“You don’t even have a flower girl?” I can pick up on the disappointment in Mom’s voice in an instant.
“I really hate the idea of a flower girl and a ring bearer, Mom. Kids in a wedding?” I twist my face. “No. Besides, Martha Stewart says that when you have children in your wedding, they detract from the bride. Not that I’m some bride who needs the spotlight like that or anything. I just…no… Martha advises against children, unless you really want them in. They can throw a fit, not cooperate, cause a hassle… There’s no place in this wedding, and, besides, the only kiddo I can think of would be Rose, and she’s much too young.”
“Well…” Mom sounds reticent.
“So no kids, no sign. It’s less to coordinate,” I say cheerfully. “And Schnickerdoodle is taking care of the ring, so we’re set.”
“And that’s not too much hassle to coordinate?” She chuckles slightly. “That’s not like a child who might not cooperate? Claire…”
“That’s Conner’s task,” I say breezily. “He has few things to do. He’s got his final fitting to do, to make sure everything’s tip-top, of course.” Mom makes a mmhmm sound. “He’s got to train Schnicker to walk down the aisle with the ring, and he’s got to show up and say ‘I do.’ That’s all, basically. He can certainly handle it.”
“But the signs are really pretty,” she randomly takes one last stab. “And she can even carve or paint little birds on them—”
“Mom, I love ya. No sign, though. They’re so…pretentious. Sorry, but, I think it’s pretty obvious that the bride is going to come down the aisle eventually! Why on earth do we need some cheesy announcement like that? Isn’t the string quartet enough?”
That reminds me—I must send a reminder email to Melissa to check on the deposit to secure the quartet that she helped me find. Kudos to MC Design and Coordination there for finding them—now we’ve just got to secure them.
I tell my mom that I love her once more, then say I’ve got to run. There’s so much to do and yoga is minutes away.
***
I don’t want to toot my own horn or seem like the gloating type, but I think I’m getting the hang of this yoga stuff. The whole meditation thing and repeating your mantra before each session is very relaxing. The poses aren’t as difficult anymore, and my body is not as stubborn as it was at the beginning. Downward Facing Dog is a cinch. The Child’s Pose is a favorite. I mean, who doesn’t love lying on the floor with your legs tucked in to your chest and your forehead resting limply on the mat, like a tuckered out baby? This is called a workout? I love it!
But then the workout really begins, with striking balanced poses that are still pretty difficult, especially when the level of intensity or length is drawn out.
Wow! Was I in for a treat halfway through the session today when we were told to try moving from our elbow-on-the-floor position to palm-only. Yeah, totally fell over like a fool on that one, so I returned to the modified pose on the elbow. But I am getting better, and it’s a lot of fun. Having Sophie and Robin to meet up with at the studio now and then makes it even more of a fun time.
“So,” I say, toweling dry the small beads of sweat that I can feel trickling down my hairline and along my jaw. “You girls want to come over and hang out for a while?”
We probably should have actually planned something, seeing how Conner is going to the golf course with Bobby and some of the guys. However, Sophie’s really swamped with the last touches for the café, Robin’s always got her hands full with Rose and her career, and I’ve been dealing with the florist for the past couple of days.
See, as I predicted, peonies wouldn’t be available for an outdoor August wedding. It would be floral suicide. I can picture it now: Wilting peonies falling face first out of the vases, others limply hanging on by a thread, begging to be put out of their misery. No, peonies weren’t going to happen, despite Melissa’s chipper reassurances.
The florist called me up directly the other day saying she couldn’t get in touch with Melissa. (It’s becoming an epidemic. You have to hit her on a lucky day.) She said she tried reaching Melissa time and again, but to no avail. So she gave me a call and delivered the bad news.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” the florist said resignedly. “I don’t know why Melissa said peonies were possible. I’m not willing to provide you flowers that A, I will have trouble ordering in the summer season and B, will completely fall apart the moment they meet the heat.”
I asked her why Melissa said she was certain otherwise, and, moreover, why she said that she, the florist, agreed.
“I don’t know what is going on,” the florist said, sounding positively flummoxed. “I shouldn’t be sharing this information, but another order of hers, for a dinner, has been completely botched. And getting a hold of her—well, you know. I’m really sorry, Claire, but I refuse to provide you a faulty product, no matter what Melissa said she could do for you. Not doing it.” She was unwavering, and it instilled confidence in me. That’s got to be a first when it comes to this wedding!
“Whatever,” I finally told her. “I don’t know what’s going on with Melissa, either, but whatever replacement flower you think would work best, I’ll go for.” I’m not that picky, so long as lilies aren’t suggested.
When she offered hydrangeas, I happily agreed and told her to change the whole order. Anything slated to be a peony would then become a hydrangea. Load the babies up with water and they could sustain the heat of an outdoor wedding. One fire put out. I shouldn’t have had to put it out to begin with, but…
“Sure,” Sophie says, bringing my attention back to the yoga studio and my chat with the girls. Sophie slips the strap of her yoga mat across her chest and motions to the door. “I can’t stay for long, since I’ve got some work to do at the café still.”
“For a short while,” I say.
Robin and I follow Sophie out of the yoga studio, waving goodbye to the teacher and fellow students. “Hang out a bit, since the boys are out and all,” I offer.
Before Robin veers off to her car, she says excitedly, “Sure. I’ll just swing home and change. Bobby can drop Rose and me off. I’ve been wanting to get Rose out of the house. It’s always daycare then home, daycare then home. Poor baby.” She rolls her eyes.
“Yay!” Sophie says, clapping her hands together and doing a little hop. “Baby time!”
“You can really square some time away to hang out?” I look at Sophie. “I don’t want to add pressure to you with your grand opening only weeks away.”
Sophie tosses a wave and says, “Please. Baby time and girl time? Totally worth it. And,” she unlocks her Prius that’s parked next to my car, “all that’s really left to work out is the final menu. Oh, and the front room chairs.”
“Yeah?” I wave goodbye to Robin then yank open my car door. It takes three tries but it finally springs open. “You don’t have chairs yet?”
“Chad’s got them, remember? He’s painting them for me.”
I can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah?”
Sophie gives me the evil eye. “He offered.”
“Mmhmm.” I duck into my car. “See you soon.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I can hear Sophie mutter as I slam my door close and make the peaceful drive home.
***
I’m about to ask Conner when his tee time is set again, because he and Chad are monopolizing the living room and Sophie and I can barely hear each other talk over the cacophony of the video game, when Sophie suggests we sit on the deck out back.
“Finally,” I groan, falling into one of the patio chairs with a relieving thump. “I love him, but his gaming sometimes.”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend who’s a gamer,” she says. “I can imagine you go a little bonkers now and then.”
“It’s only really grating when he’s not alone. Get him with a buddy and it’s a whole different story.”
Sophie situates herself in a chair and slips on her pair of wide-lensed Gucci sunglasse
s.
“Planning still going well?” she asks. “Not getting all overwhelmed, right?”
“Trying not to,” I say, pulling a leg into my chest.
“At least your mom’s being a great help,” Sophie says cheerfully. She rests her head on the chair back and looks like she’s enjoying soaking up the warm rays of sunshine. The sun isn’t quite balmy, but soon enough it will. “And your sister?” she queries. “She helping at all?”
“Maggie?” I say through a chuckle. “If I can’t get the groom to help, you think I’ll get my flighty sister?”
“You have a point.” Sophie better situates her sunglasses.
“The one chance I give Mags to help, she tells me I better switch up my color palette because I’ll be cursed with bad luck. Some voodoo superstition or something.”
Sophie laughs, then says, “Did you ask Emily if it was true? You know she’s on top of all of that hokey kind of stuff?”
“No. It’s not a total loss,” I mumble. “Blue bridesmaid dresses are actually going to work out better than the green.”
“But you and Conner are still good?” she asks. “Through all of this busy wedding planning you two are all love-birdy?” She shades her eyes with one hand, and I can barely see her eyebrows knit together behind her oversized sunglasses. “I know you two have been a little rocky.”
I shrug. “Comes and goes. The yoga’s helping me calm down. I think him getting to go out to LA helped. Of course, I’m still batty at times.” I place my hands behind my head. “You know how it goes though? Trying to manage something huge…like your café! That’s a big undertaking.” I give Sophie a questioning look. “All of a sudden zero to sixty on it…”
Sophie’s always kept the story of her time in Paris, which she admits was the real turning point in her decision to get her café underway, shrouded in mystery. At this point, it’s not even a story—a pamphlet is more like it.
“Like I said,” Sophie says casually, leaning her head back on the chair, “finishing touches on the menu and the chairs…then getting through the grand opening. That’s all—”
“Yeah,” I cut in, “but you really put the pedal to the metal, so to speak with getting this bakery thing underway. I mean, some of us girls were wondering when you’d finally start. Always knew you would but…when?” I pull a puzzled face. “Then you come back from Paris and Bam! You’re overhauling a space and going full throttle on your dream!”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Paris was inspiring, and I had to start my shop plans at some point, you know?”
I nod slowly, curiously. Then a smile plays my lips and I lean in to her. “So, uh…how are things with the Parisian sweeties you’re chatting with?” I just come right out and say it. I don’t know if it has any bearing on the topic at hand, but I want to know. Plus, romance gossip is the best!
Like I said, Sophie’s never shared that much about Paris, only about how she learned so much inside the kitchen, had a great time, did a little dating and a lot of flirting, and, well, magically bumped into the revelation that it was time to create The Cup and the Cake.
In girl world, though, there’s always more to a story, especially when men are involved, however little, however much. Also, I admit, I want Sophie to get herself a man. A serious relationship. We haven’t double-dated in fifty zillion years.
“Come on,” I press. “There must be more to life right now than just opening up your shop.”
Sophie bursts out in a short, loud laugh. “Yeah, just opening up the shop. Claire.” She looks at me, pulling down her sunglasses for only a second to catch my gaze. “I’ve already told you. Nothing serious, at all, is going on with any guy. You’re my best friend—I’d share with you if there was something.”
“Promise?” What am I, a five year old? I can’t help it, though!
“Promise,” Sophie says. “I’m too focused on my shop to even consider striking up something really serious with someone.”
“Even if he’s a hot Frenchie?”
“Puh-lease,” she says, and shakes her head. “All fun and games and flirtation, and all of it on the computer. But, I will tell you this, Claire.” She leans over to me.
“Yeah?” I ask eagerly.
“Next time I go to Paris, whenever that may be—most likely not very soon with the shop and all just opening, but whenever I do, I might meet up with one of them.” She gives a flirtatious little rise of one shoulder. “Keep the options open.”
I make a tsk-tsk sound, playfully. “But,” I say, my voice flat now, “until then, nothing. Right? Only borrrring gossip for now. Yeah?”
“You’re entertaining, Claire,” she says and smiles. “Always entertaining…”
“But nothing else, right?” I pry.
“It’s me and my café, Claire,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve got enough on my plate with that. And what’s with you wanting me to hook up so badly? Silly girl…”
“Are you afraid?” I don’t know where that question comes from. Completely out of the blue. Is Sophie afraid, though? I can’t help but ask the question. Her last boyfriend, a relationship of three years, really tanked and flamed and, well, it was a major disaster. She could tell you all about it; basically I think it left a sour taste in her mouth towards men, and since then she hasn’t been very eager to strike up a serious relationship. Probably why she likes having “possible relationship material” or “guys with whom she can casually (and safely) flirt” clear on the other side of the Atlantic. No risk, no pain.
“Afraid of what?” she asks, dubious.
“Of falling in love with someone again.”
“Oh, Claire.” She pulls herself up in her seat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Because I would understand if you were. I would understand if you were afraid of falling in love with someone who might hurt you again.”
“Claire.” Sophie removes her sunglasses and perches them atop her head, right in front of the tight brunette bun she’d pulled up for yoga class. “It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s that I’m busy. Really busy. You can understand, can’t you?”
I nod knowingly.
“Some day, yes, I’d like to meet someone and be in a serious relationship. Right now that’s not my focus.” She pauses for a moment. “I just have to do this.” She’s taken a lower tone; she sounds very pensive. “I have to make The Cup and the Cake happen.” She looks at me with sobering eyes. “When I can do this, then I’ll see what’s next for me. For now this is where I belong. This is what I have to do.”
“Understood,” I say, meeting her seriousness. “I’m proud of you.”
“And,” she adds, right as I hear the slamming of car doors from around the front of the house, “when I can get that right, then maybe we’ll have some fun conversations about men and relationships.”
I can hear Rose’s loud, high-pitched voice. I pull myself up out of the chair, and Sophie follows. “Then,” I say, “we can talk about Pierre or Benoît or François or whoever…”
Sophie chuckles and tells me I’m ridiculous.
“Or Chad,” I throw in, just to get a rise.
“Claire!”
I flash her a quick grin.
“Knock it off, girl. Or else,” Sophie warns. She sticks her tongue out as we turn the corner into the living room and are greeted by Robin, Rose, and Bobby.
“Look who’s here!” Bobby says. Rose is perched on one of his thick arms, and he’s waving her hand at us. “Say hi, Rose.” His voice is soft and gentle.
Rose lets out a loud shriek of excitement. “Yay!” Robin encourages. She plants a kiss on her daughter’s chubby cheek.
“So,” Robin looks at Sophie and me, “let’s get these boys out of here so we can have some peace, huh?” She nods a motion to the blaring television.
“Conner,” I say over the video gaming commotion of gunfire and swear words. “Chad.”
“You any good at golf?” Sophie makes small talk with Bobby, who has switched Rose to his other arm. She seems
perfectly content sitting there, fist in mouth, taking in her stimulating surroundings.
“Not half bad,” Bobby answers. “I try to get out and play a few times a month.”
“Yeah,” Robin says. She sets down her Vera Bradley bag, stuffed to the brim with diapers, wipes, toys, and other baby items, and she gives a brief out-of-the-corner-of-the-eye glance at Bobby. “He’s been at the driving range three times this week already.”
“Have to be in shape,” Bobby says.
“To kick these bums’ butts,” I say, pointing at the two, er, bums, on the couch. “Conner, please turn that damn thing off.”
Robin moans and says that it’s a hopeless cause.
Sophie makes her way from the dining room to the living room and, hands on hips, abruptly says, “Boys, come on. Tee time’s nearly here, and we want you out.”
Chad sets his gaming controller on the coffee table. He stands and cracks his knuckles. “Come on, man,” he says to Conner. “We’re being hen-pecked.”
Sophie, hands still sternly on hips, tilts her head to the side and says, “Really? Then that would make you a…cock—”
“Okay, okay,” I say, rushing to Sophie’s side. “Boys,” I look gruffly at Conner, “I think it’s time to go.”
Conner shuts off the gaming console, telling me to take a chill pill.
Sophie’s shaking her head at Chad, who’s smiling at her—that sly smirk that always plays his face when he’s ready to razz Sophie.
Sophie, who usually takes him much too seriously, doesn’t know how to handle it, so she just keeps standing there, shaking her head.
“Babe,” Conner says. He puts his hands on my waist and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You have a minute to see the work I did recently?”
“On what?” I’m trying to think about what he’s referring to…something wedding-related? Oh! Maybe Schnickerdoodle’s trick.
“My comic,” he says quietly.
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 18
