When I was a kid, my gran would talk about the perfect wedding day. I thought that was my life’s goal. Do everything right, follow the perfect path, find the perfect man, and have the perfect wedding. If I did all of that, surely the perfect life would follow.
That is not true. If my gran was here, well first I’d hug the shit out of her and cry until I snotted all over her shoulder. I miss her more than I can explain. But, then I’d tell her how very wrong she was. I’ve spent my entire life chasing that mythical version of perfection and here I sit. Miserable.
It’s been ten days since Lucas and I made love. Ten days since he walked out of my apartment. I’ve pulled his contact up on my phone at least a hundred times and started and deleted an apology each time. What do you say to the man who declared his love to you and you kicked out after making love? Sorry doesn’t seem enough.
Work has been a welcome distraction. Apparently, unbeknownst to most of the staff, one of the lead planners was fooling around with a groom-to-be. Instead of showing up to the bridal shower as planned, she took off with the groom and hasn’t been heard from since. My boss, Suzette, has been on a damage control mission. It started with a very long and stressful staff meeting. We were all required to sign a new employment contract that now features an ethical clause. I never thought I’d sign a document that agreed to never have sex—oral or otherwise—with a client and under no circumstance would I begin a romantic relationship with a client.
After the meeting, Suzette asked me to stay behind. I assumed she wanted me to help her with some administrative work but I was mistaken.
“Whitney, I’ve been watching you and your work. I know it’s been rather frustrating to only be organizing puppy weddings and toddler tea parties but I think you’ll agree you’ve learned a lot about this company.”
She was right. As much as I felt ridiculous organizing and managing a four year-old’s tea party, it was a learning experience. And, it is because of events like that I’m standing here, in Suzette’s office with possibly the biggest professional opportunity of my life scheduled to walk through the door.
A wedding.
Not just any wedding, the wedding of a local news team. Kathryn Jones and Truman Hamel are two of the most famous newscasters on our local news. Both are ridiculously beautiful, so it only makes sense their onscreen chemistry would carry over into their personal lives. Today, Suzette and I are meeting with them to discuss their upcoming nuptials. While I won’t be lead on this event, I’ll be working directly with Suzette as her second-in-command.
We sit with Kathryn and Truman for two hours, discussing most of their do not wants instead of their wants. That was my idea and a different approach than Suzette normally takes with a new bride, but I told her from personal experience it can move things along and make the bride feel heard. Plus, with the groom this involved, it may be an easy way to eliminate any over-the-top ideas.
I was right. We have been able to narrow down our locations, themes, and color schemes to less than five with an agreement to meet again in two weeks with a final presentation. Beyond that, I’ve scheduled three appointments with local bridal boutiques for Kathryn and her bridal party over the next six weeks.
When the couple bids us goodbye and the door closes, Suzette turns to me with a wide grin. “Whitney, I knew this would be a great fit for you. Keep this up, and the next wedding we book may be yours alone.”
Pride fills my chest and my first thought is how much I want to call Lucas and tell him puppy weddings are a thing of the past. But, I can’t.
“I expected a happier look than that,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What? Oh, yes. I’m thrilled. Thank you, Suzette. This is such an amazing opportunity, and I cannot wait to work with you.”
“Then why the frown, dear?” I watch as she moves to the small couch under a large window and pats the spot next to her. Slowly, I walk to the couch and sit down.
“It’s nothing, just some personal things,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “I’m going to go back to my cubicle and get started on the presentations. Make some calls.”
“Is working this wedding going to be an issue for you? I know you had a wedding of your own planned a few months ago.”
Surprised by this knowledge I must convey that confusion in my facial expressions because Suzette barks out a laugh.
“Whitney, I make it a point to know important things about my staff. Regardless, you did use your own wedding plan as part of your interview.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that. Yes, I was to be married a few months ago. It didn’t work out, but I’m well over that. Please don’t worry, my failed walk down the aisle will in no way impact my work on the Jones-Hamel wedding.”
“I have no doubt you’ll do you a wonderful job. That’s why I’ve chosen you to work with me. My staff is like family to me so if it is too much at any point, please let me know.”
I smile and nod in agreement before excusing myself from Suzette’s office. I wondered if working my first wedding would dredge up some pent-up emotion from my almost wedding to Trenton. I’m pleased to realize it hasn’t. Maybe the puppy weddings were the best thing for me. A failed wedding exorcism or something.
For the next five hours, I work diligently on the Jones-Hamel wedding plans. All five of them. I have a good outline for each with a detailed to-do list that will keep me busy for the foreseeable future. On top of the wedding, I still have a few of my standing evening events to keep me busy. Powering down my computer, I clean off my desk and grab my things before heading for the elevators.
I make a promise to myself. I’m going to stay busy, focus on building my career, and get my life on track. Maybe over time, my heart will heal from the way I decimated it. I almost have myself convinced time heals all wounds and all that other crap people say the entire walk to my car.
Until I see a rose on my windshield with a note card. Breathing the sweet aroma of the flower, I smile as I read the note.
Whitney,
If I hadn’t screwed up in high school, I would have given you a rose every month to celebrate the day I fell in love with you.
Luke
Part of me wants to call him. To apologize. But, I have a feeling that’s not what I’m supposed to do. This is his way of reminding me he still loves me but giving me the space I obviously need.
It’s been four days since I found the rose on my windshield. Part of me has been wondering if I’ll have to wait—impatiently because when I was created, patience was left out of the recipe—another month before I hear from Lucas. The question was put to rest when I opened my mail today. A padded envelope addressed to me with no return address was among the junk mail and currently sits on my lap as I settle back into the front seat of my car.
When I saw the envelope, I dropped everything and tore it open almost immediately. Confused, I held the compact disc in my hand reading the note on it, “Listen to me.” The only place I have a CD player is my car so here I sit with the car running, in my parking space, inserting the little disc waiting for what’s next.
The playlist Lucas made for our road trip begins and tears begin to fill my eyes while a huge grin takes over my face. My playlist. Tears stream down my cheeks as I laugh. He made me a playlist. This is like a nineties version of a mix tape and it’s perfect. Added to the original songs are a few from our days in Portland, specifically the night at the bar. Memories of that trip make me smile wider and more tears fall.
When the CD ends, I sit in my car for a few minutes and embrace the silence, basking in the overwhelming feeling of love and confusion. My cell phone alerts me to a text message and I send a little prayer of hope that it’s Lucas. Disappointed when I read the text, I suck up the tears and exit my car. An emergency meeting with Suzette and Kathryn Jones at an upscale restaurant downtown dampens any joy I may have had only minutes ago.
I rush to my apartment and quickly get myself ready for an impromptu meeting with my boss and client. Choosing a navy shift dress, I braid the sides of my hair before wrapping it in a low bun at the base of my neck. Keeping my makeup to a minimum since my eyes are puffy from the cry fest in my car, I choose to wear glasses instead of my usual contacts. A set of bangles and a pair of earrings complete the look as I slide my feet into a pair of wedges.
On my drive downtown, I listen to the playlist again but this time, instead of making me cry, it makes me smile. Which is a good thing because if we’re already meeting with Kathryn I have a feeling I’m going to need something positive today.
Shot Gun Wedding.
Not exactly the words I expected Kathryn Jones to utter when I took my first drink of water but there you have it. And the result is my eyes watering from choking on, well, my water.
The wedding I thought I’d have months to plan has been bumped up to four weeks. One month to pull off the wedding of the year and all before the bride-to-be is showing her baby bump.
“Whitney, I told Kathryn about your wedding plan.”
Startled, I shoot a confused look to Suzette.
“For your wedding.”
At least she has the decency to say it sheepishly. My wedding? Wait . . . my wedding. She can’t be serious.
“My wedding?” I cough out.
“Suzette said you had a wedding completely planned, and it may be easy for us to recreate it quickly.”
“I. Uh. Wow. Umm . . .” She cannot be serious. By the looks on their faces, I know she is. When the waiter comes by with more water, I throw any professional decorum I’d been putting forth and order a martini. Extra dirty.
“You want to use my wedding?”
“Whitney, your plan was sophisticated, yet understated. The plans are already complete, and the color scheme is classic with a modern flare. Truly, we’d only need to narrow down the vendors, which we should have no problem doing. Most of our go-to vendors will want this event with the level of publicity it’s sure to bring.”
“I’ve already been working with a designer on my dress, and she’s assured me she’ll make this her highest priority. So, if you’re okay turning your wedding over to me, I’d really love to see what you had planned.”
Mouth agape, I stare at them both until my martini is placed in front of me. With a long sip of the vodka goodness, I ponder their request. All I’ve ever wanted was to plan the perfect wedding. I did that. So what if the groom ended up being more toad than prince?
With another sip of martini courage, I straighten my back and say, “It’s yours.”
And just like that, my perfect wedding is back on. Only, I’m not the bride.