by Alina Jacobs
Grant was snickering after we left. “She really has Hunter wound up!”
“He should think about getting a nice apology present,” I said, patting the trunk.
54
Brea
I was still upset the next morning. It was time for Liz’s wedding, and I was with the rest of the Weddings in the City girls at the Holbrook estate as the sun was rising to set up for the event. I did a walk-through with Ivy to make sure the ceremony space was perfect, the cocktail hour on the terrace had the correct arrangements, and the reception in the grand ballroom on the third floor looked classy and stylish.
“Girl!” Ivy said, snapping a few pictures for our Instagram account. “We throw a great wedding, don’t we?” Ivy checked her schedule. “The bride is due out in an hour. Can you go check on her?”
“Yep,” I said. I had already had my hair and makeup done. I was exhausted and running purely on caffeine, sugar, and worry about Mark. Maybe I had been too harsh. But then, I hadn’t wanted him to yell at me, and I also didn’t want to listen to him apologize, because I had clearly screwed up.
Liz was in one of the fancy suites in the Holbrook estate with the rest of her bridesmaids, getting ready.
“Not too late to kick me out,” I joked halfheartedly.
“You stayed up all night finishing my dress,” Liz said.
“It was partially finishing the dress, partially wallowing. Actually, it was like ninety-five percent wallowing,” I admitted as I helped Liz steady herself as she stepped into the ball gown.
“Oof,” she groaned.
“Too tight?” I asked as I buttoned up the dress.
Liz clutched her stomach. “No, I’m good, I’m good.”
“Do you have to pee?”
“No I, oooh—” Liz said.
“Oh no. You’re going into—”
“Shhhh!” Liz hissed. “Don’t say the L word! I am a goddess. I am an Amazon warrior princess. I will have my wedding. I will dance all night.”
“Don’t you want to go to the hospital?” I asked in concern.
“Fasten up the rest of those buttons!” Liz ordered. “I will have this wedding! The ceremony is in half an hour. Then there’s pictures, the reception, and the after-party. That’s like eight hours from now. My mom said that when she had my older brother, she was in labor for thirty-two hours. So I clearly have time. I am enjoying this day!”
Liz looked decidedly less confident thirty minutes later when I had to half drag her through the entrance to the back path to the garden.
“I can do this. I’m good. I’m good,” Liz whispered to herself.
But even I could feel the contractions wracking her body. “Dude,” I said.
“Oh my gosh,” Ivy hissed as Dana and I half carried Liz to the starting position. “Is she about to have a baby?”
“I’m good. I have thirty-one more hours.” Liz doubled over.
“Liz?” her dad said. “Oh crap! Oh my God, I need to call my wife!” he said in a panic.
But the music had already started. I peeked around a hedge to watch the groomsmen escort the bridesmaids down the aisle. Liz’s mom had already been escorted to her seat by Liz’s brother.
“Oh Liz, honey,” her dad said, nervously patting his daughter on the shoulder. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“I will not have this baby out of wedlock,” the bride wheezed.
“Ivy, what do we do?” I asked my friend.
“Bride’s day, bride’s way,” she said grimly.
“There’s a wheelbarrow in the gardening shed,” Dana told me. “I had one of the groundskeepers fetch it.”
“I’m fine,” Liz hissed, grabbing my hand so hard I thought she was going to break it.
“This isn’t fair!” she said, blowing out two breaths. “I almost made it. Just one more day.”
“Babies come when they come,” Ivy told her.
“You have to promise me,” Liz said to me. “You have to promise me you’ll marry Mark.”
“Okay, sure thing,” I told her as Ivy fanned her. Liz’s dad looked as if he was going to collapse into a nearby rosebush.
“You owe me a fancy wedding. I’m going to miss my whole wedding!” Liz said, starting to sob.
“We will save everything for you,” Ivy assured her. “All the food. You’ll have a bag of party favors and cake.”
“I wanted the nice wedding,” Liz cried.
“When Brea marries Mark, you can share the wedding, too,” Ivy assured her as we half dragged her to the front of the aisle. “You can plan her whole wedding and even wear a white dress.”
“Yep,” I told Liz. “It will be great! We’ll do it as a team.”
Her father mopped his forehead as Liz bit down on her bouquet to keep from screaming. At the end of the aisle, Wes looked concerned and started toward her.
“Don’t you dare!” Liz screamed. “You stay right there. Help me down!”
It took me, Dana, and Liz’s father—who was so overwrought at the thought that his first grandchild would be born any minute that he was zero help—to bring Liz to the altar.
“Liz, what the hell?” Wes said. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“We are getting married!” she yelled.
“Fine,” Wes said flatly, “but then you’re going to the hospital.”
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began.
Ivy motioned to the officiant to hurry up the wedding. He started speed reading. Mark and I exchanged worried glances throughout the ceremony. I rubbed Liz’s back as the contractions came. We skipped all the readings, then Liz practically screamed her vows.
“By the power vested in me by the State of Connecticut, you may kiss the bride.”
Wes gave her a kiss on the cheek—which was wise, I decided, because Liz might have bitten off a chunk of his face if he got any closer to her mouth. Then Wes scooped her up and carried her to the car Ivy had arranged to take them to the hospital.
55
Mark
“What happened?” I said to Brea after Wes had taken Liz to the hospital, followed by her mom and dad.
I wasn’t sure if I should go or stay. Dana had left, and I figured Liz didn’t need a whole crew there as her new baby came into the world. The guests were still seated and talking amongst themselves. My mom stood up.
“Thank you all for joining us on this exciting day. We have cocktails on the terrace, then you are welcome to join us for a reception. We will keep everyone updated as events progress.”
“She’s such a classy hostess,” Brea remarked. Then her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry about ruining your rehearsal dinner.”
“I’m sorry for overreacting,” I told her.
“I kind of deserved it,” she said.
The bridal party was milling around. Ivy was talking with my mother about updating the schedule for the evening.
“I guess we’re not taking pictures,” Brea said uncertainly.
“Come with me,” I said to Brea, tugging her along with me.
“I don’t want to miss cocktail hour,” she said. “I need some grilled chicken and alcohol. I’m so freaked out!”
“Liz seemed like she was halfway there,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Brea exclaimed as she followed me through the garden to the main house. “I thought the baby was going to come right there in the middle of the ceremony. I can’t believe she didn’t call it off.”
“Liz knows her own mind,” I said as I led her into the house and to a closed door. I turned to her. “I have been told that in these situations, a grand gesture is appropriate.”
Brea made a face. “Why don’t we just let bygones be bygones and start over. Or at least rewind a bit.”
“But I already found you the perfect presents,” I said, flinging open the door. “Ta-da!”
“Oh my gosh, is that a Louis Vuitton steamer trunk?” she gasped. “Why? How?”
“Money can be exchanged for goods and services,” I told her.
>
“Oh my God, my dads are going to flip out. I can’t accept this. It’s like enough to buy a car!”
“Not in this neighborhood,” I said.
Brea went over to the trunk and carefully opened it, revealing the writing desk and several drawers. “Look at that patina on the leather,” she said reverently. Then she sighed. “I literally don’t have anywhere to put it.”
“You know,” I said, rocking on my heels, “you could always move in with me. The penthouse is feeling awfully empty without you there.” I held up a hand against her protests. “I know you think it’s weird to move in together, but I have a convincing argument.”
Brea raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”
“One: this is New York City, and you go on two dates and move in together because rent is so expensive. It’s culturally acceptable. Two: you wouldn’t move in tomorrow, because I know we need to decorate. My mom just did my cousin Grant’s apartment, and it was a six-month ordeal—mainly because of Mrs. Patel’s complaining, but still. Three: I’m lost without you. You make life fun and enjoyable. And the most important and most convincing argument is that four, I love you.”
Brea smiled at me. “I love you too. And that is a very convincing set of arguments.” She wrapped her arms around me. I bent down to kiss her, feeling myself relax and sink into how right it was that I was with Brea.
“Just one thing,” she said, resting her head against my chest. “My parents are going to want me to take several antiques and three of the Roombas with me.”
“That I can agree to.”
“We have to have a special place of honor for that trunk,” Brea continued.
“Yeah, and out of Beowulf’s chewing distance. I paid almost a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for that thing.”
Brea sank to the floor, and I pulled her up.
“What the hell, Mark? You severely overpaid. I am not taking you to estate sales with me ever. You suck at antiquing.”
The cocktail hour stretched on, and we snacked and drank as Brea had to retell the story of the almost-birth to multiple people.
The reception kicked off with a short speech from Uncle Walter. Then came the food. Grace had a videographer on her team, and Ivy directed everyone to give their speeches to the camera so Liz and Wes could watch it later.
Without the bride and groom there, it felt more like a casual party than a wedding reception. The two of them were a hot topic of conversation. It also sparked many of the women attendees to start swapping war stories about their childbirth experiences. After hearing how my mom’s sister’s uterus fell out of her and onto the floor, I was about done.
“Definitely not eating any smoked salmon after that story,” Brea said as we fled from my family. The smell of spicy cheese wafted over to us as we walked past the buffet stations.
“I can’t believe you put the nacho station all the way over here,” I joked to her.
“It could not be in the wedding pictures,” she said. “Besides, look at the type of person it attracts. It’s only been like four hours since the ceremony, and someone has already changed into sweatpants!”
As we approached, I blinked in the low light.
“What the fuck?” Brea exclaimed before I could say it.
There was Liz at the nacho station. She had stuck her whole plate under the nacho cheese fountain and had a spoon in hand, ready to eat. In addition to the loose sweatpants, she wore a T-shirt that said KISS THE BRIDE.
“Oh my God, Mark,” she said around a mouthful of chips and queso. “I take back all the terrible things I said about the nacho station. This is literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I am starving. Also, yes to canned cheese. Fondue cheese would not have been as satisfying.”
“Uhhh, Liz?” Brea said, sounding as stunned as I felt.
“Oh gosh,” Liz said, cheese sauce dripping down her chin. “The baby came right as I got to the hospital. Apparently I have wide birthing hips. I always hated my big ass, but then who knew the baby would just slide right out? I begged to leave because of my wedding. They tested her, then they were just like, ‘Yeah, you can go.’ I told you I was not missing my reception! I just have to go back for some follow-up care tomorrow.”
“I’m shocked that you’re up and walking.”
“I’m very food motivated,” Liz said, spooning more cheese into her mouth. “It was like I was telling Wes. He tried to argue with me about leaving, but they tried to give me dried toast, and I was like, ‘Fuck that.’” Liz gestured with a chip to her new husband.
Wes was huddled in a corner, a small baby strapped to his chest in a colorful sling. He looked shell-shocked.
“Dude, congrats,” Grant told him, loping over with the rest of Mark’s family.
“You’re an uncle,” Wes said weakly.
“You’re a father.”
“I know.”
“Wes almost fell over when the baby popped out from under my dress,” Liz said. “It was like that scene in The Nutcracker. Everyone in the waiting room applauded, too, when I lifted up my dress. It was like a movie! But my mom was scandalized. Also,” she said to Brea, “the dress did catch the baby, so thanks for that, but now it’s covered in gunk. I refuse to get rid of it, because I’m wearing it again on a monthly basis so I can run around my house and pretend to be a princess.”
“I have cleaned much worse out of silk,” Brea said grimly.
Dana pumped hand sanitizer onto my hands, and Wes pushed back the fabric covering the little bundle on his chest. I peered at the tiny, black-haired baby. It was nothing short of miraculous. I almost couldn’t believe it.
“Awww!” Brea cooed. “Look at all that hair.”
“She’s got blue eyes,” Liz said.
I stared at the baby.
Ivy and Elsie came over with a tray of hors d'oeuvres they had saved for Liz. Liz alternated between those and the nachos.
“Liz,” Ivy said, “this is…well, I think your wedding is going down on record as the most memorable we’ve ever done. I don’t know whether to be impressed or scandalized that you’re here walking around.”
“You can be both,” Liz assured her.
“So...cake?”
As we watched Wes and Liz cut the cake before Wes insisted on whisking the baby and Liz away to rest, I wrapped my arms around Brea and kissed her neck.
“I want this.”
“What?” she said, leaning against me. “You want a big wedding?”
“Yeah, actually. And a baby.”
“But not at the same time,” Brea said, turning around to pull me down for a kiss.
“No. I would hope that between the two of us, we’d be a little more organized than that!”
56
Brea
“I need to see where all the magic happens!” Sophie said in excitement when I opened the door. My friends were hovering outside with bottles of champagne. Elsie had hors d'oeuvres, and Sophie had cupcakes.
“This is supposed to be a working session,” Ivy said as Amy popped the cork on the champagne bottle.
“Where are your glasses?”
“We really don’t have anything. We don’t even live here yet,” I admitted.
“Drinking out of the bottle it is then!” Grace said, taking a swig of champagne.
“I need the grand tour,” Ivy said dramatically, whipping out her notebook. “Also, where is the famous steamer trunk?”
“That is upstairs to keep it far away from the dog,” I said, leading them up to my sewing room. Beowulf bounded up after us.
All my friends cooed at the studio space with its floor-to-ceiling windows, balcony, and angled bookcase.
“This is literally like ten times as big as my apartment,” Amy said. “Do you need a houseguest or a live-in friend?”
“She and Mark are probably doing the deed all over the place!” Sophie joked. My friends giggled as my face burned.
“Oh, you two have definitely christened this place already!” Grace exclaimed.
/> “Welcome,” Mark said, stepping out of his study when we came back downstairs. He had set up a mobile command station in there, as he called it, which was basically a folding table and chair.
“I don’t know how you can work like that,” I said as he leaned down to kiss me, wrapping his arms around me. I would never get tired of that!
“I need space from my family.”
“He just sleeps here in a sleeping bag,” I told my friends.
“I don’t need nice things to survive.”
“Well, I do,” I declared.
The doorbell rang.
“You’re living here?” Beau exclaimed when I let him and Todd into the penthouse. “This is amazing. I’m jealous!”
He was dressed in a custom muumuu I had made him. It was covered in embroidered Roombas.
“We have to have it decorated first,” I reminded them, “which is why we are having a design charette.”
“I’m envious that you have so much space,” Todd said. He was already calculating how many antiques he could fit into the penthouse.
“We’re trying to keep it minimalist,” I warned.
Beau snorted. “As if you could be minimalist.”
“Okay, Judgey McJudgerson, that is probably accurate. And sure, my upstairs studio is going to look like a pigsty in about two weeks. But down here in the common areas, we are going to provide the illusion that someone who has her shit together lives here.”
I directed my parents to folding camping chairs to sit then grabbed some of the shrimp poppers Elsie had catered for the occasion.
The doorbell rang again, and the Holbrooks piled inside. Liz was there, carrying a cake container. Wes had the baby strapped to his chest, his dog protectively at his side. They both gazed adoringly at the tiny little girl.
“Wes barely lets me hold the baby,” Liz complained, toting the large Tupperware to the long kitchen island as Mark and my fathers cooed over the baby. “He’s absolutely smitten with her. I need to have another one so we each have one!”