But, just to make sure…
“Sophie,” I say with slight vexation, “there’s nothing between you and Chad right now?” I opt to throw in a teaser. “You two aren’t secretly seeing each other right now? Having a sizzling love affair unbeknownst to everyone?” I give a wink-wink, and Sophie laughs heartily.
“Yeah, right!” She takes the bowl of batter from me after I’ve stuck my finger in again for a quick sampling. “There is nothing, and I repeat nothing, going on with me and Chad. Chad and me. Whatever.” She shakes her head harshly. “No. No. Ew. No.” She looks at me with intensity. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Okay…these Frenchies, then.” I have to know. She’d said she had a ton of fun dating so many neat guys over there—really living it up kind of stuff. She’d also shared upon her return in August that she was still in contact with two of the guys, and one of them actually offered a little more than playful banter. They talked weekly. Sometimes twice a week! I’d say that’s something more than simple flirtation…
“Claire,” Sophie says with a sigh, “you never give up, do you? Always out for a juicy piece of gossip or a sappy romantic story.”
“Well,” I say, moving aside the baby monitor Robin had given us for Rose. I raise myself up onto the countertop and take a seat, then I try for another batter sneak. Sophie swats my hand away.
“Well,” I repeat, licking away the tiniest amount of batter I did manage to take, “you can’t deny that a juicy bit of gossip or a good love story don’t leave you entertained.”
“At my expense?” she says with a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m having a crazy, sexy affair with two Frenchmen. At the same time. Here in Seattle.”
I perk up, and she rolls her eyes at my obvious gullibility.
“Come on, Claire, you silly girl.” She returns to whipping the batter into the submission I couldn’t quite produce. “Yes, I’m still chatting with two of the guys back in France. No, nothing serious or worth talking about. Honest. And, I couldn’t care less about Chad.”
“Well, I bet I could find you a love connection,” I say. “If you’re up for it.”
“Nope,” she says without hesitation. “Nope. No thanks, girlfriend. But, while we’re on the subject,” she points a blue-batter-covered spoon at me, “if you want gossip and romance, then Lara and Nathan are where it’s at.”
“Something I don’t know?” I slap the tops of my jean-clad legs in excitement.
“Well,” Sophie says in a seductive voice. “All I know is that Nathan told me at work the other day that he is really happy I set him up with Lara.”
“And?”
Sophie laughs again. “And that’s pretty cool gossip, wouldn’t you say?”
I blubber my lips together and sound just like the wind-up tugboat that we’d put in Rose’s bath to try to quell her excitement and eagerness to splash water onto the bathroom floor.
“Get back to me when they’re eloping,” I say. I try to sneak another sample of batter and, despite Sophie’s swatting, I succeed. I suck the tasty batter from my finger and add, “Of course, Nathan telling you he’s really happy about the set-up is pretty cool. Pretty awesome news, actually.”
Chapter Eight
Yes! Mom’s in town again. And she’s in town when Seattle decides to share with us some pleasant weather. This winter’s been a tough one, with more snow than I remember in a single season. The sun isn’t shining too brightly, but there is blue sky to be seen, and the clouds are actually white and not a threatening grey.
Mom’s decided to come up just for the heck of it—to help out with anything bridal that I need. Oh, what a welcome visit it is.
I have a meeting with Melissa today to talk about photographers and videographers, and I’m becoming overwhelmed again with my long list of DIY to-dos. I don’t know why I tend to pile up more and more things to tackle. All I’m doing is making a load of stress for myself…and all the girls who rally to my cause.
But when I start to think of how beautiful the wedding will be when it’s all done, with so many personalized details, I can’t help but grow that list. All of the glitter clothespins, the jars of homemade jam for take-home gifts, the special bird accents, unique vases, picture frames, birdcages…
And, that reminds me. Yet again! Something I need to buy off of Etsy. Actually two things! There’s a very attractive ivory-colored garter, handmade and hand-beaded, that I found from an Etsy seller who makes antique-looking wedding garters and hankies. I just have to order that garter; it’s a one of a kind. Okay, the seller actually has five on hand and says more can be made. But it looks like it’s one of a kind.
I also found the most darling antique birdcages that I have to have for the reception centerpieces. Some are really large and can fit small floral arrangements in there…like groupings of little vases filled with flowers. It would look positively darling. There are also some smaller birdcages that can be used as décor in addition to the bird’s nests I’ve been collecting from thrift stores and the old, tattered hardback classic books.
So, anyway, I found a giant lot of antique birdcages online at Etsy and wanted to purchase them, but I wanted to play it safe, so I checked with Melissa first, in case she’d already gotten the birdcage memo and has been stocking up on all sorts of knickknacks for the wedding. Besides, I’m already doing a lot of DIY projects and collecting tons of decorative items. There are so many things I’m making in addition to whatever Melissa’s cooking up… I could be going a little overkill here.
Melissa said she’d take a look and see if they were a good purchase; she also said she might know someone who could give us a good deal on decorative antique items. I’ll just ask today if she’s checked out the lot online (which I’d asked the seller to put on hold). I hope she bought them! They were…well…perfect. Then again, I’m open to see what her contact might come up with.
I pass Conner on the couch in a hurry, and he says something to me, but I’m too focused on my cell phone to make out his words. Mom’s sent me a text letting me know her flight’s landed. Finally, after an hour-long delay! Go figure, right when Seattle starts to feel spring-ish and airport delays are almost unthinkable. I’m about to type out a response that I’m on my way, when Conner repeats my name in an agitating way.
“Yes?” I question.
He looks a little hurt or perhaps confused about my haggard tone. Then I go and repeat myself and come off just as sharply.
“Sheesh!” he says loudly. “Only asking.” He’s holding up both hands, waving that white flag of surrender.
“Sorry,” I huff. “I’ve got to go pick up my mom, and we’re running late.” I sigh, then say, “‘Only asking?’” I totally missed out on what he was saying. “Asking what?”
“Forget it,” he says. He drops his hands. “I’ll see ya later.”
“No, what?” I press. I reach for my purse and shove an umbrella in it, just in case.
“I wanted to see if you had time to check out the progress I’ve made.”
I raise one eyebrow, perplexed.
“My comic,” he says slowly and obviously. “You’ve yet to check it out.” He leans back into his seat. “Forget it. You bringing your mom by right away?”
I decide to put the comic issue aside, since apparently Conner has, and tell him that Mom and I have an appointment at the boutique to get my veil—an appointment we’re barely going to make now that her plane’s late, now that I’m held up talking about Conner’s comic strip.
“If you’re so pressed for time,” Conner says somewhat under his breath, “why didn’t you just wait right at the airport for her? Bet she’ll be ready and waiting and you’re not even there yet.”
I look at him, cast a petulant glance his way, and say, “Well I had to clean your laundry and put away your dirty dishes, and I’m also supposed to put an entire wedding together.” I throw up my hands and let out a very loud groan. “No point in wasting time sitting in a car doing nothing when there’s crap to be done, now is there?�
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“Fine, fine.” Conner isn’t up for a debate or an argument any more than I am, even in spite of my upset tone. “Never mind,” he mutters. “Have fun, and I’ll see you whenever you get back.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to act calm. “Oh, and one more thing.” I know I need to leave, but I have to make sure.
Conner’s looking at me, a blank expression on his face. He actually looks a wee bit tired—probably the stress of all of the wedding stuff, although what has he got to be flustered or stressed about?
“When’s that appointment to have your fitting?” I ask him in somewhat of a stern voice.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says.
I want to retort with, “You haven’t even made it yet?!” Instead I compose myself as best I can and tell him he shouldn’t wait any longer.
“The waiting time for an appointment could be a while,” I say. “Better to play it safe and make one now.”
“Love you,” he says, which I take to mean, “I love you. I really do. But please go now and leave me in peace.”
I oblige, blow him a quick kiss goodbye, then run out the door, shutting it behind me before Schnickerdoodle can follow.
***
Luckily, Mom and I are only two minutes late to our meeting at the bridal boutique. I’ve grabbed the magazine from my trunk before running inside, to make sure the veil I ordered does in fact match the one in the picture.
And boy-oh-boy is it ever the perfect veil! It’s in ivory, just like my dream dress, and has a headband of organza-tufted and hand-beaded flowers with tiny sequins and shiny crystal things. It’s gorgeous, the ideal headpiece to accompany my wedding gown, which, by the way, the girls at the boutique say has been confirmed for a May delivery. Eek! And, after I show a hint of panic, they assure me there will be plenty of time for alterations before my August wedding.
I watch with round eyes as the girl behind the boutique counter carefully wraps my veil in tissue paper, folding it expertly. She then meticulously fits it into a rather large grey and white box, tying it off with a long, white ribbon. Then she places the box in an extra-large, rectangular, cream-colored carrier bag. Such pristine packaging. It is all in the presentation, as Mom says.
Mom hands over her credit card as I clutch the carrier bag holding my neatly wrapped veil. I’m so excited I could do a little dance. In fact, I do. I can’t help but bounce up and down on the balls of my Converse sneakered feet. I’m a princess!
“So, is it time for the meeting with your coordinator?” Mom says, taking the carrier bag from me so I can unlock the car doors. Thank God the temperatures have warmed up. No more crawling over the passenger seat to get in.
I start up the engine and watch as the clock shines to life.
“Yup!” I tell her, catching sight of the carrier bag she’s still holding. Yes! I have a veil! And I already have the perfect shoes. I’ll buy my garter tonight… The dress will be here for alterations in two months… Gosh, things are really coming together!
When Mom and I pull up at Starbucks, at first she gives me a twisted face. “We’re meeting here?” she asks, very unsure of the coordinator to whom dad (and she) have been shelving out the big bucks.
“We’ve already met here like a bunch of times,” I tell Mom easily. “Well, not this Starbucks, actually.” I point at the café. We’re at a different location now. One that’s more convenient today for Melissa, since she has to be near downtown later to meet with a caterer for another client.
And, again, that reminds me… I already know what I’ll be doing for catering. I’m going with Katie’s Kitchen, where Sophie works, because their stuff never disappoints, and, yes, Sophie insisted. We’ll also get a good deal.
“She doesn’t have an office?” Mom asks, the quizzical look still plastered on her face. I tell her not to worry about it, that it’s going to be a nice meeting nevertheless.
“What would you say…” Melissa says after we’ve been chatting and sipping on our beverages for a while. She’s drawing out her words as she rifles through her large Louis Vuitton handbag.
I notice that the to-die-for handbag must be new. Surely if a girl has that kind of a bag, she doesn’t leave it closeted. I decide it must be new when I consider the other handbags Melissa had brought to our meetings: one time a simple black purse, another a plain canvas tote filled with paperwork and magazines, and another time both a simply stated purse and another canvas tote. What’s with Louis?
Melissa’s still fishing around in her designer bag, as Mom happily pulls on her iced beverage. The meeting’s been going well, as expected. Mom eventually got over the fact that our meeting space is anything but conventional, although I think the coffee helped liken her to the environment.
When Melissa finds the file folder she’s looking for, she opens it and runs a finely polished acrylic fingernail down the sheet of pink paper. She taps at a spot and turns the paper around so Mom and I can take a look.
“Photographers I recommend,” Melissa says. She’s still tapping the paper with her perfect nail, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves. It’s reminding me that I need to do something about my own nails. At least for the wedding I can make them look nice. I need to ask Lara where she goes; hers always look really pretty, yet simple.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m glad you have some recommendations. My friend wanted to take the photos.” I look at Mom and tell her, “Emily.” She nods once. I look back at Melissa. “She’s also a bridesmaid, so I told her no,” I say, giggling to myself.
“Oh, no,” Melissa says, aghast. “You never want an amateur to take your wedding pictures.” She now has her manicured hand melodramatically pressed to her chest. “No. Never. You want a pro-fe-ssion-al.” She taps the paper again.
I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Melissa’s acting a little too high on her horse. What makes her think Emily’s an amateur? I correct her, saying, “Emily Saunders is a very good photographer. She actually works for a local magazine.” I sit up taller in my seat, feeling proud. “She’s very good,” I add. “She’s going to take my bridal portraits, actually.”
Mom gasps and whispers, “That’s such a good idea!” Then she adds that it’ll be a nice way to save money. I think, Not now, Mom, please. But I brush it aside and tell Melissa, with a smile, “But recommendations are great. We still need a photographer. So who do you suggest?”
I look over the paper with the list of two names. I expected more, but I guess we were two for the church… Maybe these two really are the best photographers in town.
Mom’s thinking alike and says, “Only two? What if neither work out?”
“Oh,” Melissa says, returning that polished hand to her chest, “they can’t not work. These two are the best in Seattle. You can’t beat them.”
Before Mom can go into a series of questions about cost, I thank Melissa, take the piece of paper, and ask when I should meet them.
“I talked to Sandy this morning. Sandy Sandivan.” Melissa takes a sip of her drink after gesturing to the paper. Her bright pink lipstick leaves an unsightly mark on the lid. It looks like little pieces of sparkly bubblegum are stuck to it. It’s a flattering shade, but that’s one reason I’m not a very big fan of lipstick. Who wants to accidentally take a taste of their lipstick when they’re trying to enjoy a drink? And who would ever want to scrub and scrub at long-lasting lip color on glasses and mugs at home? Some of that stuff never comes off; it’s designed and marketed so.
“Sandy Sandivan?” Mom asks, innocently. “Is that his real name?”
I laugh and Mom joins in, then Melissa joins in for the heck of it.
“Yes,” Melissa says. “He’s a really great guy, though. And I think you’ll love his work.”
“Okay,” I say, ready to call it a day on the meeting and get to work on booking a photographer. “We’ll give Sandy a call and…you won’t come with us to these meetings, correct?” I don’t know why I bother asking. It’s been the standard procedure for almost every vendor
so far that Melissa leaves the meetings to me.
“No,” Melissa says. “This is a moment for the bride and groom. You two go together, look at Sandy’s work—and Living Moments, too. Look at their packages, see if you’re a fit for either of them. But,” she rests a hand on top of mine, “I am sure Sandy will work out. And, if he does,” she winks, “you’ll get a nice ten percent discount. On either of those two photographers there, actually. I’m on the in-and-in with them.” She winks again. “I get special deals.”
Mom’s ears prick up at the words “discount” and “deals,” and I can’t help but feel a wash of relief, too. I know Dad said he’d pay for the wedding and all, and Mom had offered to help with a portion. But it still feels too entitled or too arrogant or unsettling to whip out your parents’ credit card and say, “Charge it up!” I mean, I don’t want to spend them to the poorhouse, no matter how much I honestly protest using Francine the Lily Grower Friend to save money, and no matter how irked I may be that my father dates women who are young enough to be his daughter.
Before Melissa packs up her luxe handbag, I inquire about the birdcages from Etsy.
“Oh!” Melissa says. She retrieves her notepad and scribbles down a reminder. “I’ll do it today.”
“Uhh…” I start.
Mom looks at me with very earnest eyes. “Something wrong, dear?” she asks.
“Erm…the…uh…the seller said he’d hold them for forty-eight hours.” I look at Melissa and am about to bring my fingers up to my mouth, ready to initiate old nail-biting habits, but I quickly pull them back down into my lap.
Melissa responds with a bright smile, then says, “Then I better hop to it!”
“That was forty-eight hours ago,” I say remorsefully, tightly winding my fingers together. “About forty-eight. Remember? I emailed you about them? You said you’d check them out?” I bite my lower lip, hoping I’m not about to see another disaster unfold before me. Weren’t the invites enough?
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 10
