2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) (18 page)

Sunday, January 9
^th

“Where were you last night?” she asked, a tinge of
jealousy in her voice even though she tried her best to hide it. Not that there
were a whole lot of places one could be in Nekoyah, but it still bothered her
that he hadn’t answered her call.

“Missing you.”

She rolled her eyes with pleasure and frustration.
“Seriously.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“If that was all you were doing, you could have
answered the phone.”

“I was too depressed to lift a finger.”

She could hear the smile in his voice but she wasn’t
going to give into it. She’d
really
needed to talk to him after her day
from wedding-planning hell. As it was, since he didn’t answer, she’d eaten too
many cookies (all ten too many, considering cookies weren’t on her bridal diet
at all). If he’d been there for her on the other end of the phone she never
would have been scrounging in her cupboards where she found said cookies—stale
cookies at that. She was going to fatten herself up on
stale
cookies. It
hardly seemed worth the calories.

“I was sleeping, okay?”

“At 9 o’clock?”

“I was tired.” Yawning as if to hammer home the point.

You don’t even know tired
, she thought.
But
I still had time to call you.

“Catherine?” he prodded.

“I just wish you would have answered. I needed to ask
you something.” Only a semi-accusatory statement—passive-aggressive (Elizabeth Hemmings
would be so proud).

“Ask away,” he said lightly, like now was just as good
as then would have been.

She took a calming breath, reminding herself they were
different people—at times very different. So he didn’t get that she
really
wanted
to ask him last night. Or that she would have slept
much
better if she’d
been able to talk to him…. But did he have to be full of nonchalance and shrugs
too?

“What do you think of Philadelphia?” Catherine dove
right in, no introduction, just straight to the point… or at least straight to
the geographical location. She wanted an unadulterated reaction before sharing
any further.

“As a U.S. city in general? Or more specifically?” he
asked playfully.

“Come on,” she groaned.

“I haven’t spent any time there.”

“So you hate it?” she asked tightly.

“Did I say that I hate it?”

“You didn’t have to. Your tone says it.”

“I don’t think my tone says much of anything other
than that I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” she said bluntly.

“I didn’t think you were talking about Mississippi,”
he quipped.

“There actually is a Philadelphia in Mississippi,” she
said smartly.

She could hear the exasperated sigh coming from his
end.
Like he has anything to be exasperated with. I’m the one trying to get
a straight answer out of him and he’s joking around. I don’t have time for
games. I don’t have time for anything right now. My check will clear—

“So what do you want to know?” he asked, brusquely
this time.

For the slightest moment she was tempted to give him
the silent treatment and refuse to tell him just for spite. Childish? Yes. But
it was her gut reaction to this type of thing, carefully honed over all her
years of dealing with boys and their pigtail-pulling, bra-snapping, teasing
ways. She could almost hear the
Jeopardy!
  theme song running through
her mind, counting down the seconds before she would explode.
We’re getting
married,
she reminded herself, as if that alone required a certain level of
maturity and decorum (not that she hadn’t seen plenty of reality TV on weddings
to know how wrong that assumption could be).

“I was thinking we should have the wedding there.”

Absolute silence greeted her. Not even crickets.

“In Philly,” she added.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” he said breezily.

“Are you sure?” she asked, needling the point because
the silence must have meant something.
He could have been taking a sip of
coffee. He could have been distracted by Magnus. Or a burglar. Or by a naked
woman in his house. Or he could have dropped the phone…. Or he could HATE the
idea.

“Why not?” he said, and she could swear she heard the
shrug that came with it.

Why not? ... Then why not Hackensack? Or Walla Walla?
Why not Buffalo or Toledo? Why not Kiev for that matter, if we’re just
snowballing options…. Or the border of North and South Korea? That would be a
hoot.
It didn’t matter that he seemed okay with her choice. She wanted him
to agree with it—to want it—to
love
it. Maybe loving it was a little
much, but feel
something
for it. This wasn’t a second helping of dinner
or a piece of cake for dessert that he was agreeing to.
Why not is the best
you can do?
  

“What’s wrong now?” he asked of her silence. He
sounded resigned, like he expected as much from her.

“Nothing,” she said darkly.

“You know you aren’t fooling anyone, right?”

“I just want to know what you want,” she practically
whined.

“I told you what I want. I want you to be happy. I’m
okay with pretty much anything… other than animals as ring bearers, and cakes
in the shape of animals, and animal prints.”

“So pretty much animals are a no-go then?” she clarified,
feeling a smile on her lips that he seemed able to coax out at the worst
possible moments, like when she was making a point that he wasn’t taking her
seriously enough.

“Don’t tell Magnus, but yes.”

“And I was
so
hoping he would come to the
wedding.”

“We’ll show him the video,” Fynn said.

“And save him some cake.”

“Didn’t you learn your lesson with the Pop-Tarts?”

“Wait a second, you
hired
the guy?” Georgia
asked, incredulous and out of breath from the stairs. She was busy trying to
excavate Nell from a fabric puzzle that she claimed was actually a papoose-like
baby carrier that was all the rage with the new-mom crowd. At least that kept her
eyes focused on something other than giving Catherine a withering glare, and
her hands focused on something other than dismemberment.

“I hired SG Weddings,” Catherine qualified, closing
the door behind her friend.

“Her cousin,” Georgia added, thumbing disbelievingly
toward Tara.

“He said he could do March 4
^th
.” That was
the only thing Catherine had needed to hear.

“You handed him a check on the spot?” And as if on cue,
Nell let out a wail of righteous indignation to show she was on her mother’s
side. “How could you make all of those decisions just like that?” Georgia
snapped her fingers to emphasize Catherine’s hastiness.

“It was really only one decision. A whole wedding package.
You and I both know that I don’t have any time to waste.”

“But you could at least take the time you’re given.
This is your one and only wedding and you’re trusting it to some… charlatan!”
she charged, striking out in hurt.

“You don’t know that,” Tara pointed out, sounding less
than certain herself.

Of course Georgia felt slighted. Everything had been
decided in one fell swoop—cake, photographer, videographer, location, food, band,
linens, seating. No band tryouts—the Toasted Lemons played everything from
wedding favorites, to golden oldies, to soft rock, to hard rock, to grunge… even
death metal if requested. No reception space once-overs—an old mansion outside
Philly, midway to Chesterton, with picturesque gardens (although March was out
of season) and indoor ceremony and reception space for one hundred and fifty guests—not
that she had even considered who to invite yet.

“I still need help with the guest list,” Catherine
blurted, throwing a bone to take the edge off the news.

“What about invitations?” Georgia asked.

“Well… I have to order through him,” she admitted.

“Vinnie has his own printing company,” Tara piped up
proudly.

“I have a catalog,” Catherine added quickly. “I was
hoping you could help me pick something perfect. Maybe a special quote to add to
the type; something like you and Thomas had.” She was fishing for anything to
smooth the waters, handing over the catalog and snatching her hand away quickly
before her friend bit it. 

But instead Georgia handed her Nell in exchange for
the surprisingly professional catalog and started perusing the pages
begrudgingly. “And the menu is already set?” she asked coldly.

Catherine welcomed the warmth of her goddaughter’s
little baby body to combat Georgia’s tone. “Well, the caterer is set. And the
type of menu is set. It’s an hors d’oeuvres buffet, but I can make some substitutions.”

“Can you do a taste-testing?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Is he the caterer too?” Georgia asked snippily.

“No, he’s not the caterer,” Tara snapped back.

“What? It just seems like he has a business for every
business,” Georgia said innocently.

“I have the whole thing right here; all the
information,” Catherine said quickly, wanting to put an end to the simple
pettiness before it grew into a real argument. She nudged an open portfolio
across the coffee table for Georgia’s inspection. “It’s on the up-and-up.”

“A potato bar?” Georgia humphed. “You can go to
Wendy’s for that.”

“It’s a
mashed
potato bar,” Tara corrected. “I
think it’s cool.”

“You
would
think it’s cool.”

“Come on, you have to admit potatoes and toppings
served in martini glasses is a cute idea,” Tara prodded, as if it were a
no-brainer.

Georgia paused for a moment, looking from one to the
other, and Catherine braced herself for a full-on tongue lashing; maybe a
resignation from her position as matron of honor; perhaps a refusal to come to
the wedding at all. “You know,” she finally said, her tone dreamy, “you should
do old-fashioned sundae glasses instead of martini glasses. A little nod to how
you and Fynn met. Tasteful but meaningful.”

“Oh my God, I love that,” Catherine squealed, startling
Nell who had surprisingly fallen asleep in her arms. She rocked her back to the
land of nod, soothing herself as well with the realization that Georgia was
going to be the bigger person in spite of hurt feelings.

“The menu looks pretty good,” Georgia admitted. “How
many will it serve?”

“I can have up to one hundred and fifty guests, but I don’t
think I even have that many people to invite anyway,” Catherine admitted. “Sounds
a little big.”

“You’d be surprised how it grows when you start
putting it down on paper and adding the plus-ones,” Georgia said expertly,
sifting through the folder. “Will the cake feed the same number?”

Yet another question Catherine hadn’t thought to ask
for herself. “I should think so considering it was all prepackaged together.”

“Don’t assume anything. I have been to enough weddings
where the cake is gone and the guests are left out in the cold,” Georgia
cautioned. “Your best bet is to have a cake cutter on hand to mete out the
precise servings needed.”

“Does anyone even eat the cake?” Tara asked.

“If it’s good,” Georgia said. “Mine was totally gone…
except for the top layer that I had them set aside for posterity.”

“Cake posterity?” Tara hacked.

“Yes,” Georgia snapped. “You eat it the next year on
your anniversary.”

“Year-old cake?”

“From the freezer.” Georgia rolled her eyes.

“I think I can probably make changes to the cake… not
that I care that much; I’m not even going to be eating it.” Wedding cake was
the only cake she didn’t care much for.

“Of course you’re going to eat it!” Georgia exclaimed.

“I never eat wedding cake, why would I—”

“You’re the
bride
,” Tara reminded her. “The
whole feeding-each-other-cake bit!”

“Oh my God,
I’m
the bride!” The reality of cake
in her face hit her like a ton of bricks. She wasn’t just a bystander this
time; she was the main event!

“So we need to look into the cake, maybe make some
changes…. And where are the flowers?” Georgia asked, flipping through the
portfolio.

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked hazily.

“I don’t see anything about flowers.”

No flowers?
Her heart jumped into her throat,
her innards jostling uncomfortably. She had been assured that everything was
covered.

She snatched the portfolio out of Georgia’s grasp and
sifted madly through it. Cake, band, reception, table settings, linens, food—but
no flowers. Nada. “They’re not here! Weren’t there flowers yesterday? There
had
to be flowers. I wouldn’t have missed that!”

“Chill,” Tara said firmly, coming toward her.

Catherine flinched, preparing for another smack in the
face, this time to cure delirium.

“Jumpy much?” Tara taunted. “Just call Vinnie. He’ll straighten
it out.” Completely calm and rational.

Catherine handed Nell to Georgia, unable to juggle the
baby, her phone, and her panic all at the same time. Not more than a minute
later she was hanging up again with the general assurance that Vinnie had it
all under control—his new motto: “Don’t worry, I got you’s covered.”

“So?” Georgia asked as soon as Catherine put the phone
down.

“Says he knows a guy,” Catherine said, a nervous smile
tweaking the corners of her mouth.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“For my people it means it’s as good as done,” Tara
said jauntily.

“Your people make cement shoes for a living,” Georgia
jabbed.

“That is so cliché. There is a lot more finesse
involved.” Notably not denying anything.

“He gave me a number. Said this guy can make anything
happen. Just pick the flowers and they’ll be ready in time….”

Okay, so admittedly Vinnie Delrio was hardly the stuff
of movies—at least not the stuff of perfect wedding movies. He was no Jennifer Lopez;
that much was for certain. But he did care for his customers. And he was
reachable—even on a Sunday morning in the middle of confession (she didn’t want
to know what for).