Chapter 17

Levi

Hello, good morning, I hope the ten hours we’ve been apart have treated you well. If you’re sure about this—sorry I keep asking—I have a list for you. Ready for it?

I squint at the text, then rub my sleepy eyes, blocking out the intense sunlight barging into my room. My clock reads 10:03, but Levi sent this text hours ago. The promise I made yesterday—my evening with Levi and Suzie and cookies—fills my head. I feel my body surging with energy as I make myself sit up and reply.

Bee

Don’t you ever seel?

Sleep. I mean sleep.

Anywhoooo. Dude I totaly want to d this! Stp asking nd send over the list.

Im in suspne

No. Sspene

DAMMIT!!!

Suspense.

I just woke up. Pleas forgve me.

Groaning, I click the lock button and slide out of bed, already feeling the heat of the day in my bedroom. My eyes still won’t open all the way from exhaustion. “Hey, can someone turn on the AC?” I shout to the rest of the house, pulling my pink summer dress over my head.

No one answers, but when I head into the kitchen, everyone’s there, even Tom, and they’re laughing like it’s a party.

“Just wake up, sweetie?” my mom asks me.

I rub my eyes, realizing too late that I didn’t even look at my hair. (I probably look like a ferocious lion with The Worst Case of Bedhead Ever.) “Yes. Did you know that it’s really hot in the house and I feel gross?”

“The AC broke,” Astrid explains. “Papa’s getting someone to fix it tomorrow. Millie and I are going swimming later, wanna come?”

“No, thanks.” I put my hair up with a leftover band around my wrist. “I’m busy today.”

“But it’s Sunday,” Millie whines. “Come play with us!”

“M&M, I’m planning a wedding that takes place two weeks from now, and today is the start of everything. No buts!”

“A wedding?” Mama asks, handing me a plate of waffles. The scent of syrup and strawberry jam hits me hard and my stomach grumbles.

“Yeah. I offered to take over this project because Levi was stressed out.”

Astrid’s grin is quick. “Of course you’d do that for your boyfriend.”

My dad smacks her gently upside the head. “Now, Astrid, no need to state the obvious.”

“Yeah, Ass-trid,” I chime in, emphasis on the ass. But then I register the rest of my dad’s sentence, and all I can do is glare.

Millie sticks her tongue out at me. Papa shakes his head, like he’s going to scold me for cursing before noon, but my mom saves me by putting her arms around his waist. I hold my breath, seeing them like this. In fact, we all pause.

I don’t think my parents notice how we’re all looking at them, watching to see what they’ll do. They’re talking and teasing as if nothing has been wrong the last few weeks. Mama says something snarky that I don’t catch. My dad gasps and, without warning, starts to tickle her. At that, my siblings and I release a collective breath, laughing with them, thankful that whatever was going on between them seems to have passed.

I glance up, meeting Tom’s gaze across the kitchen. We nod at each other. I haven’t seen him much since the breakup, but he looks better now than he did last week, like he’s been getting more sleep. I stride over and smack his arm affectionately. “Hi, loser.”

“Beef,” he says with equal affection. “So, The Color Project, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Getting really involved, yeah?”

I squint at him. “Ye-es.” I draw out the word with hesitance.

“That’s cool.” Tom squints back at me. “Levi’s pretty great, huh?”

“Yes, but—” My phone dings.

Tom looks down at the screen in my hands. Levi’s name pops up next to the text icon. “Speaking of,” he says.

Looking at his eyes, the way they sparkle with purely evil delight, I instantly know what he’s getting at. “You’re just as bad as the girls, making fun of me! Would you be mature, please?”

Tom puts his hands up defensively. “Bernice, I’ve done nothing to offend,” he says in his most innocent tone.

“Shush, Tom. I come over here to ask you how you’re doing and you tease me.”

His eyes laugh, but he keeps his mouth in a straight line. “Fine, I’ll stop. And I’m good, thanks for asking.”

This has me smiling. “Moving on okay?”

He shrugs. “I think so.”

I take the moment of vulnerability to kiss his cheek. “Good.”

He brushes me off, feigning disgust. “Just go text your boyf—” He makes a little surprised O with his mouth, jumping out of the way of my protesting swats. “I’m just—I didn’t mean to—stop, Bee! Just text him back!”

I shake my head at him like he’s a hopeless case (well, he is) and finally sit down at the table with my waffles.

Levi

I may need a PhD in linguistics to translate those texts, but I’ll do my best.

Frantic, I scroll up. Now that I’m more awake and aware, I instantly see that there are close to a million typos in my previous texts. I groan.

Bee

Not my best work, I admit.

But I can assure you that, despite what you’ve just witnessed, I did indeed graduate high school.

Levi

I believe you. But only because you listen to good music. (People with good taste in music are the only people you can trust.)

I emailed you the list. The girls’ numbers are all at the bottom, in case you need help with anything. They know to be as on-call as they can.

Bee

Awesome!

I’ll talk to Tracy about flowers tomorrow, and market prices, and if she can help out/donate some of her time.

Levi

Great! You can use the office as much as you like. I’ll give you a key.

Bee

No worries!

I can do almost everything from my house.

Levi



Oh, and I forgot to tell you, the flowers you designed look amazing. Your boss was right to take advantage of your talent.

Bee

Really? Thank you!

Levi

I’m not kidding/exaggerating, in case you’re wondering.

Bee

I was.

Levi

Stop that. It’s as bad as you saying you’re sorry all the time.

Bee

Sorry.

Levi

Ha. Very funny, Banana.

Bee

God Almighty.

Levi

Okay, that was sort of a joke guess. Kind of. Who knows? Maybe your mom really craved bananas when she was pregnant with you. Besides, fruit names never stopped celebrities! Apple Martin, Banana Wescott, etc.

Also, did I say thank you yet? If not, thanks.

Bee

NICE TRY! My mom craved peanuts and ice cream when she was pregnant with me.

I don’t remember if you thanked me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so excited to start.

Levi

You’re the best.

I feel my breathing pause and my stomach coil up—without permission, might I add. Lord help me. I write back, a simple response, the only one I can come up with, and immediately get to work on his list.

Bee

Oh, hush.

It’s amazing what can happen in a week, using the power of a list and a budget and a company to back you up. Here’s an idea of what it was like:

• Ivanka chose all her colors and flowers.
• We’ve attempted to pick the right dress, with no luck. Yet.
• Tracy has agreed to teach me how to arrange centerpieces, as well as boutonnieres and flower crowns. (And to help with whatever I can’t finish in time.)
• My mother and Levi’s mother met, and you could say it was love at first sight. One moment, Suzie was handing over a box of vases (“From Ivanka,” she said. “She wanted to know if you could make the arrangements in these.”), and the next she was talking to my mom about gardening. I don’t really know how it happened; the moment is a blur in my memories.
• My mom, Suzie, and I set up a faux wedding ceremony and reception on Friday night—exactly eight days before the big day—and popped a bottle of champagne to celebrate our accomplishments.
• I Skype Gretchen approximately four times to update her on the happenings while perusing the internet for tutorials on arranging centerpieces.

It is now Monday, which means I have not seen Levi in exactly five days, and this frustrates me. (Unlimited frustration, I say!) I’m leaving Tracy’s to meet Ivanka for our second round of dress shopping—in exactly thirty minutes. As I rush to hang up my apron and gather my purse, Tracy calls after me. “Don’t forget to bring the vases on Friday morning! I need to go over the basics with you!”

I wave to her over my shoulder in response, shooting out the door. Thirty-seven traffic-filled minutes later I burst through another door, into the boutique dress shop in Del Mar. I spy Ivanka to the side, looking at two dresses set up for her on the rack. A few feet away from her is a girl around my age, wearing a gold, shimmering shirt and torn jeans, with thick hair that turns to waves at the bottom. (It’s dyed blue.)

I smile when she notices me and shake the hand she sticks out to me.

“You must be Bee,” she says. “I’m Elle.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” I say. “I think you’re the last of the volunteers I’ve met.”

Elle nods, passing her wallet back and forth in her hands. “I was out of town last week. Levi told me all about you, how you stepped in for the wedding. Awesome job you’ve done so far.”

Her words make me feel warm and fuzzy. “Thank you.”

Ivanka looks over her shoulder. “Bee, what do you think of these?”

I put my arm around her in a quick hug and say, “These are stunning. Have you tried them on?”

“Not yet.” She looks worryingly at the price tag. “But it is too much—”

“Nonsense.” I take both dresses off the rack and start toward the back of the store. “Don’t worry about that, remember?”

As I’m getting her set up with an employee near the dressing rooms, Levi calls. “Hey,” I answer, turning toward a quieter spot of the store.

“Hey, Brennica.”

“I’m sorry,” I drawl, with what I hope is an extra dash of attitude. “You have the wrong number.”

Levi chuckles. “No, I’m pretty sure this is Brennica. Long blond hair, glasses, wears jeans every day, likes to smile, is very short.”

“Oh!” I gasp, faking a sudden realization. “I think you mean Bee!”

“No, I mean Brennica. I definitely mean Brennica.”

“Okay,” I say, finally losing it to laughter. “Cut the BS, Levi. What’s up?”

For a second I think he might cooperate, but then he says, “I wanted to let Brennica know that she’ll need to wear something more formal to the fundraiser on Saturday. Something not-jeans. If this is a problem, I can fund a nice dress.”

“Shut up. You’ll do no such thing. What are you going to wear?”

“It’s easy for men. We only have so many options.”

“So, should I wear a dress or a skirt or like…a formal dress? Are you asking me to prom?”

This gets an outright laugh from him. “A dress would be fine, and no, this is not prom. My mom tells me Anthropologie is a good fit for these things, although I have no idea what that means. Is she talking about a major in anthropology? If so, we don’t have that kind of time.”

“It’s a store, Levi.”

“Right, right.” He’s driving now—I can hear a little echo from his headphones and the white noise from passing cars. “Will you be sure to pass this information on to Brennica?”

I groan, but I also can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Sure, Levi, I’ll tell Brennica.”

“So you concede!”

“No. But nice try. Your persistence is admirable.”

“Bee!” I look up at the sound of Elle’s voice. She points to the platform in the middle of the dressing room area, and there stands Ivanka, a perfect little fairy in white. The dress is dazzling, strapless and falling well past her feet, the train flowing behind. The entire skirt is laced with beads that catch the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Ivanka stares at herself in the three mirrors, glimmering and ethereal and fighting back tears, and clasps her hand over her mouth.

“This,” she says, choking on the word.

“Hold on, Levi. I’ll call you back.” Slipping my phone into my pocket, I step onto the platform with Ivanka. I whisper her name in awe, staring at her reflection with everyone else in the store. “You are such a beautiful bride.”

“Is it good?” she whispers.

“It’s freaking perfect. Ivanka, you’re the Czech princess.” I smile and wipe away the two tears that are slowly sliding down her cheeks. “If Augustin doesn’t faint from your beauty the moment he lays eyes on you, I will be thoroughly disappointed.”

Ivanka laughs. “He is a strong man. He will pretend he is not crying.”

I laugh with her, my arm around her shoulder. “If you’re sure, we can buy it today. Elle?” I ask, just to be sure she has the company card.

“Yep.” Elle nods, her expression appraising. “It really is great, Ivanka.”

The bride hugs me again, the beads on the dress making the prettiest clinking noise, and then heads back into her dressing room. With the bright lights of the dressing room beating down on my head, I prop my shoulder against the wall and dial Levi. “Sorry to leave so suddenly. Ivanka found her dress,” I say when he answers.

“Good!” There’s a smile in his voice. “Hey, Bee, tell me you’re free tonight.”

“Um, maybe?” Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, goes my heart.

“Come over. Mom’s making her famous chicken and dumplings for Ivanka and Augustin. We’d love to have you with us since you’ve been such a big part of the wedding.”

“I don’t think we have any family plans tonight, so it should be fine.”

“Yes!” he exclaims, making my heart leap. And when he says goodbye, part of me wishes I’d told him that my heart is a wild creature and that I want to have dinner with him every night and that I love his mom and that today feels like flying.