“Or something blossoms,” Jackie says, starting to giggle.
“Someday it’ll be true love, though.” Lara says in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” I say. “Someday you’ll get really serious with someone.”
Emily briefly contemplates our words, then responds with, “We’ll see. For now I’m just going where life takes me. I have to, metaphorically speaking, put up my sails and let the wind take me where it chooses.” She flies her hands overhead dramatically.
“And hooking up with the sailors in port along the way,” Jackie teases, now breaking out into full-on laughter.
Emily picks up a triangle-shaped cracker and flicks it at Jackie, like a mini paper football from the days in high school.
“You’re not one to criticize or tease about hooking up,” Emily says to Jackie in a playful tone. “And Matt and I aren’t only ‘hooking up,’” she says, making quotation marks with her fingers. “But we’re not super serious or anything.”
“Riiiight,” Sophie teases. “That’s what you say now. Time will only tell, babe.”
Chapter Five
I toss the wet load of whites into the dryer. Schnickerdoodle is at my feet with his leash in his mouth. He’s past due for his evening walk, but I just got home from work not ten minutes ago. I’m exhausted and have already begged Conner to take him for a jaunt around the neighborhood without me.
“Babe?” I call out. I hit the tumble dry low button and saunter into the living room. Conner’s sitting on the couch, elbows on knees and staring at his cell phone. He looks to be deep in thought. “Words with Friends again?”
He shoots up his head and answers with a chuckle, “Angry Birds this time.”
“Oh, goodness. Look, can you take Schnicker? Please?” I point down at the begging dog. He’s followed me, the leash still clutched in his jaws.
Conner slips his phone into his back pocket once he jumps up and says, “I’m on it!”
“Oh. I just remembered—talked to the planner today,” I say. “Melissa.” Conner takes his keys from the key rack by the front door. “She said she found a Lutheran church that we should take a look at. Says it’s available for when we want and has some really pretty stained glass.”
Even though this said Lutheran church isn’t my ideal venue, I should sound thrilled to discuss wedding details. Normally I’m like a kid in a candy shop when I get to talk about my big day. But I think I’ve been hit with a wave of exhaustion and, yes, I’m not too fond of walking down the aisle in a church where they’ll probably play some loud organ music. Or where they won’t allow dogs to be the ring bearers. Or where rose petals can’t be tossed because they could soil the carpet. So many rules I’m forecasting, the mere thought of checking out this, as Melissa puts it, “heavenly designed chapel” is anything but appealing.
Conner’s face starts to fall as he finishes attaching the leash to the dog’s collar. “Uhh…” he groans, “we should talk about that.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I told Melissa we’re not keen on it, but what can we do?” I shrug my shoulders.
“Er…uh…about the church thing in general.”
“Yes?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Conner looks even more uncomfortable than he did a second ago.
“What?” I press, my voice rising slightly.
“I talked to my parents—been meaning to mention this. Sorry, babe.” He shifts on his feet unsteadily. “My parents aren’t exactly big on the whole church wedding thing.”
I toss up my hands in the air and say, “So? Neither are we. But our hands are tied.”
Still shifting, he says, “They’re not happy with it…but not in the way we are.”
“I’m not following.” What is Conner trying to get at? So his parents don’t want a church wedding. Get in line!
“You know my parents aren’t really the church-going type, right?” he says. This still doesn’t explain anything, so I motion for him to continue. “I told them that we weren’t sure of the venue yet…since they asked.” Schnickerdoodle is now doing an impatient dance. “They practically blew up, Claire. See, my dad’s Mr. Anti-Religion. All religions. And my mom…well she’s kind of afraid of churches.”
I scrunch up my brow. It’s the only response I can muster. Afraid of churches? Like I’m afraid of spiders? And anti-religion? Get over yourself and attend your son’s wedding! Period!
“We’re not asking your dad to convert or go to the confessional!” I nearly shout. I stand with my hands on my hips, now frowning. “And afraid of church? What’s there to be afraid of?”
Conner heaves a heavy sigh and opens the front door. The pup nearly bolts out the door, yanking Conner’s arm and causing him to jerk forward a good foot. He steadies Schnicker and says, as he’s about to step out the door, “I meant to tell you this when I talked to them last week.”
“Conner,” I whine. “You’ve got to tell me these things. I’ve got this planner running around trying to find a venue—a church, no, a Lutheran church—for our wedding, and now you tell me churches are complete no-go’s?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Whatever,” I say, turning to go into the kitchen. “I’ll call up Melissa and deal with this.” I look back at Conner, who’s on the porch now. “I love you, Conner, but you need to be more on top of this wedding than you are.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “At least there’s hope of getting married at that Chessfold House.” He blows me a kiss goodbye and says we’ll figure this out together when he gets back from walking the dog.
As the front door closes, I reach into my purse for my cell phone and dial Melissa’s number, mumbling to myself, “It’s Chanfield Manor. Chanfield. What’s so difficult about that?”
***
The morning after next, I’m relieved I only have a three o’clock appointment with an elderly, diabetic woman named Sue. And luck would have it that she’s located in Madison Park, not too far from home, so today can be a wedding planning kind of day. God knows I need the extra time. Conner and I have a new set of problems with his parents not wanting a church wedding. Of course, while I was able to glean hope from that disaster—the hope of actually being able to have my manor wedding ceremony—it didn’t take long for me to be brought back down to earth after a call to my dad.
“Claire!” he’d said. “It’s a Lutheran church or nothing. I don’t care what his parents think. Do I have to draw you a picture?” Then he gave a grating chortle, and I swore I could hear his little twit of a girlfriend in the background snickering about something.
“Fine, dad,” I’d told him. “Apparently there’s no convincing you. I wish we could work something out to meet halfway for Conner’s parents, though. You know, he’s getting married, too. He’s just as much a part of this wedding as I am.” So he may not be playing as integral a role in planning it, as I, but I suppose I have to pick my battles.
“I don’t care!” Dad had said in a strict tone. “I’m paying the bills. This is my daughter’s wedding. It’s a church wedding or nothing.”
I wasn’t in the mood to argue over something that seemed to be a moot point. There clearly wasn’t going to be any convincing my dad, so Conner would have to work on his parents.
I pull into the parking lot of the same Starbucks where Melissa and I first met. Before I attempt to open my car door, I cross my fingers and whisper, “Please work. Please work.”
It isn’t as cold a day today, and almost all of January’s snow is melted away into slush and inconveniently placed puddles. Maybe there’s hope for my car door yet. I give the handle a gentle pull, then put some effort behind it and give the door a rough shove. It opens! I’m relieved. Now I hope it stays that way. I’ve been a little on edge lately, particularly with Conner. It’s this whole church business, that’s all. Once that’s settled, things will be back to happy planning.
To my surprise, Melissa beat me here, and she’s already seated at the same small table in the corner.
/> “What can I get for you this morning?” the chipper barista asks me.
I think Sophie and I had a little too much wine last night when she came over to help me with some more bird cutouts. I have a headache that seems to be getting worse by the minute. I know I need more water, but when at Starbucks you can’t just walk in, order a water, and call it a day. So I pick up a bottle of water, hand it to the teenager behind the counter, and say, “This and a tall coffee, please. House blend’s fine.”
“Room?” He withdraws a Sharpie from his green apron and is already scribbling about.
“No.”
It’s a straight-up black coffee kind of day today, and I really need to keep an eye on the extra sugar I’ve been consuming. That dream dress is going to show up and I’m not going to be able to squeeze into it, even if I cut off my left leg! There was this new margarita cupcake recipe Sophie brought over last night. Killer. Amazing. Now I need to not pass on taking Schnicker for a walk tonight.
“Hi there,” I say to Melissa, approaching her.
She’s typing on her iPhone, her lips pursed together in contemplative thought.
I awkwardly stand by in silence for a while, then I settle into my seat, wondering how long it will take for her to realize that I’m here.
“So,” Melissa says gaily, her eyes still locked on her screen, her fingers rapidly tapping away.
“So.” I awkwardly take a sip of my water.
“So!” She moves her head in a way that reminds me of a bobble head toy, then slips her cell phone back into her bag and breaks out her familiar pink pad of paper. “Sorry about that. Had to tweet that I’m meeting with a client.”
“Aww.” I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Twitter—I’ve never understood it.
“You know, the wedding industry is huge on social media. I mean, we’re like social media whores.” She laughs to herself. I again take an awkward sip from my water bottle.
“I went to a wedding conference recently—a super luxurious one, over in the Caribbean with really big names in the industry—and girl, let me tell you…” She closes her eyes and very dramatically shakes her head. “Social media—tweeting—about what you’re doing, like meeting with clients, setting up events, picking up vases and stuff…it’s our livelihood. We have to tweet and post, like, everything we do.” She smiles and adds enthusiastically, “But it’s so much fun! I seriously have the best job in the world!”
“That’s nice,” I say politely. “I don’t twitter, or, whatever it’s called. But, uh…what about the venues?” I flash a smile, hoping the “Welcome to the Chi Omega Sorority House!” talk is over.
“Oh, right!” Melissa says. “Have you given any more thought to venues?”
I blow on my piping hot beverage and tell her that I’m still out of luck. Conner’s going to talk to his parents tonight and with any luck we can be granted, they’ll agree to go through with a church wedding. I told him to tell them that we’d make the ceremony really short. We’d be in and out so fast they wouldn’t have time to notice where they were.
Now, I know that’s not entirely true. Weddings always take longer than you think, and there’s always some kind of glitch that can cause things to run late, no matter how foolproof you make your plan.
Melissa told me a planner’s job is to make a solid plan and stick to it, but no one can be surprised if everything ends up taking longer than planned, or if something goes slightly awry. Even with added time buffers for family photos, bride and groom portraits, preening and prepping, traffic, and something referred to as “unexpected emergencies,” it can all end up taking a tad longer than anticipated, which means backup plans are a necessity.
“Melissa, I don’t think there’s a way out of this church thing, and I quite frankly don’t care anymore,” I tell her point blank. “I have my dream venue in mind, but it’s probably just going to have to stay a dream.” I pause for a heavy sigh. “Right now I need to find a way to have a ceremony at a Lutheran church that allows dogs, fresh flowers, has lots of natural light—for really nice photos, you know?” She nods voraciously. “And I need a quick ceremony. In and out. Moving on and keeping the family at bay. Kay?”
Melissa is jotting notes down wildly, looking up and nodding every now and then.
“Now,” she finally says, setting down her pink pen, “you have to stop stressing about this, Claire. In the end it’ll all be fine. Trust me. This is my job. I know weddings. Like the back of my hand!” She grins. “I think we can use Chanfield Manor as your reception site. What would you say to that?”
“I’d love you forever if that could happen.” My ears start to prick up. Is it possible I could actually manage some of my wedding at this dream venue? “Even with the slim time slot?” I query. “You know I booked the only thing Chanfield had on August sixteenth?”
Melissa doesn’t look the least bit fazed. She’s all-smiles and says reassuringly, “I’ve got this, girl. No worries.” She pulls out a slip of pink paper. It matches the shade of her notepad and her pen. “Here,” she says, handing it to me. “These are two very beautiful Lutheran churches. I think they’d be perfect, and they’re both reasonably close to Chanfield.”
“Okay,” I say, mulling over her neatly printed note. “So when do we check them out?”
“Oh!” she says. “You and Conner just go there whenever. I figure it’s probably easiest for you two to just go on your own time.” She brings her beverage up to her high-glossed lips. “Then you can let me know which you like best and I’ll book it for you.” She tilts her cup back, and I take notice of her fresh French manicure.
I casually glance down at my own hands and wish that my nails looked half as good as hers. I don’t bite my nails anymore, thank God. Sophie helped me kick that nasty habit, always lightly slapping my hands away when I’d bring them up to my mouth, or saying, “tsk tsk” when I was tugging at a hang nail. Still, my nails aren’t nearly as pretty as Melissa’s. I try to remember to polish them routinely. It’d be easier if I went to a nail studio and could get them professionally done, but acrylics aren’t advised in my line of work. Also, I can’t see the merit in spending practically the same amount of money as a fill on a regular manicure—something I can very well do at home.
“Is that all right?” Melissa asks.
“Uhh,” I say, looking back at the note. “Sure. Probably a better idea.” I smile weakly. “Easier if Conner and I go when we find the time…”
“Now,” she says, retrieving her pen, “let’s talk dresses. Your dress…bridesmaid dresses…and the guys’ tuxes or suits, too!”
After I tell her that I haven’t exactly picked out my wedding dress yet, and that I’m still not entirely sure about the bridesmaid dresses, Melissa looks like she’s coming back from a mild stroke. I try to make the situation less heavy by telling her that I’m really close to finding the dresses, that I was certain of the Vera Wang, and that I nearly had the bridesmaid ones chosen. That is, until my sister Maggie, in her superstitious and hemp and granola ways, randomly called me up and said, “You know green is a bad luck color, don’t you? If you have your bridesmaids wear green to your wedding, you and Conner will either divorce within six months or have bad sex for nine years.”
“I don’t think she’s right about that,” Melissa says thoughtfully. “But if she is right, wouldn’t that be awful? What do you think?”
I shrug. “I thought it was wacky talk, but seeing how this wedding is a difficult beast to tame, let’s play it on the safe side. Foregoing green dresses so… I’m still on the hunt for new dresses.”
“Probably a wise choice.”
“Green’s only a small accent color in the wedding, anyhow,” I tell her. “I’m thinking of going for blue.”
“Blue is perfect!” Melissa purrs. “I think you should definitely go for blue.” Then she sings, “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.”
“Do we do that together? Go look for bridesmaid dresses together?” I ask
, completely clueless. I really don’t know all of what a wedding planner is actually supposed to do, come to think of it. Remember, I’m thinking Franck and his Hollywood team. Hmm. Does Melissa even have a team?
“Nah,” she says. “We don’t need to do everything together.” She moves her cup aside and lays out a magazine that has several little sticky tabs protruding from the sides. “That’s a special time that should be reserved for the bride and her best friends.” She gives a playful wink and flips open the bridal magazine.
“Oooh,” I coo. The magazine pages displayed are chock-full of sweet, vintage wedding details. Birdcages, hydrangeas, lace, burlap! Wooden hearts and handcrafted ampersand signs and letters. A prop ladder with small and colorful vases filled with roses and baby’s breath set on various steps. Oh, and the wooden lovebirds atop the wedding cake. This is my kind of wedding!
So I’m not so sure about Melissa writing off my dress shopping, and maybe it’s a little unusual that she’s not interested in visiting the churches with me, but the girl knows my wedding style, and that’s what I’m really paying her for, right? And if she can find a way to use my drapes in the church and get us a reception at the Chanfield Manor, then she’s my guardian angel.
***
“Mom, I think—” I’ve been trying to get a word in edgewise for the past ten minutes since my mom rang me up. She means well, and if the wedding were taking place in Oregon, then I’d probably take her up on her offer. But it’s not. I’m in Seattle, and the proposition is just preposterous.
“She does such lovely work, Claire, dear,” Mom says. “And since she’s a good friend of mine—we are part of the same gardening club—I could get you a deal. And your father and I would appreciate a de—”
“Mom?”
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 6
