I nod my head fervently and manage to say, “Yes. ‘Oh shit,’ is right.”
Schnickerdoodle comes trotting in, like he’s done a good deed or an amazing trick.
“Bad dog,” I say in a low, yet quaking voice. “Bad, bad dog.”
Schnicker pulls his ears back and retreats a few steps.
“Emily,” I look up at her, “please get Conner. Now.”
As she dashes out, Schnickerdoodle is about to follow, but I make a curt noise to make him stop dead in his tracks. He knows this command. It’s no trick, but a command that he’s had to obey when he’s spotted our neighbors’ cat in their front room window when we’ve concluded our walks. It’s the you-better-listen-or-else command that he knows all too well after chasing after someone else’s Frisbee in a park.
“Very bad doggie,” I say. I point to his bedroom and say, “Crate. Now!”
Like clockwork, he slowly trots off to his bedroom, his tail tucked, ears back, and his four little paws making clickety-clack sounds…and trailing more golden dust from the office and on down the hall.
“Whoa!” Chad says as he, Conner, and Emily enter the glitter emporium. “Psychedelic mess or what?”
I stand strong, my hands on my hips and a nettled expression covering my tight face. “Why yes, it is a mess, Chad,” I say. I’m staring at Conner, who looks both guilty and fearful. “What I’d like to know is why there’s this mess?” My voice is surprisingly calm, but I’m at my wit’s ends here.
“Guess we forgot to close the door,” Conner says sheepishly. He digs his hands into his pants’ pockets. “Sorry, Claire.”
Hands still firmly planted, I continue, now in a lecturing tone. “Conner, I’m gone for a few measly hours. That’s all! And this is what I come home to? A mess of a kitchen!”
“Wha—”
“No!” I hold up one hand to stop him from speaking. “I don’t want to hear it. You left your crap in the kitchen.”
“I was going to clean it u—”
“Uhh!” I’m waving a hand at him to shut up. “Listen. The mess in the kitchen. All of our wedding to-dos still waiting to be done. And, let me guess—you still haven’t made your appointment to get fitted for your suits. Am I right?”
“Suits?” Chad says, twisting his lips. He looks to his side at Conner. “I thought we were doing tuxes, man.”
“All righty then,” I say. “Obviously you haven’t even given the guys the memo that they’re to be fitted. For suits. And then this—” waving one hand around the room, “this shit! That bunting took forever for Mom and me to work on. And the pins! How am I supposed to finish glittering the clothespins when I don’t have any damn glitter left?”
Both guys stand there, hands in pockets, and shrug.
“And the drapes!” I cry, suddenly remembering the sorry state the drapes are now in. I gather up a pile of glittered drapery and am this close to weeping. “The drapes!” I shake them at the guys, and poofs of glitter fall to the floor and even billow in front of my face. I blow and wave the cloud away, dropping the heap of ruined material to the floor. “I can’t even use the drapes now. They’re ruined. I’ll never be able to get that glitter out of that kind of material!”
“Well, erm…” Conner stammers. “I thought we weren’t even going to use the drapes. Since we didn’t get that venue you wanted.”
I’m beside myself. “Jeez!” I shriek.
I stumble over the pile of would-be drapes. I’m charging back into the kitchen, blazing an even thicker trail of glitter on the floors.
“How many times have I told you, Conner?” I shout. The three follow me. “We have the Chanfield Manor booked for the reception and we have the church for the ceremony! I can still use the drapes at the reception site. And,” I turn to him, pointing a finger, “you were the one who suggested I could try to salvage them for use at the church. What is with you? Don’t you give a shit about this wedding? Or am I all alone in the planning?” I cross my arms angrily and await his response. It can’t be a good one.
All he says is, “I’m sorry.”
“How about we calm down,” Emily steps in.
“I’m sorry, too, Claire,” Chad says. He slinks back towards the office. “I’ll help Conner clean it up.”
I feel a wave of calm begin to come over me all of a sudden, yet slowly, and I start to feel guilty for blowing up like I’ve done. I know accidents happen. God knows I’ve made plenty. But couldn’t Conner at least try to help? At least make a teensy weensy effort in at least keeping disasters from happening? I’m not asking for all that much. He’s not the one who’s helping glue glitter. He’s not bunting into the wee hours of the morning, nor is he even meeting with the coordinator and vendors.
“Look,” I say, resigning myself to a conclusion of any sort, “I’m sorry I’ve blown up. I’m under a lot of stress and just didn’t anticipate having this kind of a mess to come home to.”
“I’m sorry, Claire,” Conner apologizes again. “I’ll make the appointment for the suit-fitting first thing tomorrow. And I’ll try to help out more. Pay more attention. I’ll clean up the mess.”
“Thank you,” I say. Then I add, “And again, sorry I kind of overreacted.”
Conner sighs and turns away, about to join his partner in crime in the office.
“Conner?” I ask. Wasn’t he going to kiss me? That’s what we always do when we argue. There’s always a kiss and make-up to be had. Even a blown kiss or a sweet “I love you.” What about that never go to bed angry thing?
Conner slowly turns back around and looks at me with sad eyes. So I cast a smile in an effort to bring that glow back into those pretty blues of his.
“Yeah?” he says, almost contrived.
“We okay?” I keep grinning, hoping to lift up the sullen mood.
“Yeah.” His words seem forced, though, and he turns back around, heads down the hall, and disappears into the office, quietly closing the door behind him.
***
“They’ve been in there a while,” Emily says a couple hours later while the two of us play Scrabble, referring to Conner and Chad back in the office.
“Did you see that disaster?” I ask her.
“It was pretty bad.” She spins the board around to face me.
“I can’t believe he can be so dense sometimes.” I move my only two vowels around my stand, trying to see if there’s any way I can play all pieces to receive the bonus points. It’s going to be difficult.
“Accidents do happen, Claire. I know you’re stressed, and I know everyone’s telling you to calm down, but I really think you should.”
“I know.”
“I mean it,” Emily implores. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.” She tugs on the thick leather bunch of bracelets encircling her wrist. “You’re marrying the man you love. Planning the day you get to really commit yourself to him shouldn’t be so stressful that you end up fighting with him all the time. He’s the man you love and are going to marry.”
“We don’t fight all the time,” I protest.
“That’s a relief,” she says in a joking tone.
“You have to admit, though.” I give her a derisive glance. “He should’ve closed the office door and not paid so much attention to his stupid video game.”
Emily nods and moves around her letters.
“And,” I continue, “he should have made that fitting appointment a long time ago. It’s just blatantly disrespectful.”
“He’s a man.”
“No excuse.”
I’ve never completely bought that hogwash. Okay, so men and women are different. We come from Venus, they come from Mars. They probably really come from Mars’s moon and we come from Earth. No, they’re more like Pluto. For the longest time, they’re thinking they’re some far-off, bad-ass planet, and in the end turn out to be nothing but a little star. Or is it a moon? Come to think of it, does Pluto even exist as…anything?
Whatever. We’re definitely from different planet
s. The point is, Conner hasn’t been paying the wedding the attention it deserves and needs. We were just over this the other day, about the photographer.
If only he could just cooperate a little more, that’s all I’m asking. And he should definitely try to prevent chaotic events like Schnicker with the glitter today. Had Conner kept that door closed like he was supposed to when he was done working on his comic, and if he didn’t get so caught up in the video game world, then none of this would have happened. All I would have gotten miffed about would have been the chips on the floor, and even that isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. Emily did help calm me down after that mishap, so if Schnicker hadn’t come in looking like a leprechauns’ dream, then I probably wouldn’t have exploded at Conner today. At all.
Thank God Emily is a calming soul. It seems like there isn’t much in the world that can get her panties in a bind. With this wedding tweaking my mind and even my personality, it’s a good thing I’ve got my best friends to help keep me somewhat grounded. I’m seriously trending towards Bridezilla mode!
Well, at least Schnickerdoodle is freshly bathed and warmly wrapped up in a blanket next to his momma; Conner and Chad are engaging in some “masculine bonding,” even if it is over piles of glitter; and Emily and I are having some one-on-one time, and playing one of the most awesome board games in the world. Now I just need to try to win.
“Look,” Emily says as I’m about to spell out the word chicken. I can’t use all of my letters, but it’s a solid word that will score me some hefty points. “Oooh, nice. Look,” she says, “I know it’s tough right now, and I know Conner being a man really isn’t an excuse. Not a very good one. But you know where his heart lies. Don’t you?”
“Of course,” I say. I turn the board around to her, then jot down my points. “He loves me. I love him. Of course I know where his heart lies.”
“That’s all that matters.” Emily’s looking at me with comforting eyes. She looks almost empathetic to my cause, but I feel like that look she’s giving me, paired with her words, is one that says, “Wake up, Claire.”
“I know that’s all that matters,” I say. “But we still have a very big wedding to put on.”
“True.”
“And it won’t get done by itself.” Before Emily can toss in a rebuttal, I add, “Even with a coordinator and everyone’s help, planning a wedding is still taking a lot out of me. I can’t help my reactions sometimes…and Conner needs to man up a bit.”
“Claire.” Emily is still looking at me, even though it’s her turn and she should be figuring out how to beat me on this round, since chicken brought me up eleven points over her score. “Just love him. That’s all he wants from you.”
“I do love him.”
“And be patient.”
I sigh and pull out a handful of new letters from the velvety bag. “I’ll work on it.”
“Deal?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“Deal? You’re going to work on it? Relax and take it easy with Conner? With the wedding? With life? It’s a short thing, baby. You’ve got to live each day to its fullest.”
“Oh, Em.” I arrange the new letters on my tray. “Play your turn already.”
“Claire?”
“And don’t get all hokey-pokey on me, Miss Philosophical, about embracing life. Living every day of it.”
“I will tell you,” she pipes back, “because you should. Calm down and just be the Claire we all know and love.”
“All right, all right.” I’m ready for her to take her turn already. “I’ll try to work on chilling out.”
Emily gives one curt nod, tucks her legs tighter underneath, and considers her next Scrabble move.
I rub behind Schnickerdoodle’s damp ears and contemplate ways I can calm down. Ways I can try to truly enjoy the wedding planning. And, more importantly, ways I can let my fiancé know that I love him, for better or worse.
I glance down at my letters, and, as if a sign from above, I have the letters L, O, V, and E.
Chapter Ten
This is going to be great. Super duper great! Why didn’t I consider this before?
Yoga.
Relaxing, meditative, cross-legged, eyes rolled back, index-finger-on-thumb-posing yoga!
I don’t really know much about it, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. But I bet it’s my answer, my way to some rest and relaxation. A real spoonful of calming medicine.
Sophie is a yoga guru. She goes to a yoga studio every day. Well, almost every day. She goes a lot and she’s really good at it. I’ve never given much thought to studio aerobics or group classes like yoga. Sophie’s asked me to join her countless times, but I’ve always favored slipping into a pair of joggers and taking to the treadmill or the good old pavement for a run. Yoga could be just the thing, though, to help me relax, to get a handle on this wedding and the chaotic spiral I’m letting myself get into.
When Sophie mentioned I should give yoga a try after Emily broadcast to the girls that getting me to return to my normal, calm-self state was a Code Blue kind of deal, Robin joined in. She said she’d been having a heck of a time shedding the last few baby pounds in her mid-section. She, too, did some jogging, but thought yoga might be able to trim things out a little. If Sophie’s slender body is any indication of what yoga can do for you, what harm is there in giving it a go?
Sophie first suggested we attend a class over at Studio Tulaa with her, where she goes regularly—we could take a beginner’s course. Robin and I both voiced adamant no’s. Who wants to make a complete ass out of herself in front of complete strangers when she’s trying to twist her body into ways it’s never before known, and into ways that it will naturally fight against? Who wants to hold up a class because someone keeps twisting to the left and not to the right? Who wants to be responsible for kicking the instructor in the face when trying to do a modified moon or begging dog pose when she’s supposed to do a crescent child or something?
No. The first lesson has to be at Sophie’s—a private lesson where no one other than Sophie can see two newbies potentially make fools of themselves.
“I’ve been really needing to find a way to get rid of this,” Robin says. She pulls at a chunk of skin at her stomach and tries to make a wibbly-wobbly motion. “This has to go.”
Sophie slightly increases the volume on her stereo, and soon her living room is filled with the sounds of tweeting Amazonian birds and rainfall, and a melodic gong and flute. She dims the overhead lights and points to our mats.
“You look great, Robin,” I tell her. She’s still pinching at her stomach, as if she has several pounds of weight to lose. She did a spectacular job of staying in shape all throughout her pregnancy and has been committed to losing the post-preggo weight healthily. She’s been jogging routinely, often with Rose in tow. I think she looks really fabulous, tummy weight to shed or not.
“Thanks,” Robin says. She pulls her neon blue tank top further over the waistband of her yoga pants. “Breastfeeding was a natural godsend for weight loss.”
“Really?” I ask.
Sophie answers, “Didn’t you know that? Breastfeeding is a natural calorie-burner. Can be a nice way to help trim off the extra baby weight.”
“And, more importantly, breastfeeding is really healthy for the baby.” Robin smiles, proud that she did an entire year of nursing, even when co-workers warned her that her figure up top, as she once knew it, would be hello-goodbye-gone-forever once she breastfed. For Robin, it was all about Rose. What was good for Rose was good for Robin.
“Okay, girls,” Sophie says, standing on the edge of her yoga mat. She snaps her fingers to get our attention. “We’re going to start with some meditation and deep breathing first.”
She then takes a seat and crosses her legs, just like I was thinking. That whole ommmmmm meditation pose. Robin and I follow suit, and an hour later our bodies are sore, our minds are calm, and, did you hear that? An hour later! We actually did an entire hour-long yo
ga session! My bum and triceps might be angry about it tomorrow morning, but I’m feeling pretty darn good about it right now.
“I’m proud of you, girls,” Sophie says. She rolls up our mats and tells us to rehydrate. “Yoga can be more strenuous than you think. Drink up.”
“Thanks for offering to do this for us, Sophie,” I say.
“Totally my pleasure.”
“So when’s the next session?” Robin inquires. She takes a big gulp of water. “We should do this regularly, right? To really tone?”
“As often as you like,” Sophie says. She joins us for a drink in the kitchen. “I don’t know how often we can do it here. I mean, if you want to do it every day or a few times a week, then we might want to look into classes.”
“Sign me up!” Robin is enthusiastic, and, luckily, I share her enthusiasm.
“Me, too,” I say.
“Or if you want to do once a week or something,” Sophie says, “we can do it here. I usually do yoga by myself on Sundays.”
“I’m signing up for classes, for sure,” I say. “I think yoga will be really helpful with keeping calm. I can do it, like, two or three times a week or something before the wedding. Oh!” I quickly pull my glass from my lips right as I’m about to take another sip. A splash of water lands on the counter. “And what a great way for me to tone up a little before the big day.” I nudge my elbow at Sophie’s side, playfully.
“True,” Sophie says, mid-drink. She smacks her lips loudly when she’s done and almost slams the empty glass down on the countertop. “First,” she eyes the both of us in a sneaky way, “who wants to mull over paint swatches and go buy some buckets?” A broad smile covers her lips. “For…the…café!” she sings.
***
The choice was tough, but Robin, Sophie, and I have finally decided on the paint that will grace the walls of The Cup and the Cake.
We’re sitting on squeaky fold-away chairs in the middle of the front dining area of the future café, the final paint swatches neatly laid out before us on a make-shift table. We’re bundled up in extra layers and thick coats, and Robin even grabbed a baby blanket and an emergency throw from her car to help keep us warm in the heatless café that is still very much under construction.
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 12
