“Yes, please!” Jackie says enthusiastically, taking a bright pink lighter from her handbag. She nearly leaps from her seat then tugs at the short white mini she has on. “I haven’t gone dancing in weeks!” Then she tosses a large bill on the bar, tells the bartender to keep the change, and grabs each of our hands, leading us on to the next hot spot.
***
When Conner comes home that Sunday evening, I’m extremely happy to see him. I know he wasn’t gone all that long, and there had been almost entire summers in college that we’d spent apart. Surely a weekend away from each other shouldn’t be that difficult. Yet, even though I had a fabulous weekend with Emily and Jackie, I still felt a little homesick for life with Conner.
The girls and I had a blast, of course; basically we did nothing but bar hop, binge on junk food, and rot our brains with television and some decent rom-coms. Oh! We did go to a yoga class together this morning. I had to drag them to join me, but they went. Emily said it was nice, but that she’d had better instruction when she was over in the Pacific Rim or something, and Jackie said her body should only contort in those positions if a man was in the room showing her a good time. But we went just the same, and I got in a good hour of peace and relaxation.
“I am so happy you’re back,” I tell Conner when we climb into bed for the night. “I really missed you.”
He smiles and turns out his bedside lamp. “I’m happy I’m back, too.” He leans over and gives me a kiss—a long and warm kiss that makes me remember one of about a zillion reasons why I love this man.
“So it was a really good visit you say?” I give a punch or two to my pillow and sit up, propped against it.
“Really enjoyable,” he says. “Did some surfing, even. And, you know what?”
“What?”
“Even though it was a fun time and all, I realized LA isn’t for us.”
My ears prick up at the good news. Any further confirmation that a move from Seattle and our life and friends here is much appreciated and welcome. Surprising, but welcome.
“Go on…” I coax.
“Well,” he says. “First, it really is so damn smoggy. And crowded—so many people. Traffic is murder. And this place really is home now, know what I mean?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” I tell him.
“Yeah.” He sighs and puts his hands behind his head, sinking back into his two pillows. “It’s nice here.”
I give him a kiss on his slightly scruffy cheek. “Glad you feel that way, honey. One less thing to think or worry about.”
He nods and I decide to change the topic, “So,” I say, “regarding the wedding. Your family’s okay with the wedding plans and how everything’s going?” I wonder if they’ve really accepted the church wedding. Not that I need to be borrowing any trouble. What’s done is done, and there’s enough to deal with; I don’t need to add Conner’s mom’s fear of the pulpit or his dad’s wacky, anti-religious stance to the pile. But I can’t help but wonder.
“Everything’s great,” Conner says, and his voice is thick with positivity. His smile to match reassures me not only that, yes, everything is in fact okay (at least on his side of the family), but that everything is okay with us. Better than okay, even. He’s had some zone-out time, and I’ve had a fun girls’ weekend. Things are all right again. And we’re back together now, under one roof, the way it’s supposed to be.
Conner cuddles close and envelopes me in a hug and another kiss. This one lingers. He brings me nearer to him, his fingers drawing an indistinct pattern between my shoulder blades.
“And,” I sneak out, because I can’t help myself, “your brothers? Daniel and George swear that they’ll be there for the wedding? And they’ll have suits?”
Conner laughs, presses his lips to mine, and begins another strong kiss, but I ask again. I have to know.
“Yes,” he says, smiling seductively. “They’ll be there. And they’ll have suits.”
“Even though they’re studying abroad in Europe right now? They’ll still get measured for suits?”
“Claire, babe.” He gives me a sideways glance. “Everything’s under control. Mom’s told them to get their measurements over there, and we’re doing all that we can. Don’t worry.”
I heave a sigh and look off to the side, wondering why, when the engagement’s been on for nearly a year, Conner’s brothers are just now figuring out their wedding apparel situation.
All right, so it took us a while to coordinate the wedding party, and it took me forever to settle on the perfect ensemble. Still…things with his brothers always end up more complicated than they need to be—or maybe just things in general.
“Babe,” Conner says. He turns my head to face his, his finger nudging my chin. “Chill. I love you, but chill.”
I give a small nod, and Conner leans in, pressing his lips to mine and pulling me further down onto the bed of soft, crisp sheets.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
***
The billowy hydrangea bushes and beds of roses that fill the neighbors’ yards are in full bloom. The quaint street of Parker Lane is rich with a rainbow of colors. I’ve been behind in doing my spring planting, and I asked the girls if any of them wanted to help put in some new garden-variety blooms in pots around the house. Nothing too over the top this year.
Emily said she’d try to make it in the next couple of weeks to help out, but she’d have to see how her work schedule would map out. The magazine she’s been shooting for is really pleased with her work (as they should be; she’s awesome), and have given her more projects.
Today, though, I’m going to Katie’s Kitchen to meet with Sophie and her boss, Katie, to talk about catering. One of the most exciting things about planning a wedding (minus the dress, the accessories, the design concept, the flowers, the…okay, almost everything), is the wedding cake. Sophie’s going to make it with the team at Katie’s, and she swears she has the perfect design in mind. We’ve gushed over photos together and design ideas, and I know she’s going to do an exquisite job.
I’ve already told Melissa that I’ve got the catering and cake taken care of, and politely declined her offer to help in that area. I don’t need any recommendations or referrals. My best friend is a brilliant baker and works at one of the best catering outfits in Seattle. I’ve got this one covered.
Melissa, however, didn’t exactly see me eye-to-eye. We had the longest telephone discussion in the world the other day. I told her repeatedly that I appreciate her help, but that I really do have it covered.
In fact, if I remember correctly, it was at our initial meeting when I told her that I could use all the help and vendor recommendations I could get for the wedding, but I was all right with all things food. Maybe if she put as much of the effort that she does convincing me to go with her catering and cake vendors into the…uh…rest of the wedding planning…
I don’t know. Maybe, had Melissa had that iPad then, she could have noted down that special piece of information. Or maybe, at that time, her head was off in la-la land and all she could think about was how she’d be able to strut into Louis Vuitton over on 4th Ave. and buy herself that pretty little bag of hers. Maybe, while I sat there talking about catering, she was looking at my head and seeing a big dollar sign and hoping I’d sign the dotted line so she could make a mad dash to the bank.
Anyway, Melissa tried to give me one last pitch about how she had “preferred vendors” that she wished I’d use, because she could get me a discount. I shut that one down by saying that I doubted the deal from Sophie could be beaten. Melissa made a very loud hmph sound, told me she wished I’d reconsider, then slowly moved on to talk about the seating arrangements, the whole time letting the topic of catering fester.
See, the headcount is—that’s right—growing! We’re at two hundred and thirty now and this time it was Dad who messaged me, saying, Make it 230, Claire! Forgot about the Johanssons. Again, I don’t know who these people are, but it looks like at l
east half of the guests will be complete strangers to Conner and me.
“Hey there, Claire!” Sophie says from the front walk of Katie’s Kitchen as I emerge from my car.
Belltown is an urban kind of retrofitted area of Seattle, and the area where Katie’s Kitchen is located doesn’t have much curb appeal, but it’s such a beautiful day you just can’t help but be outside. The sun is out, the birds are chirping, and it’s warm. I’m finally sporting my favorite pair of white espadrilles and a beloved pair of perfectly fitted Calvin Klein jeans that I found by sheer luck at the bottom of a thrift sale pile. I’ve topped off the comfy and weather-appropriate outfit with a vintage Flintstones t-shirt and my gold locket necklace from Conner.
“I hope you came hungry, because we have a lot of yummies to taste today,” Sophie says, opening the front door.
“Am I ever,” I say. “Went for an early morning jog today with Schnicker and Conner.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, more for Schnicker than for us.”
We share a laugh and up strides a tall, brunette woman clad in a bright orange apron that’s dusted with a thick layer of flour. She extends her hand and introduces herself as Katie.
“We ready to get started?” Katie asks. She dusts her hands off and apologizes for her appearance. “It’s wedding season. That means non-stop cakes.”
Sophie nods severely in agreement, and we head to the back of the building. The place is massive—much bigger than Sophie’s location. Although, Sophie won’t be needing a giant kitchen like Katie’s, because she doesn’t plan on doing catering or offering a full-blown menu of items. The front area of The Cup and the Cake is larger than this here, though, and that’s going to be ideal for the café concept.
Speaking of which, Sophie and Jackie finished off the paint job—they even dropped by Robin’s and Bobby’s place with left over paint in case they wanted to use any for Rose’s room. Turns out, funnily enough, they used it all, and now Rose’s room has a very similar look to The Cup and the Cake. Sophie said that Robin had sketched out roses on the walls and used the pink paint to fill them in. She said it looks awesome, and I told Robin she needed to have a get-together over there soon.
The tasting session is…nothing short of amazing. My taste buds are tantalized! My mouth waters after each bite. “Yes, that one!” is being said about almost everything I put in my mouth. The list of “we definitely have to have that at the wedding!” items is, like the guest list, growing at a rapid rate. By the end of the tasting, I’m stuffed—the unbuckle-your-pants kind of stuffed.
“And you’re still good with a three-tier cake?” Sophie asks while Katie scribbles on a clipboard. I think she’s a little stunned at the amount of food I’ve ordered. Originally I said we’d want a simple, low-key wedding with barely more than one hundred guests. There goes that grand plan.
“You know,” I tell Sophie as I lick my fingertips, “I don’t think three is going to be enough.”
“True,” Sophie sighs. “I think you’re right. What’s the count at?”
I deliver the shocking news again.
“Yeah,” Sophie says, shaking her head. “No way will three be enough. Four tiers might even be cutting it close, and that’s considering expanding each layer’s size. No…” She looks to Katie. “I don’t think four tiers will work. You, Katie?”
Katie agrees. “Five at least, and expanded.”
I purse my lips in thought. “That’ll ruin the overall design, then, huh?” I finally say.
“I think so,” Sophie says. Then, abruptly, “I know! How about, to keep with the overall design, we stick with the three-tiered version and then do a dessert bar?”
“Don’t you think everyone’s going to want wedding cake?” I question. “I mean, that’s like a major incentive for a lot of the people coming anyway.” I have to laugh. “Half these people don’t know me or Conner—all of my parents’ clients and long-lost friends apparently—and isn’t that a huge reason anyone like them goes to a wedding? The food. Wedding cake. It’s the best part of the whole thing.”
“So right,” Sophie says. She turns back to Katie. “And our wedding cake is damn good.”
“The best,” Katie says, not pulling her eyes from the clipboard on which she’s still scribbling. “With your own personal touch, Sophie,” Katie looks to her, “it’ll be more than perfect!”
“I’m seriously going to bake you the most kick-ass wedding cake, Claire,” Sophie says with a grin. “And we can make an equally awesome dessert bar.”
I puff out a heavy and loud breath of air. “I don’t know then…”
“I’ve got it,” Sophie says. She sits up taller in her seat. “Our white wedding cake is awesome. We sometimes use the same recipe for wedding cupcakes…for miniature cakes…for cake balls.”
“Oh!” I gasp. “I saw cake balls on Pinterest. Pink ones with edible, gold glitter! They were adorable!”
Katie stops writing and says, “And cake pops. Cake balls on a stick. A-ma-zing.” She returns to her writing.
“We’ve got you covered,” Sophie says confidently. “You said you’ve got special stationery items for the food planned, yeah?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Little signs for what the food is and all? Yeah.”
“Exactly,” she says. “We’ll just emphasize wedding cake balls, wedding cake pops, etcetera. It’ll be a smashing hit. That way you’ll still have your perfect cake—seriously, it’s going to be amazing…to die for—and all of the guests will be sure to have wedding cake. One way or another they’ll find ‘wedding cake’ at the dessert table and they’ll be happy.”
I twist my lips and ponder the idea. I’m just not so sure…
“Claire,” Sophie says, giving the “leave it to me” look of hers, “trust me.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. “You’ll have your cake and eat it too.”
Katie agrees, right as I give my enthusiastic nod of approval, then Sophie asks her, “So, how many cake balls, pops, and what-not does that mean?” Sophie looks from Katie to me. Katie looks to me, as well.
“Erm…at this rate lets just assume we need dessert for three fifty-ish,” I say a little unsettlingly. “Maybe four?”
“Four hundred!” Sophie gasps.
“Well, dessert is always wanted in seconds, right?” I say, scrunching my brow.
Sophie gives me a thumbs up and says, “So true. We better get to work. This is going to be the wedding of the year.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Things are going well, Mom,” I say over the speakerphone function on my cell phone. “If the headcount were to stop expanding, that would be great.” I pour Schnickerdoodle a fresh bowl of puppy chow.
“You know how your father is,” Mom says in her usual kind and understanding voice. “He has a lot of colleagues whom he considers good friends.”
“Mom, you’re not helping with your adding to the list. You and Dad are…out of control.” I laugh a little as my phone vibrates on the countertop. I take a quick peek at the newly arrived text message, making occasional uh-huh sounds to my mom as she runs on about not wanting people to feel left out.
Don’t panic. It’s still early, reads the message from Lara.
I continue to look at the message, flummoxed. It’s still early for what? Then it clicks. I had asked Lara last night why people weren’t sending in their RSVPs for the wedding yet. The invitations, including the enormous amount of last-minute add-ons, went out a week ago! Surely someone had received their invitation, excitedly ticked off “Will Attend,” and stuck their reply in a postbox.
“You understand, don’t you, dear?” Mom asks.
I press the reply button on my phone and say, “I still think the list is out of control, Mom.” I’m not listening that intently to what Mom’s saying, but I get the gist.
I type to Lara, Thx. Will stop panicking…for now. XO
I finish off the message with a smiley face, hit send, and answer Mom. “But don’t you honestly think we are letti
ng it get a little out of hand? A little bit. You have to admit…”
“Well…”
While Mom continues to assert herself and her reasoning behind inviting everyone and their dog to the wedding, I start to pack my gym bag for yoga class.
I’ve been really good this week, already going to three of the four classes I have scheduled. Aren’t you proud? I am, and so is Conner. He says he’s sure it’s helping me calm down, and that at some point that inner calmness I’m gathering will start to exude from my pores and I’ll be back to my old calm and collected self in no time. Yeah, Conner says I’m still running around like a chicken with its head cut off. What can I say? Time’s a-tickin’. This wedding needs a-plannin’.
“Oh!” I say quite loudly. Mom’s taken aback and stops in the middle of her never-ending rebuttal about an increasing guest list. “I can’t believe I didn’t mention this already.” I flutter my eyelashes and toss my rolled up yoga mat onto a living room chair. “The boys have all done the initial fitting for their suits—that is, the ones who are actually on this continent.”
“Excellent!” Mom says. “And do you still want me to have one of those Here Comes the Bride signs ordered? You know there’s that lady here who makes really pretty hand-crafted wooden signs.”
“Oh gosh, no, Mom.”
We aren’t talking about that dumb sign again, are we? I love Mom, but she’s really hung up on this sign, almost as much as she was with using her friend the florist and her prized lilies.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Mom,” I sigh, clicking the phone off of speaker and into normal mode. I bring the phone to my ear. “First, we don’t have anyone young enough in the wedding to carry the sign, and I doubt Chad will want to carry that silly thing.” I have to stifle a laugh at the image. A grown man carrying a frilly sign that says, “Here Comes the Bride!”—complete with a lace or pink ribbon. Oh, the thought…the image…
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 17
