by L. A. Witt
It didn’t work out that way.
I’ve always known my mom was a doer; she didn’t believe in waiting until the last minute for anything, and in fact was way more comfortable scheduling herself out a month in advance so she knew exactly what to do, when, to make her plans come together. Neither I nor my brother had inherited that trait, and once I’d moved out of the house, it didn’t affect me directly, so I’d kind of forgotten about it. But I woke up Saturday morning to a text from my mother about an appointment with the wedding planner, and I should really check my email and get back to her as soon as possible.
“Nooo.” I threw my phone onto the floor and burrowed back into Andreas’s side. “Fuck. It’s begun.”
“What’s begun?” How did he sound so awake at eight in the morning on a Saturday? It was unnatural.
“The planning.”
He chuckled and brushed his lips over my head. “Are you really surprised? This is your mother we’re talking about, and you’ve given her a goal. I’m kind of amazed she didn’t have us meeting with someone yesterday.”
“That would be crazy.”
“Mmm.”
That didn’t sound like the total agreement I was looking for. “No, really, it would be crazy, right? I mean, we don’t even have a date picked out yet, so how much planning is there really to be done?”
“More than you’d think. Marcy handled almost everything when we got married, but the planning phase lasted just under a year.”
Fuck. “A year.”
“Yep.”
I couldn’t imagine waiting that long to get married to Andreas. I wouldn’t wait that long, there was no way. “We’re not doing that.”
“But think of all the decisions that need to be made: colors, seasons, food, cake, the length of the stem on the champagne flutes—”
I elbowed him in the rib cage. “You’re a nasty, vicious troll.”
“Darren.” He rolled onto his side so we could see each other better. “Here’s the thing to remember about weddings: they’re not really about the people getting married.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I’m serious. They’re about the community, about the people you bring together to support and acknowledge you. We could get married in a courthouse tomorrow, and I’d be perfectly happy.”
That sounded good to me. “Then maybe we should just—”
“But your mother will never get a chance like this again. It’s not surprising she wants to make the most of it. And my kids, hell.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine telling Emily she wasn’t invited to our wedding? Think that would go over well?”
Picturing her pouty-lipped, disappointed look was like pouring liquid nitrogen over my heart. “No, I guess not.”
“And all of our friends and our families—have they ever gotten together outside of a crisis? This gives them the chance to get to know each other without the strain of wondering whether we’re all alive or not. Plus”—and now he grimaced—“my parents are way more tolerable when their grandchildren are around. It’s the best possible way to meet them, really.”
I was kind of amazed. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had a lot more time to think about it. When Marcy married Phil, I went to her wedding. There was no way I wasn’t going to size up the guy who was gonna be my kids’ stepdad. Having a functional family means swallowing a lot of pride sometimes, but it’s worth it. And having a wedding that’s a little more than we’d considered will be worth it too.”
He was right, again. I was probably coming across as petulant by comparison. “You sound like a wise old sage. People are going to be climbing mountains to sit at your feet and collect your nuggets of wisdom before you know it.”
“Fuck off.”
“Exactly, just like that.” I nodded. “A pithy truth exemplifying the impermanence of life and the fact that they should probably be doing something with themselves instead of lying around waiting for you to maxim them.”
Andreas chuckled. “‘Maxim’ isn’t a verb.”
“It is now. I made it one.”
“God, you’re weird.”
I grinned at him. “Yeah, I know.”
I would have kept him in bed longer, but Andreas wasn’t good at being still, and as he reminded me, I had an email to reply to. The wedding planner was Shayna Moss, of Moss Event Planning, and she was carrying on a torrid love affair with the exclamation point, if her intro email was anything to go by. I emailed her back, and we set up a meeting in a nearby coffee shop for noon. Then I texted my mother to let her know I was, in fact, listening to her, and then finally persuaded Andreas into the shower for a fast but fun fifteen minutes. We got clean . . . eventually.
At noon we headed to the shop, where Shayna had already staked a claim on a table. There were . . . binders on it. Multiple binders. And folders, and was that tablet displaying an Instagram page?
“Hi!” Shayna waved us over as soon as we entered. “You must be Darren! You look so much like your mom, I’d know you anywhere.” Shayna was a brightly colored hurricane of a person who looked like a human bouquet, and smelled about as floral. She was younger than I’d thought, maybe even younger than me, and her smile was wide and genuine. She went for a hug, first from me, then Andreas. “I’ve heard so much about you guys from my own mom. Apparently you’re a hot topic whenever she and Jessica get together for cocktails.”
“How afraid should I be?” I asked, sitting down in one of the free chairs. Andreas sat next to me.
Shayna grinned. “Not too afraid. It’s all good . . . mostly.” She settled in across from us and pulled out her phone. “Okay, so I thought we’d get some of the basics out of the way first. How much lead time are you thinking?”
“How much do you think we need?” Andreas asked. “To get everything booked and arranged without driving us crazy?”
“At least two months. Depending on venue availability. Are you going to be getting married in a church?”
“No.” That was one topic where I felt the urge to put my foot down. “I’d rather not.” Neither of us was religious, and the last time I’d gone to church had been for Asher’s memorial service. I had no desire to revisit one for my wedding.
“Then you’ve got lots of options. There are city parks, pavilions, event centers . . .” She opened her folder and pulled a few sheets for us to look at. “Here’s a list of some of the most popular, with seasonal pricing. Two months would put you in September, which is a great time to get married.” She mock-fanned herself. “Not so damn hot. October’s a busy wedding month, but it would work well for an outdoor wedding. If that’s of interest to you . . .?” She took in what was probably my mildly panicked stare and moved on. “Something for you to think about. How many guests are you thinking?”
I glanced at Andreas. “My family plus your family is like . . . twenty?”
“Plus our friends, plus the people from work.”
Wait, what? “Why would we invite people from work?”
“Because if we don’t, we’ll catch hell,” Andreas grumbled. “Especially from a bunch of cops. We’re trying to mend fences, and inviting people to get sloshed on our dime is one of the best ways to do that.”
Okay, he had a point. Not that we were the ones who needed to be making amends, as far as I was concerned, but we’d pissed a lot of people off over the past year. Still . . . “If we invite everyone who’s ever frowned at us, we’ll go bankrupt.”
“Just the captain and the people on our regular shift, then.” He looked at Shayna. “Say between seventy-five and a hundred.”
We didn’t have that many friends and coworkers. “How does that equal—”
“Significant others too.”
“Ah, right.”
“Great!” Shayna plowed ahead like the Energizer Bunny on Red Bull. “Are you thinking a full sit-down dinner at the reception, or just drinks and apps?”
“I . . . don’t think we know yet.”
“No problem, there’s a list of caterers with their specialties included in the folder.” She pulled out another page. “You can pick whoever looks good, and we can schedule a tasting. Speaking of tastings, have you thought about your cake at all?”
“Other than that we should have one, no.”
“No worries! There’s a list of bakeries in there as well, read it all over and get back to me.” She looked between the two of us, then fiddled with her phone for a moment. “A fall wedding gives you a lot of options for colors. What do you think of russet?”
“I think it tastes good deep fried and served with ketchup,” Andreas replied, perfectly deadpan.
“Fair enough.” She pursed her lips. “What about something classic, like black with dark-blue accents? Or, ooh, royal purple!”
It was my turn to wince. “I’d rather not dress like a bruise for my wedding day.”
“Huh.” Shayna blinked. “That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten that comparison from a client, but I can see where you’re coming from. No blue, purple, or red, then?”
“Or orange,” Andreas said.
“Or pink!” I added.
Andreas nudged my knee with his. “Emily will be disappointed.”
“Emily will look good in anything,” I said firmly. “I don’t. Trust me, my mother has tried.”
“How do you feel about—” Andreas’s phone rang, and we paused to let him check it.
“Speaking of Emily,” he murmured, then took the call. “Lisa, what’s up?” There was a pause, and then—“Which park? Can you still see him?” Another pause. “Now’s not the best time, I’ve got— No, don’t put her on, come— Hey, baby! Yeah, Scruffy got loose at the park, huh?”
Go, I mouthed at him. Scruffy was Emily’s new dog, a terrier mix who was a wizard at escaping his collar. Andreas was the only one who could reliably coax him close enough to recapture, and the longer it took, the more distressed Emily got.
“Yeah, of course I’ll come help. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Okay. Okay, baby.” He hung up the phone with a sigh. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
“Puppy emergency?”
“Yep.”
“Never fear, I’ve got this. You go get Scruffy. Which park are you heading to?”
“Miller Hill.” He leaned in and kissed me. “Come and join us when you’re done here.” He looked over at Shayna. “I’m sorry to run out.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all. We’ll just hit a few more things before we finish up for now. I won’t keep Darren long.”
“Thanks.” He left, and once the door was shut and I couldn’t track him through the window anymore, I turned back to Shayna. She had a bemused little smile on her face.
“Jessica said you guys were adorable together, but I wasn’t sure I believed her.” Her smile turned brilliant. “Your wedding is going to be fantastic! The pictures alone will be epic. Speaking of which . . .” She opened a binder. “Let’s talk photographers, videographers, and DJs.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Shayna dropped me at the park an hour later, and after I’d left her folder in my car, I went to find Andreas. My head was swimming, my brain full of the zillion things that now needed to be done. Guest lists, invitations, catering, where the wedding was going to be in the first place . . . it went on and on. Shayna had laid out a timetable and promised to keep us on schedule, which was good, because I already knew I wasn’t going to be much help there.
Lisa, Emily’s mom, was sitting on a bench with Scruffy firmly tethered next to her, watching Andreas push Emily on the swings. I sat down and made a sound like a deflating balloon.
“Have fun with the wedding planner?” Lisa asked. I stared at her. “Andreas filled me in. Congratulations, by the way, I’m really happy for the two of you.”
She genuinely was too, which was only a small part of what made Lisa awesome. Life had tossed her around a lot, but she’d picked herself up each time. She only had one semester left before she had her bachelor’s in nursing, and she was as dedicated to their daughter as Andreas was.
“Thanks,” I said. “And no, not exactly fun, but it was necessary. Shayna’s cool, at least.” I sighed and settled back, closing my eyes against the glare of the sun. Scruffy licked my hand, and I absently patted his wiry head. “As long as it ends with us married, honestly, she could dress us in tutus and I’d be okay with it.”
“Andreas definitely has the legs for a tutu,” Lisa mused.
Did he ever. “And the ass, oh my God.”
“Oh, yeah. You better brace yourself, Darren.”
“Wha— Oof!”
Parents seemed to have this sixth sense when it came to the location of their offspring. I’d seen Andreas use it on Emily a dozen times, not even having to look at her to reel her in before she managed to fall off her chair, or catching her midleap on her bed. I didn’t have that supernatural ability yet, and the weight of a five-year-old hurtling herself into my lap was almost enough to bend me double, and more than enough to take my breath away.
“Emily, we don’t do that!” Lisa scolded. Her daughter wasn’t listening, though, tiny arms wrapping around my neck as she brought her face in close to mine.
“Darren,” she whispered. “Are you and Daddy really getting married?”
“Yeah,” I said with only a minor wheeze. “We are, sweetie.”
“And I can be your flower girl?” Emily was trembling, she was so excited. “Really?”
“Of course.” I smiled at her. “Who else would be our flower girl?”
This prompted a piercing scream of happiness that made Scruffy whine, followed by a huge hug for me. I glanced over her shoulder at Andreas, who looked as content as I’d ever seen him.
Yeah, fine—definitely worth the fuss.
When I’d married Marcy, the planning process had been a year-long nightmare that had nearly ended our engagement, relationship, and friendship more times than I could count, and we hadn’t even been the ones paying for the damn thing. To this day, the clearest memory I had of our wedding day was the two of us collapsing in the back of the limo after the reception and simultaneously muttering, “We should’ve eloped.”
Darren and I were a month into planning ours. We’d set a date for mid-December so my kids would be on break from their respective schools, but safely away from the Thanksgiving and Christmas travel rushes. That was still holiday party season, though, and we only had a venue because the wedding planner had pulled a miracle out of her ass and found us a restaurant that had had a cancellation. She’d also sweet-talked me into coughing up a grand to reserve the place. Thank God neither of us needed a wedding dress or this whole affair would bankrupt us.
Through all the chaos and headaches—not to mention our high-stress jobs—Darren and I were surprisingly civil. Well, to each other, anyway. My mother and I had almost weekly conversations that Darren referred to as “heated,” and he’d saved the wedding planner as “Satan” in his contacts.
We didn’t really butt heads with each other, though. If anything, we approached planning our wedding the same way we approached working together. We either divided and conquered or tackled something as a team, and when we disagreed, it just never seemed like something worth raising our voices over. I vetoed dress uniforms because they were uncomfortable, and didn’t argue when Darren insisted on cummerbunds with the tuxes. He thought engraved invites were nicer, I thought printed were more practical, and we let his mom decide. (She picked engraved because of course she did.)
We never forgot we were on the same team, and through it all, I couldn’t even count the number of times I heard the words of young me and my ex-wife coming out of our mouths: “We should elope.”
But we didn’t. Because we couldn’t disappoint our parents. His mother would be sad and mine would be insufferable, so the planning steamed on.
“For fuck’s sake,” Darren snarled at the three-inch-thick binder spread across his lap and let his head fall back against the couch.
“Why is there not an ‘I don’t give a shit’ option on the floral stuff? I don’t even know what the difference is between a rose and a lily and a . . . whatever the fuck those are.”
I leaned over the couch behind him, resting my forearms beside his shoulder. “Orchids.”
He twisted around and eyed me like I’d spoken another language. “Huh?”
I nodded toward the colorful photos. “Those are orchids, Darren.”
He shifted his gaze back and forth between me and the flowers. After a moment, he shook himself. “How the . . . Since when do you know anything about flowers?”
Grinning, I pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m not a total caveman, you know.”
That brought a smile to his lips. He reached up, curved a hand around the back of my neck, and drew me down. “But I like your caveman side.”
“Mmm, I know you do.” I gave him a light kiss, but didn’t pull away. “Just wait till the wedding night.”
His eyebrows flicked up. “Seriously?”
“Um, yeah? That’s the prize at the end of all the bullshit.” I gestured at the binders. “We appease everyone we know by jumping through the crazy hoops, and then we take off somewhere and fuck like bunnies until we can’t move.”
The way his head was tilted back emphasized the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I should probably be annoyed that you’re not getting all romantic about us saying our vows in there somewhere, but man, that last part sounds pretty good.” He absently nudged the binder forward, probably to make room for the distinctive bulge stretching the front of his jeans.
“Isn’t she waiting for an answer from you?” I teased. “I should let you get back to—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, and kissed me again.
Thunk. The binder hit the floor at Darren’s feet, and a few pages whooshed out. The rings had probably popped open, and getting it all back in order would be a nightmare, but . . . whatever.
