Chapter 16
Trish
I’m putting an arrangement together for a potential client. She wants white roses—and lots of them. Now what to put it in? I look through my supply closet filled with vases of every size, shape, and color until I find the perfect option: it’s tall and silver-lined with a hint of old-world glamour. I stand back and admire my work. Something’s missing. The centerpiece would look better mixed with another flower. I try out white hydrangea and it softens the look. Perfect. I’m not sure about the height, so I make another option in a smaller scale. My phone vibrates, indicating I have a new text. It startles me and I accidentally poke myself on one of the thorns. Damn it. A small trickle of blood appears. I put my finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding. That’s all I need. Blood spatter ruining the purity of my white flowers. I’d take it as a bad omen, but I don’t believe in that voodoo stuff. Speaking of, I glance at my phone and it’s a text from Lucy.
Lucy: How are the centerpieces coming along for Robica?
Me: Finishing up for another bride. Then I’ll get started. It’s going to be stunning
Lucy: Perfect
Me: Any word?
Lucy: Nothing
Ugh. I begin typing “let me know if he calls.” Strike that. I immediately erase it and write “let me know when he calls.”
Lucy: I’m not holding my breath
Neither am I. This Mr. Anonymous is infuriating. I’m pissed because the bet was my idea. Not to mention the fact that I picked him out for her. In my defense, it was supposed to be a one-night stand. Who knew she’d fall so hard for the guy? He is easy on the eyes, but I figured she’d have a good lay and move on. At least he didn’t knock her up. That was the one bright spot she shared in our last convo. My mouth almost hit the floor when she said it was a possibility. I swear I want to cut off his balls. I’ve never seen her hurting like this before. Probably because she never dates anyone. And thanks to me she probably won’t want to date anyone for a long time. Or ever. Sigh.
I love Lucy. Ha! Not the show. She’s one of my closest friends. It’s funny because I wasn’t crazy about her when we first met. I thought she was your typical high-strung event planner. Dreams brought me in to do arrangements for an event. It was for some local government municipality. The chairwoman was a real piece of work and acted as though the President himself would be there. She was such a stress case—couldn’t make up her mind. We met to talk about her vision for the flowers. She wavered on style, color, you name it. I told her I knew just the thing that would be perfect for the event. I put together a sample for her, hoping once she saw it she would be convinced. She made a few changes but at least we had a decision.
On the day of the party, she went ballistic when she saw the flowers. Said it wasn’t what she agreed to, the changes I made weren’t what we discussed, blah, blah, blah. I consulted my notes and couldn’t figure out where the miscommunication happened. I made the arrangements exactly as she specified. I hadn’t worked with Lucy before and figured she’d fire me just to appease her client. I was a new vendor and she owed me nothing. But she had integrity. She very firmly told Chairzilla that I did exactly what she asked for. Lucy got a kick out of that one. It’s kind of my thing, making up clever nicknames for people. Anyway, Lucy managed to smooth things over by troubleshooting different options. The three of us came up with an alternative that I could make happen on our timeline. Mere hours. I think Chairzilla just wanted to put her personal stamp on things, which Lucy somehow sensed. Maybe she regretted agreeing to the first thing I put together. Or maybe she just liked being difficult. Bi-polar perhaps?
Anyway, I had a lot of respect for the way Lucy handled the situation. I invited her for a drink after and she declined. It took three months of working together before she agreed to go out with me socially. At first I thought she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure, but then I realized she is very slow to warm up. Our shared hatred of Charlotte helped. That one’s a nutcase. Hatred may be a strong word, but I really can’t stand her. Charlotte always treats me like a vendor who’s there to serve her. She’s nothing like Lucy.
My phone buzzes again, and this time it’s a text from Dax, wondering where I am. Dax is my boyfriend of three years. Lucy keeps asking me why I won’t marry him. So does my mother. She loves reminding me of the fact that I’m thirty-eight and not getting any younger. I’m not opposed to marriage. Hell, it’s what I do for a living. But that’s the problem. I’m too busy planning other people’s weddings. I don’t have time to think about my own. Dax has brought up the subject on many occasions. I know he’d love to make things official. But I’ve always evaded the topic, and he’s stopped asking.
Speaking of, I need a man’s perspective on this Lucy situation. And what better person to ask than Dax. I text him to see if he’ll meet for a drink after work. He readily agrees. I wrap things up just before six and head to our favorite bar. Dax greets me with a kiss and a glass of Prosecco. “You’re my hero,” I tell him. We order a light bite and I fill him in on the drama with Lucy.
“He’s not going to call her,” he says.
“He’s not?”
“No. He would’ve reached out by now.”
“I know. I was just hoping you’d say otherwise. WTF? Why play her like that?”
“I wish I could tell you. Maybe things got a bit too heavy for him. You said it started out as a no-strings attached one-night stand. He could’ve felt things in the moment, but once reality hit he realized he didn’t want a relationship. That’s not what he signed up for.”
“What’s wrong with wanting a relationship? Why are so many men scared of committing?”
“Because they haven’t found the right person. Once you have, you don’t want to let her go. I know this from experience,” he says, taking my hand.
He sips his drink and I ponder his words. I look at this man sitting across from me, who has been nothing but patient and kind. All he wants is for me to be his, and I’ve been holding out. Why, I’m no longer really sure.
“Dax?”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
“What?”
“I’m proposing.”
“No.”
“No? You don’t want to get married?” The color drains from my face. Maybe he’s changed his mind.
“No as in I’m old-fashioned on this point. I’ll be doing the proposing.” He gets down on one knee. “Trisha Louise Bradley, will you marry me?”
“Yes! I will.”
“I owe you a ring,” he says before pulling me in for a kiss. The patrons around us cheer. That was probably a terrible proposal to witness. But to me it’s just perfect.
Dax takes off his square black frames and studies me. “What brought that on?”
“I don’t know. This whole Lucy thing got me thinking about men and relationships. I realized you do everything in your power to make me happy. And I haven’t been doing the same. This is one small—make that big—thing I could do to make you happy.” He holds up his hand in protest. “Let me finish. I’m not against the idea of marriage. I just needed a kick in the ass to make me realize I wanted it too. I’m going to spend forever with you anyway. May as well make it official.”
“I promise I’ll spend our forever making us both happy.”
“Cheers to that!” I down the rest of my glass.
He orders a bottle of champagne and I settle back in my seat. I invited him here to talk about Lucy. I’m shocked that it led to this. I feel guilty about the timing. Maybe I’ll wait a bit before telling her the news. But deep down I know she’ll be happy for me regardless. Because that’s the kind of friend she is.