When I watch reality television I’m often filled with envy. The women on most of the shows I watch have these lavish lifestyles and their daily lives seem to be full of lunches, shopping, and glamorous parties. While I recognize “reality” is a loose term when it comes to television, I suppose their lives are exactly like that.
You know why? Because the people who are planning those glamorous parties are covered in sweat, tears, and probably two-days’ worth of soy sauce on their clothes.
That’s how it is for me, anyway
I never fathomed working twelve to fourteen hour days just to plan a wedding. I was naïve to think it was as simple as planning my own special day. What I hadn’t considered was the celebrity factor and the little secret baby bump. The stress level is through the roof.
While I’m exhausted and plan to sleep for the rest of my life as soon as this wedding is over, I am grateful for the opportunity. Kathryn has been an amazing bride to work with, even as she fights morning sickness and the stress of all the decision making. I’m learning so much working alongside Suzette, and although I’d prefer my first major event not be so rushed or chaotic, I’ve never been more certain of my decision to switch careers.
“Ladies, I cannot take another night of sweet and sour anything. We’re going to have to switch things up tonight,” my co-worker Leslie declares. I couldn’t agree more. I think we’ve had some sort of Asian inspired meal every night this week and I’m over it.
“Normally I’d vote pizza, but I think the carbs will only make me more tired,” I say as I push the name cards I’m filing out aside and lift my arms above my head to stretch. With only two weeks left until the wedding, we’re in the details portion of the planning, and I need to be focused not more tired.
“I wish that Mediterranean place off Fourth delivered. I could go for some deep fried feta and a few kabobs,” another teammate says as the group begins naming off a bunch of options from my favorite restaurant.
“You guys, we’ve busted ass for weeks. How about we order all this food you’re killing me with and I’ll go pick it up. My treat. We deserve it,” I offer as the group cheers in response.
Leslie jots down the orders, and I’m checking the website for the restaurant when the conference room phone rings, startling us all. Since I’m closest, I stand and walk to the phone to answer.
“Hello?”
“Yes, may I speak with Ms. Wheeler?”
“Speaking,” I say, confused as my co-workers stare at me, some confused and others curious.
“I have a delivery for you. If it’s alright, I’ll send the delivery man up.”
A delivery? Who would be sending me something at eight o’clock at night? It’s probably the custom made cocktail glasses we ordered they were guaranteed delivery by tomorrow.
“That’s fine, thank you.”
Setting the phone back in the cradle, I return my attention to the group for their food orders. Just as I tap the contact option on my phone, I hear a throat clear from the doorway and turn. Eyes wide, I smile at the delivery man and the way my stomach rumbles, he’s here just in time.
“Jonah.”
“Hey, girl. Sorry,” he mumbles clearing his throat. “Miss Whitney Wheeler?” His tone is official, like an announcer, not a guy who knows it’s me.
“Jonah, what in the world?” Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head obviously unhappy I’m not playing along. I suppose I’ll need to play the part if I want the amazing food in his hands.
“I’m Whitney. May I help you?” I match his tone and he chuckles. The rest of the group is whispering among themselves, probably confused how a gorgeous man, who looks like he stepped out of a superhero movie, appeared before us with bags of food without me having placed the order.
“I have a delivery for you. I believe your preferred meal, the Souvlaki with a small Greek salad to start is in this bag,” he says, thrusting the bag toward me. Stepping toward him, I accept the offering as I inhale the spices and goodness that sends my stomach on another grumbling rampage.
“These are for the rest of you,” he says toward the group. Leslie jumps up to grab the bags from him, offering her gratitude.
“Jonah,” I begin but he cuts me off.
“There’s a note, Miss.”
Peeking into the bag, I spot a piece of paper folded in half sitting on top of the round container. I raise my eyes to Jonah who has a small smile on his face. My previously grumbling stomach is in full somersault mode.
Lucas.
“Okay, I can’t do this fake delivery dude shit. Look, babe. He’s fucking dying. Please read the note and call him. Even if it’s to tell him to leave you alone, just call the kid. Because, if he asks me to do this again, I’m going to have to kick his ass.”
Laughing through the tears forming in my eyes, I don’t trust myself to speak so I nod in response.
I stand in place watching Jonah’s retreating back. He really does have a nice body. Big teddy bear that he is. Who knew he was such a romantic to help Lucas with this?
“I don’t know who that was or what’s in that note, but if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” I turn to see Leslie standing behind me, a huge smile on her face.
“That one,” I say, gesturing toward the door, “is very taken.”
“By you?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I set the bag on the table and take the note from inside. I know Leslie well enough to know she’s followed me the few steps, waiting for an answer.
“No, by his girlfriend. He’s my . . . well, he’s a friend of a friend.”
“Well, whoever he is, thank him for this dinner. To think we were just about to order all of this. What are the chances?”
Not answering her, I know the chances are pretty high when Lucas DeCosta is involved. Deciding I’ll probably need a little privacy for my note, I excuse myself from the group and retreat to my cubicle. The office is dark except for a few of the cubicle lights so in true Whitney fashion, I run into a wall or two along the way. When I kick the edge of my desk sitting down I swear up a storm and am grateful there are only a few of us here tonight.
With a deep breath, I open the note form Lucas.
Whitney,
I miss you.
It’s as simple as that. You’ve become my best friend and it sucks not talking to you. I meant what I said. I don’t regret saying it but I also know you don’t think you’re ready. I’m here when you’re ready.
All my love,
Lucas
P.S. I have also been told my gifts may be a little more on the creepy side of things, so this will be my last present.
Tears stream down my face as I read the note over and over. Each time I read it, I take it a different way. Uncertain if it’s a goodbye or an olive branch, I can’t stand not knowing. Drowning in my thoughts of Lucas, my eyes settle on his name at the bottom. He signed it “Lucas” and not “Luke.” He did that for me. He’s my Lucas.
My tears turn to sobs as the exhaustion of the last few weeks overwhelms me, and I realize as much as I want to call him, I don’t have time. The voices at the end of the hall are loud, and I know I must get back to the work at hand or everything will derail. Instead of calling, I pick up my cell phone and tap his name out for a text message.
Me: Thank you for dinner.
Lucas: You’re welcome.
I watch as the three dots dance around my phone so I don’t type a response. That’s also because I have no idea what to say.
Lucas: Did you actually eat?
Me: Um . . .
Lucas: Whitney.
Me: I will. I just wanted to say I miss you too.
Lucas: I meant what I said. When you’re ready.
Me: I don’t know what to say.
Lucas: You don’t have to say anything.
Lucas: Go eat. Be safe going home.
Me: Thank you.
Me: Night.
Lucas: Goodnight, Whit.
Tossing my phone on the desk, I lean my head back and sigh. Sigh in frustration, exhaustion, and sadness. I love my job but I love Lucas more. I want to tell my team I need to leave. I want to drive to his house, tell him how I feel and beg him to love me.
I want a lot of things but the reality is, I have responsibilities and those take priority over my conflicted heart. Plus, I smell like dry shampoo, soy sauce, and a lifetime of regret. I need to at least shower before I declare my undying love.
Two minutes. I will allow myself two minutes to wallow in my loneliness and the sad state of my love life.
I’m about twenty seconds into my wallowing when I realize it’s been weeks since I’ve had a bikini wax. Flying out of my seat, I pull up the app on my phone to schedule an appointment with my waxer. If I’m going to see Lucas in two weeks and tell him he’s my forever, I better not be channeling a seventies porn star.
With two quick taps of my finger, I schedule an appointment, which happens to be at the same salon as Kathryn’s hair and makeup run through. Two birds. One stone.
Feeling like a ton of weight has been lifted from my shoulders, I make my way back to the team and my delicious food. No matter what life-altering decisions I have going on, a girl’s gotta eat.