by Laura Briggs
But Lyle was walking out now. He passed her in the hallway without seeing her, and pushed open the door to the sidewalk outside. He fumed silently in the cold air, then struck off aimlessly into the night, shoulders hunched in defeat. Tessa felt the tight grip of panic in her chest. Was she hosting an engagement dinner at which neither member of the happy couple was now present? What excuse was she going to give people?
“Where are Nadia and Lyle?” asked the maid of honor, shouting over the DJ’s latest song, a loud version of ‘This Kiss.’
“They slipped away earlier,” said Tessa, who was trying to smile serenely. “Don’t worry, though. The party still lasts until nine.”
Most guests didn’t ask why a couple seemingly in love might leave the party early. As for the respective mothers of the happy couple, Tessa avoided saying anything more than that she had seen the bride and groom leaving sometime after the dance floor opened. She omitted ‘separately’ from the answer.
“Where are our clients?” asked Ama. “Did they leave without saying anything?”
“They left early,” said Tessa. “I’m sure we’ll hear from them tomorrow.”
Nadia did call the next day, but it was to leave a message asking Tessa to cancel the chapel and the flowers. It was waiting on the answering machine at Wedding Belles when Tessa arrived first thing in the morning.
She knew the blinking red light meant doom, even before she pressed the button. She sank into the foyer’s velvet armchair afterwards, feeling despair. Now what? What could they possibly do in the face of a broken engagement except erase what pieces of the wedding they had actually managed to make perfect?
She called Nadia’s number; it went to voicemail. “Nadia, this is Tessa Miller, from Wedding Belles,” she said. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry to hear this news, and I hope that things between you and Lyle can be fixed somehow. I would like to wait a few days before I cancel anything, just in case you both change your minds, if you’ll let me. Please, call or text me at any time to talk about it. Or to just… talk… if you need a friend.” It’s not as if Nadia could go to her mother with these problems, after all.
Nadia texted her back. Okay. Wait 2 days. So they had two more days of pretending to have a client, at least. Maybe a miracle would occur and Nadia and Lyle would patch everything together. It was just a tiny fight, really. Just a minor disagreement over whether their marriage would be one big, long family argument.
She bit her nail, gazing despondently out of her office window. Should she tell the others that the wedding was cancelled? She could imagine what Natalie would say—something snarky about the billboard’s lone client being a dud. And Ama had worked so hard on the cake, and in the face of such criticism—
“What’s with you?” Natalie was in the doorway, a bridesmaid dress bundled in her arms, its light blue satin complementing the winter color scheme.
Tessa glanced at her. “You might as well know,” she said. “Ama, too. We have a… slightly bigger problem than before.”
“They cancelled?” Ama’s jaw dropped.
“I know, it sounds bad,” said Tessa. “But I convinced her to wait a couple of days to see if this fight blows over. There’s a chance they may get back together and the wedding will go on.”
“And there’s a chance we’ll have to call our snooty florist friend and cancel the order after the terrific stink we made to land it,” said Natalie disgustedly. “They won’t be doing us a favor again, will they?”
“After all those sketches… nothing,” said Ama. “I thought I’d finally designed the perfect cake, too.”
“I’m halfway through Nadia’s dress already. Now what am I going to do with it?”
“No one’s going to do anything—yet,” said Tessa, assuming command. “We’re just going to wait a few days, as I said before. Everything will be fine, probably. It’s not as if one tiny cancellation will be a black spot on our career.”
“Did I tell you the DJ from last night is booked through the holidays?” asked Natalie. “So we can’t depend on having him as a backup in case no one else is available.”
Tessa gave her a withering look. “So we’ve had a few setbacks this time,” she said. “It would have happened to any planning firm they hired. They just happened to hire us.”
“Lucky us,” sighed Ama. “We have to wait two days to find out if all our work is wasted.”
“My best wedding dress ever, destined for the storage closet,” said Natalie with a groan, thinking back on the multiple fittings and frantic sewing required to finish the gown in time. “At least it’ll have plenty of company there.”
“Listen to yourselves! We have to think positive thoughts,” said Tessa. “How else will we come through this and find our next client if we don’t focus? We have to take a deep breath and approach this calmly, one day at a time.”
“Did Nadia make it sound like there was any hope?” Ama sounded as if the last of hers was floating on these words.
Not a bit. Tessa made a strong effort to smile, although it was hard with the ghost of Nadia’s phone message behind it. “There’s always hope when two people are in love,” she said. “Right?” Her smile faltered again. “Just… hang on a little longer. Everything will be fine after this tough patch.”
It was intended for herself as much as it was for her partners. They exchanged glances, the worry in their eyes the same as in Tessa’s own. None of them needed to say anything more.
Since Nadia didn’t call to confirm that the wedding was definitely cancelled—or suddenly scheduled again—Tessa focused on the wedding confetti and working on the wedding timeline from pre-ceremony to the reception. A few offices away, she could hear Ama’s music playing, and could hear Natalie’s sewing machine’s high-speed click as it stitched through fabric for last-minute alterations on the bridesmaids’ dresses that were now in limbo.
Seventy little bags of environmentally friendly biodegradable snowflake confetti were tied with silver and white ribbons on Tessa’s desk. As her fingers secured the last ribbon around the delicate sheer white fabric bundles, she glanced hopefully at the screen of her phone—no missed texts or calls, as the absence of any beep proved.
Lifting the box, she stepped outside her office to add the finished product to the wedding supplies downstairs in the storeroom. In the hallway, she found Blake removing his tool belt and safety glasses, tossing them into his metal toolbox. He was going to talk to her when she passed him, she sensed. Suddenly, Tessa’s eyes were very busy studying the knots on the confetti bags, making sure they were attractively tied.
“Hey, you never gave me an answer on that transom grate,” he said. “Can you let me know if you want to sell it or not?”
“What?” she said, racking her foggy brain for their past conversation about this.
“I wanted to buy the old transom from your office. Since you don’t want to fix it up—”
“We don’t have time to fix it up, or money,” Tessa said. And managed not to sigh, because she was beginning to accept this bitter reality. “Give me some time to think about it.” What was the going rate on antique transoms? Probably not enough to cover a month’s electricity for this building—or the apartment she used to rent. Not that she wanted to charge Blake and recoup some of his hard-earned cash from this job.
“I need to know soon,” said Blake. “I really do have a place for it.”
“Better than sitting in our closet, you mean,” said Tessa sarcastically. He couldn’t see that she was busy thinking about something else right now. Did he ever think of anything besides his precious restoration project, anyway?
“If you were an antique fixture, would you want to sit in a closet for the rest of your existence?” replied Blake. It would be part of the historic renovation on the other side of town, while they would settle for the cheap, modern replacement she had purchased. That was all they could afford anyway, and if Blake was too busy with his new project, they would hire a cut-rate handyman to do it inste
ad.
“By the way, the room downstairs is prepped for paint. I put in the new wall trim and put some spackle over the worst spots this morning. If you want me to, I can get started on the paint for you.” His glance fell on the box in her arms. “If you haven’t picked it, I can still match that color I told you about, and probably pick some up today for you.”
“No need. I bought paint already,” said Tessa. “It’s the paint tin in the room’s corner, under the tarps.”
“The devil red shade, I take it?” said Blake.
“It’s not ‘devil red,’” said Tessa, with a flicker of annoyance, on top of everything else she was feeling today. “It’s called ‘Valentine Red,’ a perfect choice for a wedding business. Although I’m sure you and Mac would still prefer your beloved shade of drab green for decorating its walls. Or bright purple.”
“I only thought it would give the building a little extra charm to have your color scheme reflect its past, which is why I suggested that you let Mac come up with a color palette for your walls.”
“So you can paint over ‘Romantic Blue,’ I suppose,” said Tessa sarcastically. “I’m surprised your friend Mac didn’t puke while she was in my office, surrounded by my tasteless color scheme.”
A strange look crossed Blake’s face. “Are you jealous of Mac?” he asked, sounding surprised—and amused—as he suggested it.
Red flashed quickly across Tessa’s face. “What? No!” she declared vehemently. “Where did you come up with a crazy idea like that?”
“The little sneer in your voice whenever you talk about her, for starters,” said Blake. “You were acting weird at the Springer Street house, and when she was in your office that time, too.”
“I am not jealous of your friend, or… whatever she is,” insisted Tessa. “I just didn’t like the way the two of you talk about this building like it’s a slum in need of a firm decorator’s hand to save it.”
“I never said that,” protested Blake. “Look, I was only trying to help when I suggested any of those things. I thought maybe you’d like to have some historical accuracy in your decor for this place.”
“Suggested? That’s your definition of hounding me to give in?’” echoed Tessa. “You know what? I don’t like dark green walls. I don’t like oppressive woodwork that looks like it was salvaged from Dracula’s castle, no matter how historically accurate it might be. Even if we made six-figure incomes, I still wouldn’t hire your elite interior design friend to do the whole place in peacock blue and poison green. I happen to like my office walls, and mismatched chairs, and I love the spiral staircase, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks. And if I want to keep that transom in a closet or mount it like a moose’s head over the fireplace downstairs, I think that’s my business, so mind your own.”
She hadn’t realized how forceful or loud her voice was, until she noticed both of her business partners had emerged from their offices. They were staring at her, just like Blake was, who looked both hurt and indignant as he listened to her.
She deflated. Why had she been yelling at him about furniture and the stupid spiral staircase over a snarky remark regarding paint color? What did any of it matter, since everyone, including their contractor, knew they were scraping together their decor from bargain bins and markdown shelves?
She was going crazy, thanks to this jinx. She had taken it out on Blake, who was the last person she should probably be yelling at. She shouldn’t yell at anybody, because it was nobody’s fault that their bad luck patch had tripped them up. The money wasted on the billboard, and the decision to spend money fixing up this place—technically, she had nobody to blame but herself for those decisions.
She brushed her hair back from her face, feeling how hot her cheeks were, knowing they must be visibly on fire. No tears, Tessa determined fiercely not to have any. Now that her anger and confusion were all mixed up inside her, she didn’t know what she felt. The world’s supports were buckling, just like the supports in these termite-eaten walls, probably.
“Everything okay, guys?” asked Natalie carefully. Neither Blake nor Tessa answered her, so her question hung in silence.
“You can have the transom grate,” she said to Blake. Quietly. “It’s still in the closet downstairs, so take it. I don’t want anything for it.” She turned away and went downstairs with her box of wedding confetti parcels, leaving the other three feeling clueless and confused in the hall.
Nineteen
The first aid supplies in her medicine cabinet needed replenishing, Natalie discovered, as she plastered a little extra antiseptic ointment on the scrape on her elbow. Discreetly, while she knew Chad was busy checking on the one-dish Ecuadorian rice stew that he had brought over for dinner, so he wouldn’t know she was a wimp when it came to doctoring surface scrapes and bruises. Peeling off skin while rappelling down a rock bluff, all to see a trickle of water coming out of the base… telling him that experience ranked as one of the most tedious dates of her love life was something she planned to save for another week or two, when things would either be at their romantic peak or tapering off, according to Natalie’s typical relationship cycle.
She might also bring up the fact that the cuisine of South America wasn’t something she typically savored on a tri-weekly basis—but that, too, could wait. After all, it wasn’t a lifelong commitment, this evening of sharing a rice casserole with some sort of weird chili spices in it. She and Chad had both agreed they liked to keep things casual, so it probably wouldn’t break his heart to learn she didn’t see a long-term future for them.
“Dinner’s up,” announced Chad. He lifted the dish from the oven and placed it in the table’s center.
“Plates are in the cupboard by the fridge,” said Natalie, tugging her sleeve over her elbow’s bandage. “Grab some ketchup from the cupboard, too, will you?”
“Ketchup?” said Chad, with one eyebrow raised. “Give it a chance first, will you?”
“It’s my go-to spice,” defended Natalie with a lie, as she removed a serving spoon from the drawer. Her phone buzzed—probably a text from her mother. Again. She pretended not to notice as she poured Chad a glass of tea.
“I was just thinking your mom seemed a little stressed the other day.” Her thought waves must be broadcasting themselves live for him to make this remark. “Did she stop by for something besides your belated birthday cake?” Chad asked, as he dipped a piece of crusty bread in the stew. This was the traditional way to eat it, he had explained to Natalie.
“Nothing important,” answered Natalie. “Just standard mom meddling. She does it a hundred times a year.”
“So it wasn’t because of me,” clarified Chad, as he sprinkled dried chilies over his bowl.
Natalie hedged. “Maybe a little.” She dipped her spoon idly in her bowl. “Ma’s chief preoccupation in life is whether I’m happy in the right way. In her book, the right way involves meeting a guy, settling down from my crazy dating life, and spreading happiness by sporting a large engagement ring.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she tasted her stew, discovering that, just as she feared, the flavors were a little more exotic than she preferred. “Especially for the holidays. That’s when my family finds my normally blissfully single state the most offensive.”
“Families can be like that,” said Chad, with an offhand shrug of his shoulders. “So she was here scouting to find out if I was finally serious relationship material, right?”
“Bingo,” Natalie answered. She dipped her bread, mostly to soften it. “Don’t worry. I told her to back off.”
Chad stirred a spoon through his stew, cooling it. “You know,” he said, “if you could give her part of what she wanted, you could probably make her happy.”
“Is that your way of saying you’d actually eat dinner with my family?” Natalie retorted.
“Sort of,” he said. “I mean, what if I actually came to dinner a couple of times? You could let them think we’re kind of serious. At least until the holidays are over.”
“What do you mean?” Natalie almost laughed at this suggestion, but the noise came up short of one, more like a snort. “Are you saying I should let my family think you’re a serious candidate for… well, whatever.” The word ‘marriage’ seemed a little too serious to actually say in a conversation this lighthearted, at least for her taste.
“It’s a classic ‘what if’ scenario,” said Chad. “Like in all the movies—you know, when two people make a pact to be a couple for a period of time, to make everybody they know happy. Like… in the song ‘St. Patrick’s Day.’ That way you have somebody over the holidays, when everybody’s sentimental about relationships.”
“I’ve never felt pathetically alone at the holidays,” said Natalie. “I’m not still listening to those John Mayer lyrics as a fully fledged adult, wishing I was walking through a Christmas card scene hand in hand with someone else. That’s just my mom’s wishful thinking.”
“That’s what I mean about doing it for your mom,” said Chad. “And for my mom, too. Ever since my dad passed away, she’s found the holidays a little harder to enjoy. It might cheer her up if I brought someone to a few of our celebrations, though. She keeps hinting she would like to meet some of my girlfriends, at least.”
“That would be fine by me,” said Natalie. “Better than doing it to appease the other dozen or so people in both our lives who think singlehood is horrible.”
“And openly pity people like us during the holidays?” Chad suggested.
“Confession time. I am sick of pity,” said Natalie.
“It would get your mom off your back for a few weeks if she thought you were serious about somebody,” pointed out Chad. “And if that somebody is me, what do you have to worry about? We’re dating, we both know how we feel about taking things too fast… so there wouldn’t be an issue between us, right?” He left this as a question, as if to be sure that Natalie was on the same page. “Would there be?”
