When I was a kid, my gran would talk about the perfect wedding day. I thought that was my life’s goal. Do everything right, follow the perfect path, find the perfect man, and have the perfect wedding. If I did all of that, surely the perfect life would follow.
That is not true. If my gran was here, well first I’d hug the shit out of her and cry until I snotted all over her shoulder. I miss her more than I can explain. But, then I’d tell her how very wrong she was. I’ve spent my entire life chasing that mythical version of perfection and here I sit. Miserable.
It’s been ten days since Lucas and I made love. Ten days since he walked out of my apartment. I’ve pulled his contact up on my phone at least a hundred times and started and deleted an apology each time. What do you say to the man who declared his love to you and you kicked out after making love? Sorry doesn’t seem enough.
Work has been a welcome distraction. Apparently, unbeknownst to most of the staff, one of the lead planners was fooling around with a groom-to-be. Instead of showing up to the bridal shower as planned, she took off with the groom and hasn’t been heard from since. My boss, Suzette, has been on a damage control mission. It started with a very long and stressful staff meeting. We were all required to sign a new employment contract that now features an ethical clause. I never thought I’d sign a document that agreed to never have sex—oral or otherwise—with a client and under no circumstance would I begin a romantic relationship with a client.
After the meeting, Suzette asked me to stay behind. I assumed she wanted me to help her with some administrative work but I was mistaken.
“Whitney, I’ve been watching you and your work. I know it’s been rather frustrating to only be organizing puppy weddings and toddler tea parties but I think you’ll agree you’ve learned a lot about this company.”
She was right. As much as I felt ridiculous organizing and managing a four year-old’s tea party, it was a learning experience. And, it is because of events like that I’m standing here, in Suzette’s office with possibly the biggest professional opportunity of my life scheduled to walk through the door.
A wedding.
Not just any wedding, the wedding of a local news team. Kathryn Jones and Truman Hamel are two of the most famous newscasters on our local news. Both are ridiculously beautiful, so it only makes sense their onscreen chemistry would carry over into their personal lives. Today, Suzette and I are meeting with them to discuss their upcoming nuptials. While I won’t be lead on this event, I’ll be working directly with Suzette as her second-in-command.
We sit with Kathryn and Truman for two hours, discussing most of their do not wants instead of their wants. That was my idea and a different approach than Suzette normally takes with a new bride, but I told her from personal experience it can move things along and make the bride feel heard. Plus, with the groom this involved, it may be an easy way to eliminate any over-the-top ideas.
I was right. We have been able to narrow down our locations, themes, and color schemes to less than five with an agreement to meet again in two weeks with a final presentation. Beyond that, I’ve scheduled three appointments with local bridal boutiques for Kathryn and her bridal party over the next six weeks.
When the couple bids us goodbye and the door closes, Suzette turns to me with a wide grin. “Whitney, I knew this would be a great fit for you. Keep this up, and the next wedding we book may be yours alone.”
Pride fills my chest and my first thought is how much I want to call Lucas and tell him puppy weddings are a thing of the past. But, I can’t.
“I expected a happier look than that,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What? Oh, yes. I’m thrilled. Thank you, Suzette. This is such an amazing opportunity, and I cannot wait to work with you.”
“Then why the frown, dear?” I watch as she moves to the small couch under a large window and pats the spot next to her. Slowly, I walk to the couch and sit down.
“It’s nothing, just some personal things,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “I’m going to go back to my cubicle and get started on the presentations. Make some calls.”
“Is working this wedding going to be an issue for you? I know you had a wedding of your own planned a few months ago.”
Surprised by this knowledge I must convey that confusion in my facial expressions because Suzette barks out a laugh.
“Whitney, I make it a point to know important things about my staff. Regardless, you did use your own wedding plan as part of your interview.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that. Yes, I was to be married a few months ago. It didn’t work out, but I’m well over that. Please don’t worry, my failed walk down the aisle will in no way impact my work on the Jones-Hamel wedding.”
“I have no doubt you’ll do you a wonderful job. That’s why I’ve chosen you to work with me. My staff is like family to me so if it is too much at any point, please let me know.”
I smile and nod in agreement before excusing myself from Suzette’s office. I wondered if working my first wedding would dredge up some pent-up emotion from my almost wedding to Trenton. I’m pleased to realize it hasn’t. Maybe the puppy weddings were the best thing for me. A failed wedding exorcism or something.
For the next five hours, I work diligently on the Jones-Hamel wedding plans. All five of them. I have a good outline for each with a detailed to-do list that will keep me busy for the foreseeable future. On top of the wedding, I still have a few of my standing evening events to keep me busy. Powering down my computer, I clean off my desk and grab my things before heading for the elevators.
I make a promise to myself. I’m going to stay busy, focus on building my career, and get my life on track. Maybe over time, my heart will heal from the way I decimated it. I almost have myself convinced time heals all wounds and all that other crap people say the entire walk to my car.
Until I see a rose on my windshield with a note card. Breathing the sweet aroma of the flower, I smile as I read the note.
Whitney,
If I hadn’t screwed up in high school, I would have given you a rose every month to celebrate the day I fell in love with you.
Luke
Part of me wants to call him. To apologize. But, I have a feeling that’s not what I’m supposed to do. This is his way of reminding me he still loves me but giving me the space I obviously need.
It’s been four days since I found the rose on my windshield. Part of me has been wondering if I’ll have to wait—impatiently because when I was created, patience was left out of the recipe—another month before I hear from Lucas. The question was put to rest when I opened my mail today. A padded envelope addressed to me with no return address was among the junk mail and currently sits on my lap as I settle back into the front seat of my car.
When I saw the envelope, I dropped everything and tore it open almost immediately. Confused, I held the compact disc in my hand reading the note on it, “Listen to me.” The only place I have a CD player is my car so here I sit with the car running, in my parking space, inserting the little disc waiting for what’s next.
The playlist Lucas made for our road trip begins and tears begin to fill my eyes while a huge grin takes over my face. My playlist. Tears stream down my cheeks as I laugh. He made me a playlist. This is like a nineties version of a mix tape and it’s perfect. Added to the original songs are a few from our days in Portland, specifically the night at the bar. Memories of that trip make me smile wider and more tears fall.
When the CD ends, I sit in my car for a few minutes and embrace the silence, basking in the overwhelming feeling of love and confusion. My cell phone alerts me to a text message and I send a little prayer of hope that it’s Lucas. Disappointed when I read the text, I suck up the tears and exit my car. An emergency meeting with Suzette and Kathryn Jones at an upscale restaurant downtown dampens any joy I may have had only minutes ago.
I rush to my apartment and quickly get myself ready for an impromptu meeting with my boss and client. Choosing
a navy shift dress, I braid the sides of my hair before wrapping it in a low bun at the base of my neck. Keeping my makeup to a minimum since my eyes are puffy from the cry fest in my car, I choose to wear glasses instead of my usual contacts. A set of bangles and a pair of earrings complete the look as I slide my feet into a pair of wedges.
On my drive downtown, I listen to the playlist again but this time, instead of making me cry, it makes me smile. Which is a good thing because if we’re already meeting with Kathryn I have a feeling I’m going to need something positive today.
Shot Gun Wedding.
Not exactly the words I expected Kathryn Jones to utter when I took my first drink of water but there you have it. And the result is my eyes watering from choking on, well, my water.
The wedding I thought I’d have months to plan has been bumped up to four weeks. One month to pull off the wedding of the year and all before the bride-to-be is showing her baby bump.
“Whitney, I told Kathryn about your wedding plan.”
Startled, I shoot a confused look to Suzette.
“For your wedding.”
At least she has the decency to say it sheepishly. My wedding? Wait . . . my wedding. She can’t be serious.
“My wedding?” I cough out.
“Suzette said you had a wedding completely planned, and it may be easy for us to recreate it quickly.”
“I. Uh. Wow. Umm . . .” She cannot be serious. By the looks on their faces, I know she is. When the waiter comes by with more water, I throw any professional decorum I’d been putting forth and order a martini. Extra dirty.
“You want to use my wedding?”
“Whitney, your plan was sophisticated, yet understated. The plans are already complete, and the color scheme is classic with a modern flare. Truly, we’d only need to narrow down the vendors, which we should have no problem doing. Most of our go-to vendors will want this event with the level of publicity it’s sure to bring.”
“I’ve already been working with a designer on my dress, and she’s assured me she’ll make this her highest priority. So, if you’re okay turning your wedding over to me, I’d really love to see what you had planned.”
Mouth agape, I stare at them both until my martini is placed in front of me. With a long sip of the vodka goodness, I ponder their request. All I’ve ever wanted was to plan the perfect wedding. I did that. So what if the groom ended up being more toad than prince?
With another sip of martini courage, I straighten my back and say, “It’s yours.”
And just like that, my perfect wedding is back on. Only, I’m not the bride.
I’ve heard people, mostly my parents, complain that the internet has made my generation lazy. My mother refers to the “special snowflakes” as the lost generation. Lost on human contact, lost on real work, and lost on responsibility. If my mother knew how much work I’ve put into my plan to get Whitney back, well, get her at all, she’d be proud. Hell, the amount of time I’ve spent researching the fine line between courting and stalking has been a part-time job.
Speaking of part-time job, I’ve talked with my manager, and he’s agreed for me to start working with the guys to choreograph new routines that put some of them in the forefront and pull me from the main focus. He wasn’t pleased but conceded when I told him the alternative was me quitting. It was a bluff, and it worked. I wish I had the luxury of quitting, but that’s not possible right now. Also off the table are private parties.
This morning, I’m putting together the next package I need to have delivered to her. It’s been two weeks since I mailed the CD to her. That was no easy feat either. How’s that for real work. Thankfully, Jonah has an old desk top computer with a CD drive so I was able to burn the CD. Of course, he had to help me because I’d never done that before. When he was done helping me, he said something about agreeing with my mother. He’s called me “snowflake” for two weeks since.
The flower on her car prior to that was easy enough to handle on my own since I convinced Jessi to be my accomplice and make sure I had her schedule. But this, I want this delivered. Jonah volunteered last night after Carmen had a few glasses of wine. I doubt he is as excited about this as she was offering up his services.
“Luke, let me see that, you are horrible with ribbon.”
I slide the pile of ribbon and scissors Carmen’s way and watch as she twists, turns, and ties the ribbon into an elaborate flower instead of the plain bow I was trying to do. Mesmerized by how quickly she creates the masterpiece, I grab the box it goes with from the counter.
“Explain these,” she says, holding up a heart shaped sucker.
“When we were in high school, they would do these random fundraisers for the senior class. The money was supposed to be for prom and the graduation night party. The one event that was always consistent was the Valentine’s Day suckers. You could purchase a sucker for your Valentine and have it delivered. Some were anonymous and others had note cards.”
Carmen grabs a few of the suckers and holds them in one hand while adding to the bundle, creating a bouquet. She looks to me and raises a brow for me to continue.
“Anyway, I was too chickenshit to ever buy one for Whit. I actually bought six the year we were lab partners. I was going to ask her to a dance. But, then she stopped talking to me.”
“That was when you were a douchenozzle?” she asks.
“I didn’t know I was a douchenozzle,” I scoff. She laughs. I continue, “But, yes. Anyway, when she wasn’t talking to me, I went to one of my buddies and sold him the suckers for half the price so he could send them to his girlfriend.”
“I think it’s cute you want to recreate that gesture.”
“You said woo her. Do you think this falls in that category?”
“I’d say it’s adorable and sweet. If I were her, I’d be smitten for sure. But, what’s next?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking the sucker bouquet from her hand and placing it gently in the box filled with bright pink tissue paper.
“What’s after this? At some point, don’t you think you should just call her? Send the girl a text message at the very least?”
Shrugging, I place the card I’ve written inside the box and place the lid on top. Jessi promised to find out when Whitney would be home so Jonah could deliver the package so until then, we wait.
“I don’t know, Carmen. I feel like I have to do something huge. None of this seems like enough.”
Rising from the table, Carmen walks to the refrigerator and snaps up two water bottles, handing one to me before unscrewing the top from her own. After a sip of water, she stands with her hip cocked and her head tilted, staring at me. It’s unnerving. She’s assessing. This cannot go well for me.
“How long have you been in love with this girl?” she asks.
There’s no need in pretending with Carmen. She was awake when I stumbled in from Whitney’s with my heart ripped to shreds. I guess in some ways, she got the payback she wanted as a teenager.
“Ten years.”
“Right. Luke you’re twenty-five years old. You’ve spent almost half your life in love with a woman who, as far as I can tell, just may love you back. Don’t you think you’ve both wasted enough time playing games? Aren’t you ready to start something real? Lay your cards on the table.”
Without another word, Carmen walks away, leaving me to my own thoughts. The box of suckers taunts me from across the table.
Playing games. It doesn’t feel like a game, and if it is, it’s one I’m losing in the most epic way.
After our night together, I thought we’d fall into something real. That’s why the words slipped out. I meant them but had no intention of saying them. Hell, I’d stopped myself numerous times up to that point. I wanted to tell her in Portland and each night we talked on the phone in the weeks to follow.
When she told me how jealous and hurt she was seeing me at work, the emotions poured out of me. I put them into every kiss, lick, and taste of her. When I spilled everything
I had inside her, leaving my heart laid out for her on a silver platter, the words fell from my lips without a second thought.
The look of horror on her face was a kick in the nuts. With a pointed boot that had spikes. Basically, it hurt. Really fucking badly. How I reacted was not my finest moment. I was hurt and humiliated. And pissed. So pissed.
Part of me was angry at myself for putting her in that position. I don’t regret sleeping with her, but it shouldn’t have been fueled by my need to show her how much she means to me. It shouldn’t have been to smother the hurt she suffered because of me. I was also angry at her. Angry that she could think so little of me. To believe I would ever hurt her. I would ever cheat on her.
As the days went by, my anger and frustration grew. Then I missed her. I miss her.
Maybe Carmen is right. Maybe I need to nip this gift thing in the bud and talk to her. Just lay it all out on the line to her. Explain the changes I’m making with my job. Work through it together.
I shoot a text to Jonah letting him know there’s been a slight change in plans and to hold tight for further directions. My next text message is to Jessi for Whitney’s schedule.
Jessi: Sorry, pal. Your girl has been pulling 12 hour days. I haven’t seen her in a few days. She’s probably at the office.
I guess that high profile wedding is taking more of her time than Jessi originally thought.
Me: Okay. How many people work there?
Jessi: Dude, how would I know?
Me: Estimate. Help me out.
Jessi: She’s mentioned like 4 people. So at least that many. Why?
Me: Just curious. Thanks!
I immediately start tapping on my phone, finding a restaurant I know Whitney loves. I hit the call button. After ordering enough food for half a dozen people I make one more request of the woman on the phone. She seems less than impressed with my request for a note to be included in the order. By the time I finish dictating the note, she’s offering me her phone number in case the person receiving the order doesn’t call me.
I Don't: A Romantic Comedy Page 18