I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I’m a little surprised when the doorbell rings.
But when I open the door and a beaming, dizzyingly hyper Whitley pounces — I’m not a bit taken aback — she’s actually late… if you take into consideration who it is I’m marrying.
The one-week deadline to pick a date for the wedding Dane had imposed on me expired two days ago. Call me crazy, he did, but I need more than a week to return and settle back in from vacation and coordinate availability with everyone we know, not to mention a venue… but, my Caveman says a week, that’s what he means.
And now, he’s sent in the big gun — “Whitley Poppins Planner” — to take over. If anyone can throw together a wedding fast enough to please the persnickety Mr. Caveman Kendrick yet still make it glamorous and full of all the over-the-top fixings… it’s Whitley.
“Hey Whit, come on in.” I give her a very wide berth, to avoid possible injury.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to ask to what you owe the pleasure?” Oh no, she’s using her “head voice.”
“Nope.” I shut the door and turn to her with a stoic expression. “I am gonna ask if you’d like a drink. I’m thinking wine. Copious amounts. And maybe a Xanax? I’m sure I’ve got one around here somewhere. Lemme lift the couch cushions and check.”
“Oh, hush,” she waves a flitting hand and giggles. “So, let’s get started. Want me to set up at the kitchen table?”
“Set up?” Okay, now she’s stumped me… because while her purse may be large, it’s the only thing she’s holding, and really, how much whatever requires “setting up” could she possibly have in there? Then again, the other Poppins pulled a damn coat rack outta her bag.
“My stuff, hello? Weddings don’t just plan themselves, Laney.” She rolls her eyes, clearly disappointed in my ignorance. “It’s out in the car, I’ll go grab it.”
“I’ll go hunt down that Xanax,” I call after her, already doing that walk/shimmy/skip thing of hers out the door.
Rather than the narcotic, which very unfortunately I don’t really have, I find my phone and try to text as fast as I know Whitley’s gonna be moving.
Me: All this time, I thought you enjoyed having sex with me. Why didn’t you say something sooner?
Dane: Love fucking you, gonna do so tonight. After Whitley leaves. Funny though.
Me: Nope. You’re cut off. As long as I have to deal with Whitley’s hysterics, you will deal with your right hand.
“Almost ready,” Whitley chirps, dropping off a load of stuff on the table. “One more trip, be right back.”
“Uh huh,” I mutter, staring at my phone.
Dane: We’ll see about that.
Me: We sure will. I’m not kidding, mister! You went too far.
Dane: I told you, one week. You were amply warned. Deal with it, and be nice.
Me: I’m always nice!
Dane: To WHO?
“Okay, I’m ready!” Whitley squeals, piercing my eardrums… and drawing my attention.
Me: Cut. Off.
“Me too,” I force on a smile, turn my phone on vibrate and slowly drag my feet toward “Party Central.”
Two hours later, two, and I’ve had enough. My jaw aches from all the damn grinning I’ve been doing and if Whitley claps, patty-cakes or whatever the hell it is she’s doing, one more time, I’ll be left no choice but to break her hands. Bless her heart of gold; I truly adore her and she’s amazing, giving of her time to plan my wedding for me, but damn do I have a headache.
“Whit, can we please take a break? Have a glass of wine? You know this isn’t my thing and, well, sweetie, I’m about to lose my shit.”
“You go ahead, have some wine, but I have to keep a clear head. Look on the bright side, do you realize how much we’ve gotten accomplished?”
“A lot?” I venture a guess as I sprint to the fridge, tempted to chug straight from the bottle.
“Yes, a lot!” She laughs, then clears her throat and begins to reel off her checklist… again.
“We have a date, a beautiful venue booked, your suite and wedding party rooms reserved and your wedding song picked out. Now we just need to find your dress and you and Dane need to ask whomever you’ve chosen to be in your wedding party if they accept and let me know their roles.”
Precious Whitley… she’s trying to act unconcerned about that last item, but inside, she’s one, big swarm of cracked-out butterflies, biting her tongue, every breath labored with the anticipation of the question she hopes I’ll ask.
Of course I’m gonna ask; she’s Crew, one of my dearest friends.
“Whitley,” I drawl in taunt.
“Yes?” Her excitement’s unhidden and high-pitched.
“Would you please do me the honor of being my first, beautiful bridesmaid?”
“Oh my God, really?” She jumps from her chair, doing one helluva job feigning surprise, and runs over to hug me. No wine spilled in the process. “I’d love to, yes, yes! Thank you!”
“Thank you.” I hug her back… but it’s short-lived, because Whitley is Whitley… and simply must pull back to talk a mile a minute. “We have to pick out bridesmaid dresses, too! I know a great shop. I’m thinking a light blue or lavender.”
“Let’s wait ‘til all the girls have been asked and hopefully accepted, then we’ll all go together and decide on a style and color.” I laugh. Look at me with a plan.
Oh, don’t think I miss the twinkle of hidden agenda in her eyes. She’s gonna call ahead to that shop and make sure anything in colors she doesn’t like are pulled off the rack. Bet on that. I don’t care; after all she’s doing to help, I’m glad to let her have the small victory.
“Can you ask them now, invite them over, so I can book a private viewing session?”
“Um, I can call two of them, but I’ll ask the others in person. Soon, I promise.”
“Two’s a start.” She bobs her head. “Can you call them now?”
“Do I have any other choice?” I’m just teasing her, phone already in hand.
“I’ll make you a deal. Place the two calls, then we’ll be done for today.”
“Dialing right now, sista.”
Hayden, the wife of Parker Jones, my childhood friend, answers cheerfully.
“Hey Laney, how are you?”
“Good, you?”
“Great. Parker’s out in the field though, did you need to talk to him? I could give him a message.”
“Actually, I was calling you, to ask a very important question.”
“Okay, anything I can do, you know that.”
“Great, then you will be one of my bridesmaids?”
“For Heaven’s sakes, finally! You know I will.” Her voice wobbles with tears of joy. “I’m honored you thought of me. You just tell me when and where, girl! And Laney? Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Will you be bringing–”
“No! They’re staying at home with Grandma. Parker and I need a break.”
“Okay,” I laugh, “just checking. Who knows, maybe you guys can use the getaway to make three more.”
“Bite your tongue, Devil Woman,” she hisses.
“All right, only kidding. So Whit has your number, she’s the wedding planner extraordinaire. You know that drill, right? She’ll be in touch with all the details, okay?”
“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting.”
I tell Whitley it’s a go on Hayden, she does the clappy/patty-cake thing again, then I make the next call to Samantha, the wife of Dane’s longtime friend Andy, whom he’d lost his relationship with for a while, but I know now that they’ve long-since reconciled, he’ll want to invite him. Plus, I once told Samantha she was “about to need Jesus” as I prepped to kick her ass, so another olive-branch couldn’t hurt.
Our conversation goes very much the same way, another yes, and I hang up feeling accomplished — actually participating a bit.
And as promised, Whitley’s satisfied with our progress and calls it a wrap for the day. I see her out, thanking her again and suggesting that she think about party-planning as a career since she’s spectacular at it and seems to really enjoy doing it, then fire off two texts — making lunch plans for tomorrow at the same place for two different times, with two different people.
I need to ask Emmett to be a bridesmaid, but to save any awkwardness or hurt feelings, I’m going to ask Bennett to be my Maid of Honor when it’s just the two of us.
Things are moving fast… but I’ve kept him waiting long enough.