“For—” I sigh in frustration. “I don’t owe you my tragic backstory, alright?”
There’s nothing tragic about not going into acting. I was decent at best. Do I love it? Yes, who doesn’t love to get on stage and sing a few songs while pretending to be someone else. But as much as my parents supported my dreams, they also kept me grounded.
“Jason, do what you love, but also what you are good at,” Dad told me after the twentieth failed audition. I didn’t get one single callback, and it was amateur theater.
In the end, I understood I was good. Not good enough to become Jonathan Gruff, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, Neil Patrick-Harris or Jeremy Jordan. Maybe it was somehow tragic when I was eighteen, but I’m over it.
Eileen stares at me blankly... again. This is getting on my fucking nerves. Why doesn’t she just say what she’s thinking?
“Okay,” she says a million years later.
That’s it? “Okay what?”
“Just... okay. You’re right,” she says. “I was just curious if you knew how good you are.”
Well that’s—something.
I squirm in my seat. These couch cushions are so fucking uncomfortable.
We’re so quiet I barely remember to recite all the lines in the third act. Eileen’s so... confusing. It’s like she sees right through every single joke with some special X-ray vision and calls me out on some of my shit, but also doesn't? I don’t get her.
“Didn’t you have something you wanted to be when you were a kid?” I say, apropos of nothing.
“Sure,” she agrees without giving any context.
“Wouldn’t you have done anything in the world to become that?”
She nods, and I wait for her to tell me. Nothing.
“Well,” I ask. “What is it?”
She takes a deep breath. “I guess when I was really young... but then, you know, I grew up. It doesn’t pay the bills.”
“Exactly,” I say, unsatisfied by her answer but she has a point. “You have a dream. It gets destroyed by adulthood. You get used to disappointment. Reality settles and you move on. End of story.”
“But what about now?” she insists. “Don’t you have enough to pay your bills?”
“Not forever. Can’t make a career out of a three-month vacation,” I argue.
Or maybe I could if I really want to. Perhaps it’s true what they say, you have to allow yourself to change your mind to be happy. And I can’t say I’m happy, but I’m pretty close to content.
Clearly, she gives it some thought before toasting her drink against mine. “To stolen dreams, I guess.”
The thought sinks in and simmers deep in my gut for a while. Did I give up on my dream? No, I talked it through. It wasn’t relinquishing, more like finding something better. Was it? It just happened. Even if it kinda sucks.
“What was yours?” I ask eventually. “Uh, dream I mean.”
“Muralist,” she mumbles while she pours herself a second glass of wine. “We should order some food.”
And that’s— “Really? You?”
Her face turns red. “Loved to paint, wanted to be some... I don’t know, social activist? Banksy, but less shitty I guess.”
I laugh. She joins in and it’s so fucking beautiful. And just like that, she stops, sighing deeply.
“What happened?” I question, reaching for her hand.
“My sister became an art major on a whim, didn’t know how to do anything, but bullshitted her trash into this last-minute symposium on anti-capitalist structures.”
She sighs. “With someone else’s portfolio.”
Charlie isn’t smart enough for that. “So, she plagiarized your work,” I guess.
“Yep,” she confirms. “Then, they kicked her out of the program. Obviously, she ran out of money and forced my parents to come save her ass. They told me a week later they wouldn’t pay for art school.”
“Holy fucking—” I say. “How is your family that shitty?”
“You get used to it,” she says.
Who does that to their sister? And who takes one kid’s mistakes and punishes the other for it? What the fuck is wrong with these people?
I think I hate them just a little.
Worst of all, why can’t she see how messed up that is?
If that were my family, I would’ve hashed shit out or walked out a long time ago. Then again, I’m not her. And though my parents aren’t perfect, they are fucking great. I’m not judging, but come on, they could’ve done a lot better for Eileen.
I remember back when Marek was my best friend growing up. Before all the bullshit and lame excuses. I’d do anything for that kid, even if I could barely give a fuck about the guy he became. Wonder if Eileen’s waiting on some version of Charlie that won’t come back.
I nudge her shoulder. She looks up wearily.
“Hey kettle,” I say lightly. “Wanna finish this movie and wallow in some more alcohol?”
“Only if you order some food,” she responds.
At least she doesn’t do that fake smile around me that I’ve seen thrown at her family around me. Her smile is sad but genuine. She’s lively and funny without them, relaxed.
“Bar food, right?”
“Yeah, pot,” she says. “I’d love that.”
I hate to admit that this is by far one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, but can it be sustainable? When will I fuck up?
19
Jason
I’d take any kind or shape of Medieval torture instead of having to take part in this horrendous circus.
“No, no, fuck no!” Charlie screams.
Ouch, I’m losing my hearing with this woman.
“What is wrong with you people?!” she continues.
Charlie is as charming as fucking ever. Somehow, I naively thought wedding dress shopping was going to be easy. Instead, I’ve been sitting on a tiny love seat between Eileen and her mother for the last hour while Charlie… well, pulls a Charlie.
She clearly has telepathy, and knows I’m talking smack in my head because she chooses this moment to remember we exist, turns around on her pedestal in front of the mirror wall of this bridal boutique, and glare daggers at me.
“And you,” she hisses. “I can’t believe you accepted their champagne after I said the smell was irritating me.”
What are you, a bloodhound? I want to be understanding with this woman but shit if she doesn’t try her best to piss me off every five fucking minutes. Where is Marek when I need him to mediate the situation? Right, working. I should give him some props for finding a job.
Eileen and her mom tense on either side of me. Sure, normally this would be the part where Eileen jumps up and fixes shit. But I nudge her with my elbow before I shrug casually at Charlie.
“It’s rude not to accept refreshments, Charlotte,” I say with my charity events voice. “You’d do well to remember that. You know, for the future.”
She blushes brightly as she subconsciously presses the wrinkles out of her latest dress. “Y-yes, of course.”
Charlie turns back to the already frightened to death bridal consultant. “You still haven’t shown me anything worth buying. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Jeez,” I say.
The glare from Charlie tells me I’ve pushing my fucking luck.
Eileen puts a hand on my knee. “Bless you,” she says her eyes creeping in Charlie’s direction.
Oh, this is my save. Cool. “Thank you,” I say earnestly, wrinkling my nose.
It seems to be enough for her royal highness. She continues terrorizing the employees.
“I’ll give you props for that first deflection,” Eileen says quietly.
“And I’ll thank you for the second one,” I admit almost saying we’re a great team.
“Don’t thank me,” she mumbles. “Find some way to get us out of here,”
I can do that, I think. I text Jossie “SOS.”
A minute later, my phone starts playing “Jossie's on a
vacation far away—”
“Is that seriously your ringtone?” Eileen asks. “The Outfield is a little outdated, even for you.”
“Only for Jossie,” I clarify. “Would you like to hear your ringtone?”
She chuckles and rolls her eyes, “Typical.”
I ignore the scrutinizing glare her mother gives us as I pick up the call.
“Go for Spearman,” I say as I stand up. “Excuse me, ladies—”
“No,” Jossie says when I’m just out of earshot.
“I didn’t even—” Too late, she’s hung up on me.
I hate when she does this.
I call her. She picks up on the first ring.
“You’re either trying to get out of wedding planning, which you can’t, or trying to rope me into it,” she says. “Which I won’t.”
“C’mon please, Jossie, please?” I beg her. “If anyone can save me from this shit show it’s you.”
“No, Jason,” she says. “There’s nothing you can say—”
“Two months’ vacation,” I list a few ways to convince her to step in just for a day. “What if I double your Christmas bonus this year, and you get paid like a wedding planner for this one teeny tiny task.”
“Hmm,” she says as if considering it.
“You have two minutes to talk,” she says. “Go.”
I take a deep breath. “This bride was bridezilla before she was even a person. Now she’s bridezilla ultra-pregnancy edition, and all we’re trying to do here is get a wedding dress. It’s her sister, her mother, and me. They can’t say no to her, and she hates me because I love saying no.”
“And?” she prompts.
I grimace. “And I’ll love you forever?”
“Ship’s sailed on that.”
“I’ll…” What else could she want from me? “Give you the keys to the place in Miami for two weeks?”
“Wow, the house in Miami for the entire month of March next year?” she tweaks my offer. “Along with vacation pay during that month.”
“You got it,” I agree immediately.
There’s a long pause. I check the phone to make sure she’s still on the line.
“Sounds like a pickle, Mr. Spearman,” she says dryly.
I groan. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. So, would you please, please, please get down to this boutique and talk her crazy language.”
Jossie hums for a moment. “Alright. Let me make some calls, and I’ll be right there.”
“Perfe—and you hung up on me again,” I say.
I pace back and forth, buying myself some time. There’s no way I’m going back to listen to Charlie complain about every single thing that’s wrong with the store and her poor luck.
“What’s going on?” Eileen says as she finds me leaning against the front door of the shop. “You missed dresses seven and eight.”
Thank fuck!
“I called my assistant for a, well, assist and she’s coming to save our butts,” I explain without adding that I was taking a Charlie break. “And guess what? She’s taking mercy on us!”
Eileen scowls. “So, you called your executive assistant to... do what exactly?”
I perk up as I hear the sound of heels clicking against the pavement behind me.
“He contacted the best wedding planner he knows,” Jossie, who is far from humble, says as she walks up to us with a to-go tray of coffee in her hands. “But not to fear, I’ve arrived.”
Jossie shoves the tray toward me. “Jason, hold these.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her before grabbing the drinks.
“Cappuccinos for you and the maid of honor,” she explains. “Decaf-skinny-latte for the mother, and my special herbal tea ginger ale concoction for the bride.”
“Are you psychic or just a miracle worker?” Eileen asks.
I bet she’s as impressed as I am by the efficiency of this woman. Jossie never ceases to amaze me, even though I’ve worked with her for years. She’s more than a miracle worker.
Jossie offers Eileen her hand to shake. “Josslyn Udayar. I own Jason’s life.”
Eileen frowns giving me a questioning look. I answer with a shrug. Jossie doesn’t own me, but I’m not sure what I’d do without her in my life.
“That means, I know where he is at all times,” Jossie explains. “Which includes when he’s not only completely out of his depth, but also when he’s wasting my good wedding contacts that I have to salvage.”
“Eileen McBean,” Eileen offers with that soft genuine smile of hers. “I barely own my own life and apparently own my sister’s.”
Eileen looks over her shoulder and whispers, “Please save us from the hell storm inside. She wants impossible things and won’t listen to reason, ever.”
If anything, Charlie’s mother is enabling her behavior. Poor Charlie, she’s having so much trouble, Eileen. You have to understand her. If that was my mom, she’d be grounding her right now.
Jossie looks her over and then smirks. “I like you, honest.”
She looks between Eileen and me with this weird fucking grin. “Come along. We’ve got a lot to do and barely any time to do it.”
Jossie enters the boutique and Charlie McBean’s insanity just like she does everything—a classy general ready to destroy the battlefield. We follow closely behind her.
“Watch the master in action,” I whisper to Eileen.
“Vanessa, take five,” Jossie tells the consultant. “Tell Antoine I’m here and I want a rack hand selected by him in front of me in the next ten minutes.”
I think the consultant whimpers before running away. Jossie then turns on her old wedding planner charm.
“Well, hello there,” Jossie says to Charlie who’s glaring at yet another dress. “You must be, Charlotte. Jason has told me so much about you.”
Charlie growls. “Who are you?”
“Oh, did Jason not inform you?” She says pleasantly then glares at me. “My apologies, darling. I’m Josslyn Udayar, professional wedding planner. I’ve successfully executed over a thousand weddings in the last decade, including some very high-profile weddings for clientele I can’t name per our Non-Disclosure Agreements. You understand how it is, don’t you, Charlotte?”
Charlie nods with this deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Yes, of course. Thank you so much for coming.”
Jossie nods. “Jason, hand Ms. McBean her drink.”
I fucking hurry to hand Charlie her weird ass drink. There’s nothing I’m more terrified of than ruining Jossie’s angle before she has a chance to work her magic.
“This was made especially for you,” Jossie explains to her.
Charlie lifts her chin as if she had been crowned as the queen of the world. God have mercy on us all.
“Jason has informed me of your upset stomach,” Jossie continues without missing a beat. “And we’ll do everything to accommodate you.”
Charlie blushes, but doesn’t start shouting. Thank fuck.
“Now tell me, darling,” Jossie says while squeezing Charlie’s shoulder. “What is your dream dress?”
Charlie lights up, babbling nonsense about seams and mermaid tails? Something about tulips—I don’t know, weddings have gotten more complicated in the last eight years.
Jossie nods thoughtfully. Thank fuck for her, I can’t stand listening to Charlie anymore.
“Now what’s our budget?” Jossie says pointedly.
Eileen says, “a thousand,” at the same time Charlie says, “ten thousand.”
They glare at each other.
“Why don’t we ask the mother of the bride?” Jossie suggests.
Mrs. McBean shrugs looking at Eileen and then at me.
“Whatever Jason agrees to,” Eileen concedes. “This is coming from his contribution.”
All their gazes turn toward me. Great, thanks for throwing me under the bus. In the most surprising moment of the day, it’s Charlie who gives me puppy dog eyes while Eileen stares me down threateningly.
Cha
rlie’s wrath I can live with. Eileen’s, however, I don’t want to find out what that looks like.
“Twenty-five hundred before tax,” I compromise. “That’s as high as I’ll go.”
Charlie starts to protest “But what about—”
“That’ll do,” Jossie says, patting Charlie on the back as she pushes her to the next room. “Now let’s go see what Antoine’s found for you, darling.”
When Charlie’s out of view, Mrs. McBean goes off on me. “You hired a wedding planner? Why couldn’t you have done that last week?!”
I wince. I guess screaming runs in the family.
“Josslyn’s retired,” I point out. “She wouldn’t take on the entire wedding but agreed out of the kindness of her, excuse my language, good fucking heart to help us out of this nightmare.”
Mrs. McBean says, “She doesn’t look a day over thirty,” at the same time Eileen says, “Your assistant was a wedding planner?”
“Talking over each other must also run in the family,” I think out loud. “But, yes and yes? One, she’s thirty-five. Two, she was a wedding planner and is the most competent human being in existence. My career took off. I needed someone to manage my life for me. I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
Mrs. McBean sags. “Well, thank you. For everything.”
I try to take her halfhearted praise as an accomplishment but—fuck. She’s terrible at thanking people. It sounds so hollow and unsatisfying coming from her.
Is this what Eileen deals with all the time?
No wonder she’s desperate for genuine approval.
When I look at Eileen though, there’s that grateful smile of hers brightening the entire room. She makes me believe that it’s worth the trouble.
But is it really worth it?
20
Eileen
The call comes in at a quarter to ten. Jason and I are in the middle of finishing the seating chart for the reception when my phone rings. Well, I’m arranging it while he’s playing Game of Thrones with the red and blue flags. It’s an epic battle, and if we’re lucky, we’ll have a red wedding.
This man is a closeted geek.
Lucky me, I have to deal with the wedding from hell and his nonsense.
Then He Happened Page 9
