Love was real. I saw it every day in my work. Couples so crazy about each other they would have eloped that minute rather than wait another day. Couples who had found love after other, broken relationships. Couples re-affirming their commitment after thirty, forty, even fifty years together. After seeing all that devotion up close, it felt like a lie to meet someone for casual drinks, or hook up without any real connection. So I focused on my job instead, dreaming of the day when I would feel that chemistry, that passion again.
The closest I came was the six months I spent with a guy called James, a good-natured lawyer who didn’t mind me working evenings and weekends on a new client’s wedding. He was sweet and good to me, so I kept trying, thinking that maybe our connection was something that would develop naturally over time. But the months passed, and there was still something missing between us: that friction, that spark. I liked him just fine, but that was as far as it went. I felt like I was going through the motions, pretending to be the perfect couple at his company dinners and my friends’ events, and all the while knowing that this wasn’t real love.
After him, I decided I wouldn’t try to force it. Love would arrive for me in its own time, and meanwhile, I had plenty to keep me busy. Sure, I would feel that empty pang every time I saw my clients kiss at the end of the aisle, and wake up on Sunday mornings wishing I had someone in bed with me to snuggle and share the newspapers with. But you can train yourself to ignore anything if you try hard enough.
Now that ache returns a hundred times stronger.
I take another breath and start the engine. There’s no use dwelling over what might have been. I’ll just do what I always have done: focus on the love that is possible. Pixie and Clyde, and their perfect wedding.
*
Back at the ranch, I pull up to find a production van parked next to my aunt’s truck.
“Hello?” For the second time today, I’m wandering through a deserted house. Only this time, I have a very bad feeling about what I’m going to find.
I can hear Pixie laughing, the sound of my aunts’ voices, and Enrique calling, “Cut! Print, perfect.”
I step out onto the porch. The back yard has been taken over. The crew is clustered around, filming Pixie with the injured pelican in her lap. “Look,” she’s squealing. “He’s so cute! Can we get a pet pelican, babes?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Clyde agrees. He’s surrounded by pet goats, feeding them from a baggie of Chex Mix. He puts his sunglasses on one of them, and stops to take a selfie. And in the middle of it all my aunts are holding court, dressed to the nines in their best crazy kaftans and costume jewelry.
“Ginny!” Rae notices me, and gives a wave. “You missed all the fun. We’re going to be stars!”
“Great,” I call faintly. I find Marcie on the porch. “What’s going on?”
“Isn’t this freaking perfect?” She’s looking happier than I’ve seen all week. “You didn’t tell me your aunts were such characters!”
“They’re not characters, they’re people.”
“You know what I mean! They’re just made for TV! We can’t let this chance pass us by. I’ve decided: Pixie and Clyde are going to stay here. God, once the network sees this stuff with the animals, they’re going to flip!”
“Wait, stay here?” I imagine a month of sharing living space with these two, Pixie using all the hot water, and Clyde playing his hard rock music at full blast. Not to mention Nick and Neil lurking in every corner with the cameras rolling. I panic. “But I just found them the perfect house. Luxury furniture, amazing views. Perfect feng shui!”
“Oh, relax.” Marcie laughs at my desperate voice. “I don’t mean they’ll really live here, just pretend to, for the shoot. We’ll come by a couple more times, get some footage. Pixie mucking out the stables, Clyde singing to the sheep, that kind of thing.”
“Goats,” I correct her.
“If they’ve got four hooves and would make a viral video, I don’t care.” She beams, and smothers me in a totally unexpected hug. “We’re going to make this happen, Ginny.” She says firmly. “You and me. Our careers depend on it.”
She strides off to go talk to the couple. I retreat to the kitchen for a glass of cold iced tea. Rae and Bettina join me. “Isn’t this a hoot?” Rae beams. “We’re going to be on TV!”
“Are you sure about this?” I try to be the voice of reason. “Having a whole production crew trampling around the ranch. What about your other projects?”
“They can wait.” Bettina applies a new layer of bright coral lipstick. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something beautiful. A tribute to real love.”
I can hear definite shades of Marcie in that speech. “But reality TV isn’t real. You know that, right?” I try a different tack. “They could edit you to look, well, like the butt of a joke. I just don’t want you misrepresented, that’s all.”
I dread to think what Enrique will do. Rae and Betts are already larger than life. With some selective editing, they could wind up looking crazy. Well, crazier than usual.
Bettina pats my arm. “Relax, sweetheart, we can take the heat. It’s just a fun little adventure. Where’s the harm in that?”
“Besides,” Rae adds, “Marcie said, it would be a real help to you. We’ll do whatever it takes to make this wedding successful for you.”
Man, she’s good. Marcie knows exactly what to say to get anyone to agree to anything. I just have to hope my aunts are right, and this is all just fun and games.
Rae sees my expression. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No.” I force a smile. “I just didn’t figure on this production taking over every part of my life, that’s all.”
“You need to relax.” Bettina gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Just give in to the chaos, sweetheart. Let it all flow.”
“Betsy, Rae!” Marcie’s voice sounds, and then she sticks her head around the door. “Quick question: can you milk those goats?”
“Sure,” Bettina laughs. “They might not be happy about it, though.”
Marcie lights up. “Perfect! Pixie,” she turns to yell. “How do you feel about goat’s milk? It’s organic!”
Chapter Nine
When I wake up the next morning, I think for a minute that I’m back in New York City. I can hear the sound of someone’s radio playing music, and weird shouts and humming from the street. I roll over to hit my white-noise machine before I realize there’s nothing on the nightstand but one of my aunt’s weird centaur lamps. It all comes flooding back.
I pull on a robe and wander out onto the porch, yawning in the morning sun. Rae’s cross-legged in her nightgown on a yoga mat in the middle of the back yard, doing some kind of meditation chant under the trees. She hums and rocks back and forth, banging tiny bells together. The rest of the music is coming from Bettina’s studio. I can hear her working on a piano piece that’s full of forbidding doom, the goats bleating along from their pen by the river.
Just another morning in Pelican Key Cove.
I head back into the kitchen, smiling, and put the coffee on. Usually by now there’re a dozen messages from Marcie blowing up my phone, demanding my presence on set ASAP, but today it’s strangely silent. I don’t know whether to be worried or relieved, but I’m not going to let this morning peace go to waste. I’ve been so busy running around, I’ve barely had a chance to catch up with my aunts. I decide to cook us all breakfast. Pancakes, bacon, the whole nine yards. My kitchen back in New York is barely big enough for a toaster oven, so it’s almost a luxury to get some space to play with.
I put the radio on to a classic rock station and get started, humming along as I find eggs, flour, and milk in the overstuffed fridge.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Rae comes in, and sets her yoga mat on the side. “Did you sleep well?”
“Great, thanks.” I turn on the griddle to heat, and pour Rae a cup of coffee. She shakes her head.
“None for me. I’ve gone all herbal.”
“You and Pixie both,” I remark.
Rae smiles. “Now there’s a funny girl. Did you know she saw my sculptures and asked me where she could go see the centaurs, too?”
I laugh. “I don’t know whether she’s lost her mind or just chooses to ignore it.” I finish whisking up the pancake batter and turn my attention to the rest of the meal. “How do you want your eggs?”
“You don’t have to do that!” she protests. “You’re our guest.”
I laugh. “I want to! Besides, you guys have been so helpful, it’s the least I can do.”
Rae goes to the cupboard and starts taking out bottles of pills.
“What are they?” I ask, worried. “Are you feeling OK?”
She smiles. “Just my vitamins, don’t you fret. You should try them. Fish oil helps your joints.” She swallows a massive green pill and smacks her lips together.
“I think I’ll pass,” I shudder, laughing.
“You’re not getting any younger,” she warns me. “I wish I’d started taking care of myself when I was your age. All those late nights out at festivals, smoking—well, we won’t talk about that, will we.” She winks.
“The only late nights I have are watching TV and working,” I reassure her, but Rae frowns.
“You need to get out and live a little! What happened to that Daniel guy, the photographer you met shooting that wedding?”
“That didn’t work out,” I reply, remembering that sordid story. “I went to take a look at his portfolio online, and found a bunch of photos of naked women.”
“So?” Rae asks. “The female form has been celebrated in art since the dawn of time!”
“Yeah, but these female forms were tied up in bondage gear with a ball-gag in their mouths.” I wince, remembering my surprise when mild-mannered Daniel turned out to be not so mild after all.
Rae laughs, downing another vitamin. “Oh, honey. Don’t you worry, you’ll find someone soon.”
“Who’ll find what now?” Bettina comes in. Her greying hair is caught up in a messy bun, with three different pencils stuck through it. “Mmm, is that coffee? And bacon? I knew you were my favourite niece.”
“I’m your only niece!” I protest, laughing. I pour her a cup, and send it down the counter.
“I was just telling Ginny that she needs to get out there and have some fun.” Rae says. “Back when we were her age, we were hitchhiking to Oregon and getting bad tattoos.”
“That old camper van!” Bettina lights up at the memory. “God, we got around. Who were those boys we rode with that summer? Musicians, I remember.” She winks at me. “Never pick the lead singer. It’s the drummers who know what to do with their hands.”
“La la la!” I cover my ears. “I’m not listening.”
“Oh, relax.” Bettina grins. “You’re a grown woman, you know what happens when you sleep six to a bed.”
I really don’t want to know, so I change the subject. “Breakfast’s ready!”
We grab plates and go sit on the porch outside. “This looks delicious, sweetie,” Rae says, digging in.
I devour a couple of pancakes, finally relaxing. Sitting together in the sunshine, it’s like old times.
“What’s your plan with the wedding now?” Bettina asks, already on her second cup of coffee.
“I don’t know. Pixie’s being pretty vague, so I thought I’d try and get some time alone with her today, pin down some of the details she’d like.” I sigh. “Usually, I’d have months to plan a wedding on this scale, but everything has to be pulled together in a couple of weeks.”
“If anyone can get it done, you can,” Rae reassures me.
“I hope so. The new house they’re renting could work as a venue, it’s gorgeous and modern. But I’d like to find something else, something really romantic and special.”
I see them exchange a look. “The new house?” Rae asks, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, one of Luke’s properties,” I say, so they don’t have to pretend to dance around the issue anymore. “I went out and saw him there. Why didn’t you tell me he’d started his own company?”
Bettina puts down her fork. “We weren’t sure you’d want to know.”
“Leaving was so hard, you were crying down the phone that whole year,” Rae adds, looking stricken. “We decided that we wouldn’t say anything to remind you unless you asked. And you never did.”
She’s right. I forced myself to move on and pretend like the love of my life wasn’t a thousand miles away, hating my guts.
“I know,” I sigh. “I just wish I’d known – about his dad, especially.”
“That was a tough break,” Bettina nods. “But by then, you were up on your feet, you’d both put the past behind you. We weren’t sure if either of you would want to have that brought back up again.”
“You’re probably right,” I nod, regretful. “The last thing Luke would have wanted would be to deal with me on top of his dad passing, not after the way I left things.”
There’s a pause. Only my aunts know the reason behind my leaving, the secret I’ve kept from Luke for ten years now.
“Have you thought about maybe sitting down with him, clearing the air?” Rae asks gently.
“I tried to talk to him the other night,” I say. “But he didn’t want to get into it. He says it’s all in the past.”
I understand why Luke wants to leave the ghosts of old love behind. Still… I wish he’d give me a chance to explain. I’ve been carrying around all this guilt and regret for so long, I’d love to finally share the truth.
Bettina reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Maybe that’s why you’re back here. A chance to explain, once and for all.”
“Yes,” Rae’s eyes widen. “The universe called you back for a reason. This could be why you’ve never been able to find anyone else,” she adds, looking serious. “Your energy is still bound up in his. You should definitely talk to him, and then maybe we should do a cleansing ritual to purify your aura—”
“The cleansing can wait.” Bettina cuts her off. “The important thing is finding a way to say the things you need to say.” She gives me an encouraging smile.
“But what if he doesn’t want to speak to me?” I ask, troubled. “I need to respect his wishes. I can’t just ignore what he wants.”
“You’ll find a way.”
*
After breakfast, I drive over to the beach house to see Pixie. That’s what I tell myself, even as I keep an eye out for Luke’s brand new truck. But there’s only a cluster of production vans out front, so I relax as I climb up the back stairs.
“Hey boss!” I find Theo inside on the couch with Pixie. She’s showing him something on her phone. “I was just, um, checking if our beautiful bride-to-be needed anything this morning.”
He has a weird, guilty look on his face, but maybe it’s just because he’s spent the past week running around after Pixie and Clyde instead of helping me out with my wedding plans.
“Pixie, how would you like to do some wedding planning?”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “I mean, I guess. Marcie wants us back by sunset to take a romantic walk along the shore.”
“We’ve got plenty of time,” I reassure her. “We can even hit the ice cream shop for a little treat on our way back.”
“Yes!” She leaps up, smiling now. Theo rises, too.
“Not you. You’ve got the morning off,” I tell him.
“Are you sure? I could drive, and—”
“Nope.” I cut him off. “You stay here, make sure Marcie’s on-track. Girls only.” I wink at Pixie, and she giggles.
“No boys allowed!”
We leave Theo and hit the road. Pixie seems relaxed, humming along with the radio, Buster cuddled tight in her lap. I’m hoping that getting her away from Marcie and the whole production will give me better insight into her personality and what she’s imagining for her big day. She seems so eager to please, I want to make sure she’s not just rolling over and agreeing with what
everyone else wants. Sure, a wedding is about both the bride and groom, but I know from experience that the big day can mean a whole lot more to the bride. It’s the day when all eyes will be on her, the big event she might have been dreaming about ever since she was a girl.
“So first up, location,” I announce. “Have you had any more ideas?”
Pixie shrugs. “Like I said, I really don’t mind.”
“Well, I had an idea for us,” I tell her, following the highway south. “There’s a great old mansion about twenty miles away. I remember when we were kids we used to go there for parties. It’s right on the water, and it could make a perfect backdrop for the ceremony.”
“Whatever you want, I’m good.” Pixie smiles.
I’m going to have to dig deeper.
“Tell me, how did you and Clyde meet?”
“Didn’t you watch the show?” Pixie asks.
“Yes, but, I want to know what it was like behind the scenes. Tell me how you felt, what you remember. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Well, we were filming for the third season,” Pixie begins. “And Clyde’s label cut a deal for his comeback album to be featured, so we would, like, go to their gig, and meet them backstage and stuff.”
“You mean that was all set up?” I knew I shouldn’t be surprised, but I’d watched the episode with Pixie and her friends talking about how hysterical it would be to go see the ancient rock group.
“Marcie arranged it,” Pixie nods. “Anyway, we went backstage, and everyone was all over us.” She frowns at the memory. “Guys always want to get camera time, you know? Like they don’t care about me, just about everything happening around me. It makes it really tough to meet anyone,” she says. “Everyone just wants to be famous. But Clyde wasn’t like that.” She brightens. “He was all, ‘screw these losers,’ and we ditched the cameras and snuck out the back. Marcie freaked when she heard about it,” Pixie giggles. “We went all over the city, got hot dogs from this cart on the corner, and he showed me how to play pinball in the arcade. Nobody looked twice at me.” She smiles at the memory. “For one night, I was, like, totally normal.”
Beach Wedding Page 7
