling from Cravings to check in, so I’m surprised to see Gwen’s name on the screen.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask, skipping over pleasantries since she never calls me.

  There’s a beat of silence and then she laughs. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry, I know you hate talking on the phone, I just figured it’d be quicker this way.” Her voice is low and there’s a bit of an echo in the background.

  “Are you in a bathroom?”

  Another pause, another soft laugh. “Yes. I don’t want to be overheard, so I’m in Evan’s and my bathroom at home.” She shifts around and I picture her either sitting on the closed toilet seat or the edge of the tub. “Jasper asked if he could come to town for the weekend and I said yes, not knowing Evan had a date planned for us tonight. I don’t want to make Jasper feel bad, but Evan and I could really use the time alone.”

  “Did Jasper forget the farm trip got moved to next week?” I ask.

  During dinner at last week’s Fall Festival outing, Gwen mentioned to everyone what the young woman from Nansom Farms had told her, and asked how people would feel about doing the next event mid-week instead of on the weekend. I said I could, and so did Jasper, Ivy, and Hugh. Lina asked if we minded if she skipped the farm since she’s not very outdoorsy and was struggling with a deadline for her publisher. Following that, Hadley reluctantly confessed she was leaving in a few days for an impromptu trip to Europe and would be gone for the next outing, as well as Thanksgiving the following week.