The Key to Happily Ever After

by Tif Marcelo

  “Is everything okay?” She stood under the warmth of the sun teeming through the window.

  “He’s acting like an ass.”

  Mari nodded, her stomach hollowing out. Reid didn’t have to explain who he was talking about, but she had to tread lightly here. Very lightly. “And by he, you mean . . .”

  “Brad. I can’t work out if I want to do something about it.”

  Mari’s heart softened. This. This was the part of the business she loved. Getting to the bottom of things, putting the puzzle together. Finding the solution.

  This was also her cue to tap into her slew of standard neutral questions about their family but they escaped her now. She and Reid were quite honestly past it, the time for small talk smashed when she’d let it fly about his short-term rental property a week and a half ago.

  Mari winced all over again. Before she could go on, it was imperative she clear the air, once and for all. “Before we move on . . . our video chat—I see now that I could have approached it differently.”

  He shook his head. “My property manager wasn’t doing his job, and things got out of hand. It was a lucrative venture, but I’m considering selling the place.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m here often for business, but I’m not much of a fan of the DC area and don’t see myself coming here for pleasure.”

  “Except to see Hazel.”

  “True.” His lips turned up. “Maybe I shouldn’t sell, then. We’re close, and I miss her. Her mother married my father—his second marriage—but he passed about five years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate that.” He inhaled. Exhaled. “He was the glue. Her mother—well, she’s not exactly around, with her being in Miami and all.”

  Mari nodded. “Hazel did say that she wouldn’t be as involved.”

  He shifted to the right. “Want a seat?”

  “Sure.” Mari settled herself onto the sill, inwardly thankful to give her feet a rest.

  “Patricia loves the hubbub of events, holidays, the good stuff. But she always kept a distance from us kids. And when my dad passed away, she simply stopped being in touch.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She passed a long time ago. Hazel is all the family I care about. I consider myself more a dad than a brother—and I feel somewhat responsible. To be honest though, this wedding stuff is not my thing.”

  “So the scowls and the hand-wringing . . . that’s not your usual demeanor?”

  “You caught those?” When she nodded, he laughed. “Yeah, I’m not one for . . . all this pomp and circumstance.”

  “You’re anti-wedding.” Mari clamped her hand over her mouth, shocked at her own words. Apparently with Reid, her manners had taken a back seat. She spoke through her palm. “I’m sorry. No idea why I just said that—”

  He barked out a laugh. “Since you asked so bluntly, I guess I am, a little. I almost found myself at the end of the aisle once, but it didn’t work out.”

  “I see.” She lowered her hand. “I didn’t mean to pry. It wasn’t my intention. Reid, I’m sorry for casting judgment, and for your experience.”

  “Don’t be sorry—I appreciate straightforwardness. I find it refreshing, more palatable than the games most people play. But I admit, my past affects how I feel about Hazel marrying Brad so quickly. And seeing her like this, how she succumbs . . . you should’ve known her, before she met Brad. She would have never left her friends in Atlanta—”

  “Or you.” Mari completed the thought, then halted, and broke out into a laugh herself. “I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth—”

  “No, you’re right.” He sighed. “She left me. I guess that took me aback, and it’s probably why I want to strangle the guy.” He frowned for a beat. “I get she makes her own decisions, and I respect they run their relationship their way, but he wants to support her. Seems ideal, right? But here’s the thing: he doesn’t want her to work even if she loves it. He checks in repeatedly, and she can’t seem to make a decision without him.”

  Mari threaded her fingers together, careful in her actions. Reid would’ve changed his tune if he knew the real reason why Hazel had uprooted herself from her home.

  “Anyway, not my business, right? She says she’s happy, and that’s all that matters to me. Should, anyway.” Reid raked his hair with a hand. An amused smile graced his handsome face, the moment changing. He pointed at her. “You. You’re better than a bartender.”

  “Moi?” Mari chided, mirroring his posture, grateful he didn’t hold her candor against her. She switched to a casual stance, letting her body go, releasing the serious vibe she hadn’t expected to reach in any of their conversations. It was true, part of her job entailed some counseling, sometimes a little psychology, but Reid was the first to ever point it out.

  “And I didn’t even have to take a drink. Speaking of.” His eyes sparkled.

  “What?”

  “Have you been to the Whistling Pig?”

  “Of course I have. It’s down the street from Rings and Roses. It’s the dive bar of the neighborhood.” Mari laughed. “Locals only.”

  “Maybe that’s why my beer was warm. They know I’m an outsider.”

  “No. The beer was warm because they suck.”

  “Okay, well I’m looking for a good microbrewery, walking distance from the town house. Something to ease the pain as I help my sister plan her seating chart.”

  “That’s an easy task.”

  “Good. You’ll have to take me.” His lips curled into a grin.

  In the flow of the conversation, Mari nodded, but as the meaning of his words caught up to her, she stiffened. The request had been easy and smooth, but was this a come-on? She cleared her throat, face warm.

  “Is that too much to ask, for you to show me the way?” Reid leaned on his elbows. “Is that out of your job description?”

  “R-Reid—” she stuttered, not knowing how to answer. Rings & Roses was a full-service shop. If Hazel wanted microbrew, Mari would’ve marched along with them to meet the owners of any microbrewery in town. But this felt . . . different. And wonderful.

  A lovely churning began deep inside her as he looked into her eyes. He didn’t say another word, but the message was loud and clear. There was something between them. Though they wouldn’t act on it—they couldn’t—it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  It would have to be up to her to resist.

  “He said yes!” Hazel stomped in, cheeks pink and out of breath. “He’ll go with what I want. Let’s lock this place down.”

  Mari leapt to her feet like a teenager caught making out in the basement. “Great, let’s seal the deal. Congratulations!”

  Pearl entered a few steps behind, and her eyes lit up in excitement. “Congratulations? Did you break the news? Yay, baby!”

  Hazel’s mouth fell open.

  “What news? What baby?” Reid asked, standing.

  “No baby.” Mari grabbed Pearl’s elbow. Squeezed at the seriousness of her faux pas. She muddled out a random set of words she hoped would make sense. “She meant that . . . congratulations, because I’m having a baby, one day, in the distant future.” She winced at her horrible attempt to buy time.

  “I don’t understand. You’re pregnant?” Reid asked Mari.

  “No, she’s not, but I am. Yay!” Pearl said, face skewed into fright.

  “Just . . . just stop. Thank you, ladies, but you both are horrible liars.” Hazel stepped up to Reid, rested a hand on her belly, and smiled. “It’s me. I’m pregnant.”

  eight

  Mood: “Jump on It” by Sir Mix-a-Lot

  Pearl understood she’d messed up. When she’d approached the group in the ballroom and heard Mari say “Congratulations,” she’d naturally assumed Hazel had revealed her secret.

  But right now—what Mari was doing? “Assisting” her with a Friday afternoon ceremony at the H. Carl Moultrie Courthouse, the easiest kind of event, where the extent of Pearl’s duties was to wrangle the phot
ographer and usher the small wedding party of six to their reserved restaurant location? It was unnecessary and humiliating. Just because she’d opened her big mouth didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of performing her duties.

  Besides, her mistake did not ultimately end in disaster. Hazel had come clean to Reid, who had expressed his total support. She hadn’t blamed either Mari or Pearl for the slipup.

  Pearl had apologized no fewer than a dozen times in the last three days, and yet here Mari was, standing next to her behind the last row of the courthouse’s ceremony room, watching her every move. As if seemingly disremembering Pearl’s interaction with Reanna Vito at the flower shop, she left Rings & Roses to Carli’s care since Jane was on a venue tour with a client. Pearl was back to the first square of this convoluted board game where she couldn’t seem to gain ground.

  The officiant raised her hand, signaling Pearl that she was ready. Pearl cued the photographer with a nod. Mari fussed with the iPod.

  Pearl cracked the door open. Her couple, Jacqueline Ansari and Ernest Henderson, “Henri,” were on the other side of the threshold, in the hallway, holding hands. Both were in their sixties but breathed youth. Jacqui was stunning in a white long-sleeve vintage sheath dress with a fascinator clip and veil. Ernest wore dapper high-waisted white slacks and a brown vest and bow tie, with a camel-and-white pinstripe suit jacket. Jacqui clutched a bundle of six tulips in her hand, stems wrapped in thick ribbon.

  “Showtime?” Pearl asked the couple.

  They looked at each other. “We’ve been ready,” Ernest answered.

  Pearl cued Mari, who pressed the Play button on the iPod. Music filled the room through the portable speaker the couple had brought. She opened the door, and the couple stepped through, faces bright with anticipation.

  The civil ceremony room was a standard government meeting room, lined with rows of chairs to seat about fifteen with enough space for a small aisle down the middle. At the front of the room was a wire arch sparsely covered with fake greenery and flowers, behind it a lecturer’s podium, with the officiant waiting on the other side. On the wall was the District of Columbia’s seal.

  The couple had wanted this simple ceremony. They were each other’s second marriage. Each of their three children were present; one carried their wedding bands. They had written their vows; Jacqui’s were in verse. The ceremony was short, and in the end they shared a kiss Pearl knew bound them tighter than the signatures on the signed official document.

  This was a ceremony of second chances. Separately, Jacqui and Ernest had had their own struggles and pain. They’d independently traversed the world and somehow found each other. Henceforth, they believed they would be invincible. Strength in numbers.

  Pearl risked a glance at her sister, who dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Separately, each of the de la Rosa girls were proficient and tenacious individuals. With Pearl fully part of the team, what more could they do as a business? She could help them recover from their shaky finances. Together they would be unstoppable.

  But Mari would have to trust Pearl. Mari would need to give her a second chance.

  Time for Pearl to take her second chance. Later on that evening, she and Trenton had hung back, a block away, until Daphne and Carter ducked into Ohm, each with a stainless steel travel coffee mug in hand. Pearl waited until the couple were set up in the middle row. Luck had it there was space for two mats next to Daphne.

  Pearl rolled out her yoga mat and unloaded her cinch sack. Above her mat, she lined up her blocks, strap, and water bottle. As people milled into the space, as predicted, the mats were pushed closer, bringing Daphne into easy hearing distance of Pearl and Trenton.

  Now for the big guns.

  Pearl snapped her hand towel, embroidered with the name Rings & Roses, out of her sack. A skeleton key took the place of the stem of the letter i, with a gold ring for the dot, and a red rose for the o in Roses. It was a design she’d conjured up and had embroidered that she’d hoped Mari would approve; that is, before they’d halted their spending.

  Pearl still wasn’t in agreement about cutting paid marketing and publicity efforts. Currently, word of mouth had sustained the shop and brought in their current brides, but there were too many event planning companies emerging from the sea of DC transplants. Saving in the short run might cost them the marathon.

  But becoming Daphne’s wedding planner would be a step toward solving their current—and future—problems.

  The room grew hotter, and Pearl’s limbs loosened. It was time to work; she signaled Trenton with a nod. Ruby, today’s instructor, entered the room and greeted her yogis, and the window to communicate with Daphne narrowed. As if reading her mind, Trenton nudged her, and almost too loudly, said, “I don’t know how you have enough energy to do this at the end of the day. Don’t you have a big wedding this weekend?”

  “Oh, ah.” She tried to be more natural with her part. “I do, but I needed this break. I love working with brides who know what they want, but with how much time I spent with you know who this week, yoga will do me some good. Gotta keep my head clear to plan the perfect wedding!”

  Okay, so she was being dramatic, and she was totally fibbing. Her only wedding this week had been this afternoon’s ceremony at the courthouse, and the sole event on the calendar this weekend was a bridal expo, where she’d hoped they could publicize Rings & Roses. She hadn’t spent hours with any you-know-whos.

  But the dialogue worked. Next to her, Daphne’s ear tilted slightly toward her.

  “Right. And you deliver, as you always do. I saw all those comments on Instagram about last week’s wedding.” Trenton’s hand crossed the space between them, taking hers and squeezing it. “I’m proud of you, babe. I love watching you in action.”

  That last sentence wasn’t part of the script, nor was the hand-holding and the pet name. If Pearl had been warm before, she was now melting. Her teen self was on the verge of freaking out.

  “Excuse me. Do you happen to be one of the wedding planners from Rings and Roses?”

  Daphne’s airy voice interrupted Pearl’s galloping thoughts. She let go of Trenton’s hand, regaining her composure. She turned to the woman. “I am. I’m Pearl de la Rosa.”

  “Daphne Brown.” She canvassed Pearl’s face, no doubt curious if she recognized her. “I just got engaged.”

  Pearl wasn’t going to show her cards. “It’s nice to meet you, and congratulations! When’s the big day?”

  “September of next year. It’s going to be at the Thatched Roof Winery in Loudoun County.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, that’s where we want to have it.” Sitting with her legs folded under her, she leaned back. “This is my fiancé, Carter Ling.”

  “Nice to meet you. This is my . . .” Pearl glanced at Trenton, stuck. They hadn’t discussed their label for this fake relationship.

  “Her one and only.” Trenton beamed.

  Maybe it was because they’d known each other forever, or that beyond her crush on Trenton was a friendship built on teasing and sarcasm, but she said, with pure honesty, “He’s such a cheeseball.”

  “Aww.” Daphne glanced at Carter for a beat. “You guys are cute.”

  “We are, aren’t we?” Trenton said. “I keep telling her that.”

  Pearl was speechless. What universe where they in? What was happening?

  Ruby spoke up from the front of the room, interrupting their chatter. “Good evening, family. Full house today, and there’s more folks coming in from the lobby. Let’s get cozier, shall we?”

  People stood, mats moved. The room shifted to the right. Pearl’s mat was now a foot away from Daphne’s, so close that conversation was completely unavoidable, and therefore the move was to her advantage.

  Anticipation grew inside of her. Though she hadn’t gone to a wedding at the Thatched Roof Winery, she’d done a wine tasting there with friends. Loudoun County, northwest of DC by fifty miles, flourished with foliage during the fall, a landscape out of a painter’s canvas. West coast wineries
were king when it came to wine, but they did not compare to the backdrop of a transitioning East Coast autumn with its changing leaves. But yeah, she could see this wedding happening there, knew where she’d suggest to seat the guests, what view they’d look out on as Daphne and Carter said their vows. And with the research she’d done on Daphne, on the clothing she’d worn in her Instagram posts and from her blog’s vibe, the theme materialized in her head.

  “That’s a beautiful spot,” Pearl whispered, smiling. “I can see it. Rustic and sweet. Grapevine arches. Wine barrel markers. Classic ivory linen, with touches of burlap. Hints of red and pinks.”

  “Oh.” Daphne gasped, ever so softly, next to her.

  Music rose from the corner of the room and the lights dimmed, as if Ruby had been in cahoots with her pitch.

  It was a sign. Pearl just knew. She knew she had Daphne. And though it was time to channel all of her effort into the absolute present, into her breath, body, and into this mat, with Trenton on her left and Daphne on her right, Pearl wasn’t sure how she was going to keep herself from hyperventilating.

  By the end of class, Pearl had found her center. Sweat dripping from the baby hairs at her neckline, body awash with endorphins, and confident that she’d accomplished her goal, she set her rolled mat on the ground and plopped on a lobby bench next to Trenton. She jammed on her sneakers and spied Daphne and Carter chatting with Ruby.

  Trenton wiped his face with a towel. His eyes lit up with the satisfied look of someone who’d done a major workout. Lips curled into a grin, he said, “I think I’m hooked on yoga.”

  “Really? Mr. CrossFit, converted?” Pearl teased.

  Across from them, a yogi grabbed her coat and flashed Pearl a knowing smile.

  Yoga always got such a bad rap.

  Not able to resist passing on some knowledge, she spurted off her favorite fact about the practice. “Do you know that the mind-body connection goes beyond relaxation and muscle strength? It can even heal people after a trauma, like post-traumatic stress.” Then, she bit her lip, regretting mentioning it altogether. She might have taken a couple of yoga classes with the man, but she didn’t know enough about what happened to Trenton the last seven years. She didn’t want to appear presumptuous, only to make a point that yoga had helped her with her own mental health.