by Becky Monson
“You too, Bobby.” I flash her what I’m sure is a ridiculous grin.
Jared takes my hand and guides me toward the back office.
“Marketing stuff,” I spew out quickly to Patti as we walk by.
“Sure, sure.” She gives me a knowing glance, which I ignore completely.
Once inside the office, with the door shut, Jared grabs me and pushes me up against the door and kisses me with so much passion, my legs go wobbly.
“So, I guess Lia was right?” I say between kisses.
“Totally right,” he says as I tighten my hold around him, kissing him with slight force.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks as the kissing slows down to soft pecks intermixed with him tenderly moving my hair out of my face. My hair twist had come undone.
“Of course.” I grasp the hand that is playing with my hair and kiss the inside of his palm.
“Okay,” he says, gathering himself. “I’ll call you later, then.” He kisses me softly one more time, and then he opens the door and goes back out to the front.
I sink down into my office chair, heart racing with what I’m sure is an ultra-red aura burning brightly.
“That was pretty fast marketin’,” Patti says loudly so I can hear her.
“Shut it, Patti,” I yell out the door, and then close my eyes and spin in my chair like a giddy little girl.
CHAPTER 4
“Hmm, I don’t know. I was thinking something more like red velvet or chocolate,” Anna says, underhandedly questioning my wedding cake ideas. Mind you, cake ideas I haven’t even told her about. She’s already in full Bridezilla mode, and it’s only ten in the morning.
It’s Sunday and we are at brunch with Mom at one of our favorite breakfast spots. It’s called Snooze, and they make this pineapple upside-down pancake that I’d like to marry.
“Well, I was thinking we could do different flavors for each layer,” I say, hoping to get her off of the red velvet idea.
“Like what?” She eyes me, dubiously.
“Like I was thinking the base could be a chocolate hazelnut with a white chocolate mousse filling.”
“That sounds lovely,” my mother pipes in, and Anna agrees.
“And for the middle layer, I was thinking a coconut cake with an almond cream filling,” I tick off the layers with my fingers as I tell her my ideas.
“Let me stop you right there,” Anna cuts me off as I start to move on to my idea for the third layer. “Coconut and almond? Together?”
“Oh, yes.” I dip my chin once. “It’s all the rage right now.” It’s not really, but Anna will be all over it if I say it is. It truly is an amazing combination, though. I happened upon it by accident, and it was quite the tasty accident, if I do say so myself.
“Hmm.” She purses her lips, considering it.
“And for the top layer, I was thinking a lemon cake with English lemon curd filling.”
“Well, that actually sounds good,” Anna says snidely. “I can’t believe you came up with that on your own.” Then she gives me a playful look. She’s teasing, of course. I do like it when old Anna makes an appearance. Crazy Wedding Anna has taken over and has been driving me nuts. I’ve been missing old Anna.
“Yes, I do have my talents.” I give her my best smirk. “Anyway, you might want to run over that with Jonathon to make sure that works for him.”
“Oh, Jonathon doesn’t care about the details. He’s leaving it all up to me.” She smiles smugly.
“So that’s why he hasn’t been helping much,” my mouth says without asking my brain first. It does that more than I’d prefer.
“What do you mean?” she snaps. Oh yes, excellent, Julia. Great can of worms to open up right now. It’s been bothering me though, so I might as well go with it.
“I mean, he just doesn’t seem to want to do much.” I search my mom for help, but she’s just staring at me. Part of me wonders if she has had the same thought as well. How could she not? Jonathon hasn’t done one thing for this wedding. He hasn’t even helped with any of the decisions, not one. Except for the proposal part, that was it. “Maybe he’s just too busy,” I add, seeing the appalled look on Anna’s face.
“Yes, of course he’s busy!” Anna practically spits it out at me. “He’s a junior partner after all.” She looks to the side, exasperated.
I want to say, you’re kidding! He’sajunior partner? I had no idea! Neither of you have ever, ever mentioned it before. Ever. But being sarcastic right now would probably not be helpful.
“Anyway,” Anna takes a deep breath, “I don’t need his help. He’s fine with just showing up at the wedding.”
“But what about the parts he’s supposed to do? Isn’t the groom’s family supposed to do the rehearsal dinner or flowers or something?” I only know this because Brown and I had this conversation recently when she nearly had a nervous breakdown because her fiancé Matt’s family wanted to do the rehearsal dinner at the Golden Corral. I don’t think Brown has ever stepped inside a Golden Corral in her life. She was not going to do it the night before her wedding, that was for sure.
“I’ve spoken with his mom, and we are working out all of that. She’s very busy as well and doesn’t have time to help out, so she has left it up to me to pick the venue. She just gave me a check to pay for it all.”
“Anna, you can’t do all of this on your own,” I say. I truly am concerned. Taking on a whole wedding, and doing it with only a little time to get everything done—isn’t this the stuff that breakdowns are made of?
“I can handle it. I like it. Besides I have you and Mom.” She regards my mother strangely. Mom still hasn’t piped in, and Anna is obviously confused by her silence. So am I. By now our mother would have said something to bring peace to the conversation (she’s the peacemaker of the family), but instead she has just sat there and listened. I think my suspicions were correct. She has been wondering all of this herself but has not had the nerve to ask it.
The truth is she hasn’t asked my mom and me to help with much anyway. She’s dragged us to dress fittings and food tastings, but she never truly wants our opinion. It’s like we are there because that’s what you’re supposed to do—drag your mom and your maid of honor around with you when planning a wedding (and your fiancé as well, but that is obviously not going to happen), but she has no actual need for us to be there.
Silence awkwardly lands upon the discussion. My mom stares intently at her food, avoiding eye contact.
Anna clears her throat. “Anyway, the wedding is still over a month away, and there isn’t that much left to do.”
I want to scoff at her, but I just keep it to myself. There’s so much left to do, I don’t think she even realizes.
“Julia, didn’t you have something you wanted to tell us?” My mother finally pipes in, not just trying to bring peace to the conversation, but to bury the topic completely.
“Yes, I do.” I smooth down the napkin in my lap. “I just found out that I’m going to be on Cupcake Battles!” I do a little dance in my chair. It still seems so surreal. The dancing also covers up the pukey feeling that rears its ugly head whenever I say the words “Cupcake Battles.”
“Cupcake Battles?” my mom says, confused.
“Yes, you know the competition show I love to watch?”
She’s clearly still confused.
“It’s on The Dessert Channel?”
Still. Not. Registering.
“It’s five channels away from Fox News.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that fun,” she says. Yet another person impressed that I’ll be five channels away from Fox News.
Clearly my mom and Bobby could bond over their love of Fox News since that seems to be all they watch. Honestly, there is other programming out there.
“When is it?” Anna asks. I’m surprised she didn’t pipe in earlier since I make her watch it with me sometimes. Or I used to, before she went all wedding nut-jobby.
“I leave in ten days.” My stomach sinks as I say that. I
shouldn’t be here. I should be practicing. But Patti and I practiced for hours yesterday, and we decided we needed a break. I’m suddenly wondering if that was the best idea. Ten days is not that far away.
“But what about my wedding?” Anna looks incensed.
“Are you serious?” She’s seriously going to make this about her? “I’ll be back two days later. An entire month before your wedding.” I scrunch my face at her. Does she honestly think my entire life revolves around her wedding? Can I not have a life of my own outside of her stupid wedding?
She shakes her head as if to bring herself out of a trance. “Right, okay. Of course. I didn’t . . . mean to say that.” She tucks some hair behind her ear, mumbling something that sounds sort of like “sorry.” I’m not exactly sure, but I think that’s what she said.
And that right there, ladies and gentlemen, is an Anna apology. A pretty good one, actually. It’s very difficult for Anna to apologize in any way. I’m pretty sure she’s allergic.
One time after a heated argument at dinner with the family, she came down to the basement apartment at my parents’ house (when I used to live in their basement), and said, “Mom told me I was rude to you at dinner. I don’t think I was, but sorry if I was.” And then she ran back upstairs. I yelled, “Apology accepted!” up the stairs, but I’m pretty sure she had run lightning fast to her bathroom and immediately jumped into the shower to scrub any apologetic feelings she had off of her body before the hives set in.
“Well, I’m excited to hear how it turns out. How much money do you win?” my mom asks, trying to bring the conversation back from the turn it was about to take, a turn where I wring my sister’s neck.
“Ten grand, and then you also get to have your cupcakes at a huge party—usually with famous people in Hollywood—and get tons of exposure.”
“Oh, well that sounds like fun,” my mom says, still trying to lighten the mood.
Anna doesn’t say anything. I think she might still be reeling from her pseudo-apology, or she feels ashamed for going where she did in the first place.
“So, Anna, are you all set with the wedding favors?” My mother eases back into wedding stuff, seamlessly.
Anna settles back into bride mode immediately - did she ever even leave? I try to be involved, but I mostly just sit there and only offer my opinion if asked, which is pretty much never.
I go back to paying attention to my pineapple upside-down pancake and bask in its nothing-to-do-with-weddings-or-cupcakes qualities.
~*~
“You’re late,” Betsy Brown says as I rush into the restaurant in lower downtown, or Lodo, as we locals like to call it. This has been quite the busy day today, not to mention caloric. And I still have dinner with Jared tonight before he leaves to go back to Charlotte tomorrow.
I wish I’d worn my fat pants. These skinny jeans are cutting off my circulation.
“Yes, I’m late. You’re surprised?” I shrug my shoulders.
“No, I’m not. Sit down. We have much to discuss.” She motions to the chair next to her.
“Thanks,” I say and take a seat.
She has no idea how much we have to discuss. I’m about to tell her that I'm going to be rushing out of town to compete in a cupcake baking competition during the week of her wedding and will return only two days before the actual wedding. I wish I didn’t have to do it face to face. A text would be so much easier.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, hoping that she’s not going to be full of the wedding drama. I have enough of that from Anna.
“Oh, I’m pretty much a disaster,” she smiles feebly.
No such luck. Aaaaaand, now would not be the best time to tell her about Cupcake Battles. I think I’ll just wait. Maybe I can send her a wimpy, cop-out text later.
And then the craziest thing that has ever happened in all of the time I’ve known Brown happens. She starts to cry.
“Brown?” I ask, almost as if I’m not sure it’s her, like she has been taken over by an alien. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says through sniffles and desperate attempts to stop the tears now rapidly coming out. “I mean, no. Not really.”
“What’s wrong? Is everything okay with Matt? With the wedding?”
“No,” she shakes her head, dabbing her eyes with her napkin. “Everything is fine with Matt. I mean, I guess it’s fine.”
“What do you mean you guess it’s fine?”
“I don’t know.” She stares at her hands, her fingers nervously playing with a small piece of string that is hanging from one of the corners of the cloth napkin in her lap. “It’s just . . . it’s just . . . Oh, never mind.” She shakes her head again. “You wouldn’t under—I mean, you don’t want to hear about it.”
Nice cover, Brown. She’s right, though. I wouldn’t understand. I’ve never been engaged. I can tell by her expression she feels bad that she went there. I’m not even going to give it any acknowledgment, although the devil on my shoulder kind of wants me to. But then the angel on the other shoulder is reminding me that I’m going to be ditching her right before her wedding. So I think I’ll let it lie.
“Try me.” I give her a supportive grin.
She sits in silence for a moment, still playing with her napkin. The waitress comes by and I shoo her with my hand, tilting my head toward breaking-down-Brown. The waitress nods, catching on, and turns and walks away.
“It’s just that . . .” she trails off, as if to find her wording. “It’s just that, I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
“Go through with the wedding?” I try to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head, but they don’t listen and do it anyway.
“Yes, this whole institution of marriage. It’s kind of archaic, isn’t it? I mean, I’m a modern woman. I should be doing more modern things.” She slams her fist down on the table. A balding, portly man at the table behind her swivels his head around to see what’s going on.
“What kind of modern things should you be doing?”
“I don’t know. Focusing on my career, making more money . . .”
I take a deep breath. “Brown, where is this all coming from? I just saw you last week and you were fine, excited even. Why are you just coming up with this now? Only two weeks away from your wedding?”
Oh, wait. Cold feet. I should have known as soon as she cried. I’m not sure why it took so long for that to occur to me. It might possibly be due to the fact that my feet have never had the chance to get cold.
“Matt wants to have kids, like right away,” she spurts out, before I have a chance to bring up the whole cold feet thing.
“Okay?”
“Well, I’m not ready to have kids yet,” she says a little louder than is appropriate for a nice restaurant. The man behind her turns around again. He appears to be slightly annoyed.
“Did you tell him that?” I ask, ignoring annoyed guy.
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said that he thought we were on the same page with children, that we both wanted them.”
“Do you want them?”
“Yes, I do.” She shakes her head slightly. “Just not yet. I’m not ready.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he would wait, but not too long.” She gazes out into the restaurant, contemplating.
“Well that sounds like a fair compromise to me.” I try to make eye contact, but she’s still staring off.
“I guess. We also got in a huge fight over me taking his last name. Another archaic tradition.” She rolls her eyes.
“Why is that such a big deal?” I would totally take Jared’s name, if everything works out, that is. I’d be Julia Moody. Julia Warner Moody. JWM. This is obviously the first time I’ve ever thought of that. I haven’t practiced writing it a zillion times on printer paper at work. Or shredded said printer paper in case someone were to see it.
“Becaus
e!” Brown says, bringing me back to her. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why would I want to go by Betsy Whitehead?”
“Whitehead?” I furrow my brow.
“Yes, his last name is Whitehead. She stares at me, probably wondering how I could possibly not know this.
I’m wondering the same thing. How did we make it this long as friends and her never telling me Matt’s last name? Probably for the same reason she doesn’t want to go by it. She hates it.
“I don’t know how he expects me to be named after a zit, for hell’s sake.” She closes her eyes, disgust in her expression.
I stifle a giggle. I mean, obviously that was my first thought—whitehead equals zit—but hearing her say it out loud is a little hilarious. Or really, a lot.
I try hard to push back the giggle that is trying to escape and to squelch the smile that is trying desperately to appear on my lips. It’s a difficult plight, and it isn’t long before I can’t control myself and I start laughing.
“Yes, ha ha. It’s so funny. Laugh at the future Mrs. Whitehead,” Brown says, and then I see her trying to keep herself from joining in, but she’s unable to hold herself back as well, and she starts laughing.
“Okay, so I might understand that one,” I say through giggles as I try to calm them.
She wipes her wet eyes. “I wish Matt did.”
“Well, I’m sure you can come to a compromise on that. Can’t you just take his name, but keep Brown for work?” I ask, feeling a little proud of that idea. That seems like a fair concession to me.
“Maybe,” she offers, a slight frown appearing. “It’s just all hitting me really hard right now. All of that, plus the job thing in Atlanta.”
That catches me off guard. “What job in Atlanta?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
I shake my head. “No, you didn’t.”
She bats a hand through the air as if to minimize it. “Oh, I got a job offer from a software company in Atlanta with, like, incredible pay. But Matt doesn’t want to move to Atlanta. He thinks we have good roots here and should stay in Denver.” She rolls her eyes.
