by Howe, Violet
Okay, the inner channel completely switched from Oprah to Jerry Springer. Too much old baggage bubbling up in this scenario. I took a step back and waved one finger in the air. “She is sensitive about me? She stole my boyfriend right out from underneath me and married him before I even knew what happened, and she is sensitive? Oh, that’s classic, Dwayne. That’s just freakin’ classic.”
(I might add it is very possible I didn’t say freakin’ at all here, but I can’t bring myself to write that word. It’s bad enough I said it, on Christmas no less, and on my mama’s front porch in full earshot of my entire eavesdropping family. But to write it feels extra sinful.)
“I know, darlin’,” he tried to say.
“Do not even call me darlin’. I ain’t your darlin’ and I ain’t been your darlin’ since you left me for her. Let me tell you something, Dwayne Davis. I thought we had reached some kind of peaceful agreement yesterday, and I felt real good about that. Now I don’t know what you have going on with the psycho bitch you married, but if you feel like this is the right thing for your kids, then your ass has no business on my porch. It needs to be back over there with her trying to work this out. If you don’t think it’s good for you and your kids, then you might want to get a restraining order because she seems a little cray-cray. Either way, I’m out of this dog fight. I don’t have anything in it. No kids, no wives, no boyfriends, nothing. This time around, I’m sitting this one out. I wish you both all the best, but please get the hell off my porch and tell your crazy ex-wife, or wife, or whatever she is not to call here again.”
My Southern accent is always thick when I’m angry, and after days of being influenced by those around me it blossomed to full-on drawl. I finished my speech and turned on my heel so fast a soap-opera casting agent would have hired me on the spot. I yanked at the handle of the screen door to pull it open dramatically, but my hand slipped off and my nail broke. I screamed out in pain, which only fueled my anger and frustration.
My sister Carrie opened the door and stepped out on the porch. When she determined he’d done nothing to make me scream, Carrie said, “Dwayne, I think she asked you to leave.”
“Tyler, I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know that, Dwayne. Really, I do. But I gotta be done, dude. Just let it go.” I nudged Carrie to open the door. We walked back inside and left him to straighten out his own mess.
“You did good, baby,” Carrie said.
“You don’t think I overreacted?” I asked.
“No. I don’t even know what happened, and I don’t care. With Dwayne Davis involved, you needed to be chewing his ass.”
So much for calm and peaceful Zen. Just when I thought I’d mastered the whole Oprah thing, too. Oh well.
Thursday, December 26th
The drive home seemed to take much longer than the drive up, mostly because it rained the whole way back. Overall, it had been a good visit, but I was anxious to be home. My home. In my own place, in my own life, in my own bed.
I hated being so disconnected without my phone. I wanted to call Cabe and talk about everything that had transpired. I also needed to make sure nothing significant had happened at work in my absence, so I decided to make a quick stop by the office before going to my apartment.
It was a little after six when I pulled in the parking lot, but I wasn’t at all surprised to see Laura’s car in the parking lot.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie!” She welcomed me with a huge hug and a hearty laugh. “How was your trip?”
“It was . . . good,” I said as I hugged her back. “Interesting.”
“Come sit and tell me about it. I’m been on the phone all day back and forth with my New Year’s Eve bride and the hotel catering manager and I’m about to pull my hair out. I would welcome the distraction!”
“Chanel still isn’t budging with the alcohol, huh?”
“No! She insists there be no alcohol served at all, but she wants the hotel to have punch bowls out so the room looks festive. She’s asking for them to put colored water in the bowls. Aaron at the hotel is flat-out refusing, and of course, I don’t blame him. I told her they could do different punch flavors to get colors, but she’s being quite the stubborn minx.”
“I still don’t understand why on earth Chanel booked her wedding on New Year’s Eve if she’s so adamant about no drinking. I mean, I can understand her not wanting people to get trashed at her wedding, but New Year’s Eve is kind of known for being a drinking and partying holiday. So why pick that date if you don’t want anyone to party?”
Laura shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose as though fighting off a headache. “I don’t know. And she extended the reception until two, so they are in the dinner room for seven hours with no bar, no wine, nothing. Aaron and his team are fit to be tied. He thinks the guests are going to be upset with the hotel. And he’s probably right.”
“I bet. Why can’t she just do a champagne toast at midnight? No one is going to get drunk off one glass of champagne.”
Laura shook her head again. “Won’t do it. We even offered sparkling cider so there’d be no alcohol involved. She doesn’t want it.”
“Did you ever find out why? Is she in recovery? Someone in the family in recovery? Is it a religious thing?”
“I don’t know. But like you said earlier, why have your wedding on the one night of the year most deeply associated with drinking if you’re that adamant about not drinking? But enough about her. Tell me about your trip. I know you were very nervous about it.”
“I was.” I nodded, replaying the trip in my head and remembering my anxiety beforehand. “I don’t know. It went much better than I expected, I guess. I enjoyed my time with my niece and nephew, my siblings. Even Mama. She and I had a pretty good visit this time. Long enough to enjoy, but short enough not to make us both crazy. I guess I was all worked up for nothing. They welcomed me with open arms.”
“And what about the gentleman? Dwayne, I think? Did you see him?”
“Yep. I did. We hung out for a bit. We visited his mom and his grandma.”
“How was that? How’d you feel about it?” She sat back in her chair and put her hands together. I felt like I was on a therapist’s couch.
“You know what? You were right. I got closure. I was able to see him and spend time with him, but I know I don’t have a future with him. I know my future’s here.”
She smiled so quickly that I almost sensed relief coming from her.
“Good! I am so glad. I know you dreaded going home, and that you’ve avoided it for a long time. I also know this young man factored heavily into that stress, and I am happy to see you at peace. You look lighter. Like the weight has been lifted.”
She was right. I did feel lighter, like I dropped a ton of weight that’s been holding me down. I got closure in a huge way on the trip, and not just with Dwayne. I mended my self-imposed separation from my family, and I no longer carried the trepidation and anxiety whenever I thought about home. Definitely not the same wounded girl who made that frantic drive to Florida years ago.
I nodded. “I think I’m ready to move forward. I’m done looking back.” I held my head high as I said it, realizing perhaps for the first time how true it was.
She reached for my hands and clasped them tightly in hers. “I am so proud of you. You are such a strong, intelligent, young woman, and I look forward to seeing you sail forth into a bright future. On a personal note, I’ll mention how relieved I am that you didn’t come in and tell us you were resigning to move back home.”
I shuddered at the thought. “Oh, no ma’am. Not a chance.”
Laura laughed and released my hands. “Good. Now let me get back to figuring out how to appease Aaron and Chanel into meeting in the middle somehow. The two of them are definitely going to drive me to drink.”
I called Cabe, hoping he’d be up for grabbing dinner or coming over. I got no answer, so I left him a message. I checked my voice mail and my e-mail, waiting around in hopes he’d call back
. He didn’t, though. I felt a bit deflated as I drove home, knowing he had no way of calling me once I left the office. I wanted so badly to talk to him. I have missed him so much.
Friday, December 27th
The week after Christmas and the week after New Year’s are crazy-busy in our office. It seems like everyone who has any inclination at all to get engaged picks Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve to propose. Then they call us right away, ready to hire a planner.
I don’t know which is worse—the clueless ones who have no idea what they want or what they’re doing, or the people who have already decided every tiny little detail and refuse to budge in the face of reason.
One thing is for sure in this barrage of phone calls, though. If a groom is calling to plan the entire event, he’s pretty much an anal, type A, control freak. Today, I got a phone call from the Mack Daddy of all organization.
Ricky and his fiancée got engaged on Christmas Day. In the forty-eight hours since she said yes, Ricky has already chosen their venues, completed a guest list, picked out a menu, and decided on cake flavors. He knows he wants a string trio for the ceremony and a DJ for the reception, and he has a music list and itinerary typed up for both. He asked how soon I could get him a contract to hire us as his planner, and I almost asked, “Why bother?”
This dude has put in way too many hours scouring the internet and planning this event. What would he have done if she had said no?
I congratulated him on the engagement and asked for the wedding date. When he answered me, I nearly hung up on him.
Their wedding is three and a half years away!
They are both freshmen in college and want to wait until after graduation to get married. Puh-leeze. Like you will even still be together after the next three years. Like any of these vendors would be willing to book an event three years out. Like these vendors will even still be here in three years. Well, okay, so they probably will, but will I?
I guess I need to seriously consider what I want from my career. During my time away this week, I missed my job. I didn’t dread coming back to work at all.
Come to think of it, I very rarely ever have a day where I am counting the hours until the end of my shift. I very much enjoy what I do. I think it’s a great fit for me.
I mean, there are definitely downsides to the job. Working pretty much every weekend for one. And then there’s the fact that we deal with stressed-out crazy people who think the world revolves simply for their own pleasure.
Then the other end of the spectrum is dealing with people who have blissfully found their mate and are oh-so-happy to no longer be alone. It sounds like it would be a good thing to be surrounded by, but it’s like a bright beacon shining on my single status. It’s kind of impossible for me not to obsess over finding Mr. Right if I’m constantly bombarded by people finding their match and committing to each other with public declarations of love.
I hate to sound bitter and cynical, but enough already. Sometimes I get sick of hearing how they met and how much they love each other. How she had given up and suddenly he came along, or he knew from the first time he saw her she was the one. Blah blah blah.
I’ve met some weird, screwed-up people in this line of work, and they still found somebody. So it makes me wonder what it says about me that I haven’t.
I do realize all the fairy tales I see don’t end up in happily ever after mode. In fact, quite a few of those screwed-up people I’ve met are in dysfunctional, unhealthy relationships. It still makes me feel hopeless, though. To see all these people who are somehow able to find each other amidst all the chaos and drama of life. Here they are. Walking down the aisle. And here I am. Not walking.
I’m willing to admit I’ve probably been my own worst roadblock. I’ve been more than a little apprehensive about committing to a relationship with someone because of my past heartbreak. But it ain’t like Prince Charming came knocking and I just refused to give him the time of day. I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him!
I’m okay if there’s not going to be harp music and a soft focus light beam from heaven. I’m totally okay if he doesn’t gallop in on a horse to sweep me away. My klutzy ass would probably fall off the back of the horse anyway.
But where is he? What’s taking him so long?
It’s enough to make a girl want to give up.
But that’s where the flip side of this job comes in. Just when I think I’d be better off living life as a hermit, true love comes along and refills me with hope. I meet a couple or a family who clearly have something special, something real. In those moments, I know for certain that love does exist.
If I ever walk away from this job, I may lose that. That certainty. I might give up entirely and turn my back on love’s very existence. I think about Dwayne that day in the woods. How willing he is to have faith in love and marriage. He chooses to still believe it can work despite everything he has seen to the contrary. I don’t have that innate hope instilled in me.
So in some weird wacked-out way, the very job that makes me feel so shitty about love also fills me with hope and keeps me believing. It keeps me looking forward to the day those doors will swing open and it will be me walking down the aisle toward the one who will share my days and my nights.
So I guess I know the answer to my question. Yes, I’ll still be here in three years. I’ll keep planning events for the rest of the schmucks while I’m waiting around for a schmuck of my own.
Any day now. Hurry up, dude.
Saturday, December 28th
I did not know the state of Florida could be so cold. I seriously do not own clothes for freezing weather. Especially not clothes I could wear to work a wedding. Of course, I stayed warmer in my suit and my coat than many of the ladies attending the wedding tonight in their strappy little evening gowns. Check the weather channel before you pack, people. Florida isn’t blazing hot year-round. I mean, granted, this wedding did get moved up from March, but still.
The ceremony was beautiful but so sad. I mean no disrespect at all by saying this, but the groom’s father literally looked like death. I think sheer will and love for his son kept the poor man alive long enough to witness this marriage. He didn’t even weigh one hundred pounds, and his skin seemed virtually transparent in his gray-blue state. Cancer totally sucks.
Everyone involved worked extra hard to try and make everything perfect for this family. Unfortunately, none of us could control the weather and the freak record-cold temperatures that moved in.
The guests seemed reluctant to leave the warm ceremony site inside the convention center to go board the yacht, and rightfully so. Even though we’d installed space heaters on the deck, the wind still whipped across it with a cold that cut to the bone. The yacht’s owner and his captain had rearranged as much as possible to make room indoors, but capacity being what it was, some people had to be out on the deck.
The groom’s dad spent most of post-ceremony pictures sitting in a large chair in the lobby, and when they needed him for a photo, the photographer posed everyone around him in the chair so he wouldn’t have to move. He looked exhausted. His shallow breathing grew more labored as the night wore on, and his hands trembled terribly.
Even with his wheelchair, I knew he would get too cold going from the convention center to the hotel dock, so I borrowed a cart from housekeeping to drive him straight to the yacht. I even thought I’d go the extra mile and pull the cart all the way under the covered sidewalk to the door of the convention center to limit his exertion as much as possible. I was quite proud of myself for maneuvering such a tight fit with the cart. In fact, I might have even said out loud, “I am Tyler, here to save the day!” when no one was around to hear me. What a dork.
The rest of the wedding party walked to the dock with our entertainment manager Eric, while the groom’s mom and brother helped me get his dad situated on the cart. The whole time, the groom’s mom complained about the weather and how she couldn’t believe it got this cold in Florida.
Once I had the
three of them seated, I hopped back on and put it in gear, but when I started to back up, I found I was too close to the railing on the right side. I pulled forward a bit to try and change my angle, then reversed again, but I still couldn’t clear the railing. I pulled forward and tried cutting the wheel harder to the left, but now the railing behind me was too close, and I couldn’t back up as far. I turned the wheel back the other direction going forward, then put it in reverse again. This time I nearly hit the bench sitting against the railing. We were stuck. My clever maneuvering wasn’t working on the way back out. I had somehow become Austin Powers and wedged the cart between the two railings.
“Is there a problem?” the mother asked. “It’s freezing out here, and we’d like to get going.”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” I said. “I understand. I’m trying to back up without hitting anything.”
My palms started to sweat despite the icy chill of the wind. I had no clue how to get us out, and I couldn’t even change the plan and get him off the cart because he was penned in. He would have to slide across the seat and then crawl over the bench and inch between the cart and the railing. Which wasn’t happening.
“Maybe if I move the bench?” the groom’s brother asked.
“Oh. Yeah. I got it. I’ll do it.” It seemed wrong to have a member of the family pushing around a bench in his tux, so I jumped off to move it. It didn’t budge.
“Let me help you,” he said, handing his jacket to his mother. “Here, Mom. Put this on.”
“Give it to your father, Adam. He’s going to catch his death from cold. He’s survived cancer this long only to freeze to death on a golf cart in Florida.”
Guilt and embarrassment overwhelmed me. Adam and I moved the bench a few inches before I got back on the cart to try again.
