by Liz Botts
Chapterette Ten
“I think the bakery is going to destroy our cake,” I said. “They already broke our wedding topper.”
I fished the broken pieces out of my purse and set it on the table before me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the jagged crack separating the little bride and groom. The frustration from the day pushed the tears out of my eyes and down my cheeks. Even though I had stood my ground and felt like I had won, the stress of the experience was getting to me.
“Oh, Elle, sweetie, it’s not that bad. Don’t cry.” Beau knelt down beside my chair, and wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face into his shoulder, getting salty tears all over his dress shirt. He held me tightly while I cried myself out.
“You don’t think it’s a sign or something, do you?” I pulled out of his arms, ran my hands over my jeans, and gave him a shaky smile. I sniffled and hiccupped as I ran a finger over the break in the topper.
Beau laughed. “A sign of what?”
“Like that we shouldn’t get married or something.” I cringed as I said the words, knowing that I sounded stupid.
“Are you serious?” Beau frowned at me. “It’s just a cake topper. We can glue it back together. It doesn’t really matter. You and me, we matter. The only thing it’s a sign of is that maybe we should have chosen a different bakery.”
I drew a stuttering breath. “You’re right. I know that. It just feels like nothing’s going the way it should. And I’m pretty sure the owner of the bakery thinks our cake choice is trite and boring.”
“Who cares what the bakery owner thinks? We picked that out together. I like it. You need to calm down, Elle, or you’re going to miss all the fun.” Beau ran a hand through his hair.
“Ugh,” I said with a groan. As he stroked my hand with his thumb, I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. “I’m turning into a total bridezilla. How did that even happen?”
“You aren’t a bridezilla,” Beau said. Then he paused. The silence was filled with so many unspoken things roaring in my head. This man was putting up with some crazy behavior from me. And yet, he still seemed to love me just the same. At least I knew marrying him was the right decision, even if the wedding was driving me insane. “I just don’t understand why all these details are so important to you. For me, personally, the little imperfections will make it memorable.”
“I wish I believed that. I don’t know what’s happening to me. This whole wedding planning experience is turning me psycho. I just… want to make everyone happy. So many people are helping us. I guess I feel like they deserve to get some sort of pleasure out of it as well. Thanks, though, for hanging in there with me. I promise to go back to the normal Elle that you know and love just as soon as this thing is over.” I opened my eyes, and squeezed Beau’s hand.
“I love you just the way you are, crazy bride or any other incarnation of Elle that you want to be.”
A tiny smile tugged at my lips as I was reminded for the umpteenth time why I loved this man so much.
Chapterette Eleven
“I don’t think I can take it if anything else goes wrong,” I said. The little bell above the door of the flower shop tinkled as we entered. Beau chuckled, gave me a one armed hug, and shook his head. I knew he was indulging my pessimism, but even he had to admit that if these flowers were messed up it would definitely be a sign that our wedding was cursed.
“Hi, we’re here to see Michelle,” Beau said to the lady at the counter.
“Sure thing. The Reynolds/Matthews wedding right? Oh, just beautiful. By far the best work that’s come out of here in weeks. I don’t understand what it is with brides these days. Everyone wants something different, something unique. Nothing classic, like yours. I’ll go get Michelle.”
A warm feeling spread through me as I perked up under the individual attention. I glanced at Beau. He was looking around the shop with the same expression I had when we went into a hardware store, sort of perplexed but curious. Even with the employee’s warm reaction to our flowers, something she said nagged at me. Were our flowers boring? She had referred to them as classic, but I wanted them to stand out. Not in a weird way, but for their vibrancy. The worry stayed with me while we waited for Michelle.
When she emerged from the back room, she had a bouquet in her arms of deep blue flowers interlaced with vibrant pink roses, surrounded by a wreath of baby’s breath dyed orange. I groaned. The colors were all wrong. The flowers were the opposite of what we had asked for. Great. Just one more thing to add to the list of our doomed wedding plans.
“They’re awful.” I whispered the words to Beau. When he saw the flowers his eyes widened and his mouth puckered in a frown.
“Elle, Beau, so nice to see you again.” Michelle set the bouquet down on the counter. She seemed genuinely glad to see us. How could I tell her that the flowers she’d designed were horrible?
“That’s an interesting color palette,” Beau said, nodding to the bouquet on the counter.
Michelle glanced down at it, and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it, though? You should see the pictures of the bridesmaid dresses for this one. They are the most obnoxious neon pink you have ever seen. Yikes. If you just come to the back with me, I’ll show you what we’ve got so far. And don’t worry. I know it looks like we’ve barely begun, but we’ll be finished by Friday.”
My stomach flooded with relief as I realized that the hideous bouquet wasn’t for me. Some other girl had made a dumb choice. Sure I felt guilty for my mean thoughts because that other girl probably loved her choices as much as I loved mine, but still it made me feel better that my choices weren’t the worst in the world.
We followed Michelle through the plastic sheeting that led to the back room. Instantly the air got cooler, and the intense fragrance of hundreds of flowers filled the air. Michelle walked toward the end of the room, to a worktable covered with large ceramic pots filled with deep purple and dark orange flowers. The exact colors I had envisioned.
“These will be your centerpieces,” Michelle said, indicating the flowers in the pots. “You can keep the pots for yourselves or give them as gifts. It’s all part of the package so we don’t need them back. I’ll be adding some white flowers to these. I’ve got a list of choices for you to go over before you leave, but this gives you a pretty good idea of what they’ll look like.”
“They’re perfect,” I said.
Michelle smiled. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Thanks. These have been a lot of fun to work on. Okay, so the boutonnieres are over here. The bridesmaids’ bouquets are over there. And of course, here is your bouquet.”
I reached out to touch the bouquet, but superstition held me back. Though I had never heard of one involving touching the bouquet before the wedding, I didn’t want to take any chances. The flowers Michelle had chosen were the same deep, vibrant colors of the centerpieces; she had added some deep crimson flowers. Looking at them made me feel like I was walking through a forest in fall. The stems were wound together with dark green ribbon. I loved that the whole effect felt natural, while maintaining a classic look.
“Everything is perfect,” I repeated.
Beau walked around the table to inspect all the different flowers. Michelle and I waited for him to say something, but he just kept walking around the table. As the minutes ticked by, I began to feel irritated at my wonderful fiancé. Didn’t he like the flowers? He paused to look at my bouquet, and my irritation gave way to worry. What if he didn’t like them? What did he think was wrong? I held my breath.
“I love them,” he said after his third revolution around the table.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My hopes for the success of our wedding rose infinitesimally. I even allowed myself the chance to daydream a tiny bit about the actual wedding day. While I was lost in thought over the ceremony, Beau and Michelle finished their conversation. Before I knew it, Beau was guiding me out of the shop. I waved a hasty farewell to Michelle.
As we climbed into the car, Beau glanced at m
e. “So, you liked them, right?”
“Hmmm? You mean the flowers? Yeah, they’re perfect. Why? Don’t you think so? You said you loved them. Were you lying just to make me feel good?” I could feel the panic rising up in my chest.
“Whoa, Elle, calm down. I liked them. Michelle does a really good job. I just want to make sure you like them. This seems so important to you.” Beau reached across the center console and took my hand.
“Thanks,” I said. “It is. I’m sorry for freaking out. These flowers are the first thing to go smoothly. I mean look at the dresses and dealing with the bakery. I just don’t want to jinx it.”
With a grin, Beau reached over and rapped his knuckles against the strip of plastic below the radio. “Knock on wood,” he said. When I raised an eyebrow at him, his grin widened. “What? It looks like wood. Sort of anyway. I’ll knock on real wood when we get to the restaurant.”
I nodded, the temporary calm I had felt vanishing as I remembered that we had planned to have lunch with my grandmother. “Well, let’s go then.”
Chapterette Twelve
The restaurant boasted a festive fiesta atmosphere with kitchy bedazzled sombreros. My grandmother always chose these kinds of places. If I wanted to eat somewhere normal I had to pick. Beau was studying the menu, although I had a pretty good idea what he would order. He seemed to have a rotation of three items that he put together as an appetizer/main course combo. Even though he insisted that he was always original, I knew he could be pretty predictable. Or maybe we just came here with my grandma way too much.
“Getting the nacho grande platter or the chimichanga basket?”
Beau raised an eyebrow at me, and said, “Like you won’t be getting the el burrito loco bowl?”
“Touché.” I scanned the restaurant for my grandmother’s classic bluish-white perm ball of hair. Nothing yet. I returned to perusing the menu. “Maybe I’ll get something different today.”
“Yeah, right,” Beau said with a chuckle. He seemed like he was about to add something else when my grandmother arrived, plopping her purse on the table so that it slumped over and spilled the contents into the basket of chips in the center of the table.
My grandmother slid into the seat next to Beau, patting his cheek by way of greeting. “Hello, darling.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking to Beau, me, or both of us.
“How are you, Grandma?” I asked, picking her mascara out of the salsa. I wiped it on a napkin before putting it back in her purse.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” she said, ignoring my question. “I know that the two of you have been struggling with money as you try to pay for this wedding. That’s why I have asked you here today.”
Beau and I exchanged glances. That certainly wasn’t what I had expected to come out of my grandmother’s mouth. My mind began working overtime. Profuse thanks hardly seemed enough if my grandmother really was offering to help us pay for the wedding. I cast another glance at Beau. He was picking a chip apart and making a pile on the table. I wondered if he wanted to admit that we needed help. We had done everything we could to cut costs, and had only taken help on minor things that didn’t involve money. Aside from my mom buying me the wedding dress she preferred on me, no one had spent a dime on our wedding.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said as carefully as I could. “You think we’re having trouble with money? What gave you that impression?”
“Pfft. Please. I may be old, but I’m not blind. The last time I was at your apartment, I went through your bank statements. I mean, they were laying out on the dining room table, so naturally I assumed you wanted my input.” My grandmother took the napkin from off the table. She wrinkled her nose. “They can’t even afford real napkins? How am I supposed to use this sand paper?”
Beau’s jaw unhinged momentarily as he stared at me. He shook his head very slowly. I thought he might have muttered, “Unbelievable,” but I couldn’t be sure. I, on the other hand, felt no such shock at my grandmother’s behavior. I would have expected nothing less from her. She was the first person to snoop through my diary when I was barely nine years old.
“Gram, look, I know you think that our bank statements prove that we’re having trouble paying for our wedding, but we’ve been sticking to our budget so everything will be fine.” I reached across the table to squeeze Beau’s hand. I needed him to not get into an argument with my grandmother. Not now. If she wanted to help us pay, it would ease the financial burden off of us and let us enjoy the rest of the process.
“Be that as it may,” my grandmother said, “your grandfather and I feel strongly that we should help the two of you. And that is why I have decided to offer my guidance for the rest of the wedding process. You’ve already used my florist. I will take the nightmare of planning away from you.”
I sighed. I should have known. Nothing with my grandmother would be as simple as her handing over a check with our undying gratitude as her only reward. Nope. Instead she wanted to circumvent all the plans we had already made. She and Evie really would get along beautifully if she ever gave it a chance. But how could I tactfully tell my grandmother that I didn’t need — or want — her help?
When I glanced at Beau I thought he looked slightly nauseous; his skin had paled to an unnaturally white shade and little beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip. Despite his obvious nervousness, I felt laughter pressing against the inside of my chest, waiting to escape. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much for me to comprehend. When my fiancé met my gaze he seemed to be pleading with me to stop the train wreck before it began, but all I could do was shrug. My grandmother was like a petite steamroller, which knocked down all opposition in one fell swoop. For me, she had a way of making me feel guilty, and my innate desire to please her kicked in. If I said anything now, she’d say something that seemed so innocuous to outside observers that they would never understand how I could possibly feel like I needed to give in to her.
That was the crux of it, though. No one understood, not even Beau, but they didn’t need to. Just because something seems irrational doesn’t make it any less real to the person involved. So I took a sip of my water, and sat back, prepared to take whatever craziness my grandmother was going to dole out. Then inspiration hit me.
“Hey, Gram, you know what? We’ve gotten most of the wedding planned exactly how we want it. Besides we only have a few weeks left. You know what we could really use help with? The rehearsal dinner. Could you help us plan that?” I held my breath as I awaited her reply.
Her lips puckered for a moment, but then she grinned. “I will make sure you have the most amazing rehearsal dinner ever.”
I glanced at Beau as my grandmother began to chatter about possible plans, all of which seemed out of our price range. He just shook his head again, and sighed.
Chapterette Thirteen
“I still think these dresses are hideous,” Evie said, turning in the three-way mirror to inspect herself.
I couldn’t disagree with her. The pumpkin color looked awful, but I was trying to see it from Beau’s point of view. They would definitely be memorable.
“Hey at least we don’t have to pay for them anymore,” replied my best friend and maid of honor, Katie.
Evie made a rude sound. “Yeah, well, it’s the least they could do for messing them up so bad.”
Again, I couldn’t disagree with her. The shoes actually seemed to glow like demented jack o’lanterns in the bright fluorescent lights of the dressing room. I didn’t say anything, though, because all I really wanted to do was admire my dress. Like the flowers, I loved it. I had also had the alterations done on the dress my mom had purchased for me, but I knew that I would stand my ground with this. Nothing would get me to change my mind about this dress. I loved it that much.
“I think we should cut faces out of black felt and glue them on to the fronts of these dresses,” Evie said. “It’d make them better, I think.”
“No! You are not going to ruin my wedding, Evie Harris.”
My voice came out slightly hysterical.
“How would that ruin your wedding? We’d be the ones wearing them. Come on, it’d be cute, and everyone would remember it.” My baby sister put her hands on her hips, cocked her head, and stared at me — the picture of defiance.
“Oh, that does sound fun,” Katie said.
“What sounds fun?” asked Beau’s sister, Margot, as she and her two sisters entered the fitting room in their hideous ensembles.
“Evie was saying we should make little pumpkin faces for the front of our dresses, since, you know, they look like pumpkins,” Katie said as she examined her reflection in the mirror.
Much as I hated the dresses, Beau’s voice popped into my head, telling me to embrace the little imperfections. My argumentative voice said that I had been trying to embrace the color, and I had even congratulated myself on doing a decent job, but now I wondered if I was still being too uptight. All of my bridesmaids seemed to love the idea of dressing up like pumpkins, even Beau’s stodgy sisters.
With a deep breath, I said, “What if you put faces on the back of your dresses? That way people could see them when you walk down the aisle and when you’re dancing and stuff. But they won’t be visible in pictures.”
Evie’s eyes widened. “Are you messing with me?”
Laughter bubbled up in my throat, and I was caught off guard by the accompanying joy. I hadn’t felt like that in so many months. I had let myself get bogged down by the details of planning my wedding, caring more about what other people thought than what Beau and I wanted. I had also let myself believe that because I was trying to make everyone happy, that I had the right to ignore the opinions that really mattered. How many times had Evie expressed her displeasure, and I merely dismissed her as a pain in my butt?
