Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (15 page)

Thursday, November 21st

And that’s why I love this job! Just when I am about ready to completely give up on love and go live as a hermit in a cave somewhere, I get a wedding like today’s and BOOM! My faith is restored. Somewhat, at least.

When you can feel the love in the room, when the happiness is contagious, and you can’t help smiling just from being around the people attending, that’s a great wedding! Boy, did I need it after the downers I’ve had this week.

Everyone was just so . . .
happy
. Happy to be there. Happy to be loved. Happy to be.

The bride and groom both kept thanking everyone for all the efforts being made on their behalf. Both sides of the family were gracious and delightful. Not a jerk or witch in the crowd! No complaints, all smiles. It was enough to make you want to puke, except they were all so nice it was hard to hate them or even feel nauseous.

I know they don’t all work out. I know some marriages end in divorce and heartache like Cabe’s or start off under bad circumstances like so many we see.

But every now and then—and it doesn’t happen so often that I take it for granted—I get a glimpse of it and know it’s real. Love, I mean. A couple comes along whose wedding isn’t about the color of the linens, the fragrance of the roses, or whether or not the cake is tilting slightly to the right. None of those little details seem to matter. For them, it’s a joyful occasion to share their love and excitement with closest family and friends.

Their guests aren’t bitching about the hotel screwing up a wake-up call, or the dinner rolls being hard, or the place settings being too close together. Nope. They’re just thrilled to know these two wonderful people who have met each other and made the world a better place by becoming partners.

I’m not a total sap, but I am definitely a hopeless romantic. I want to believe in love. I want to believe in happily-ever-after. I want to think it can exist, and we aren’t all doomed to end up alone. Those weddings give me hope. Hope that love is real and being happy with another person is possible. It’s not all heartache if love is attainable.

It sort of gives credibility to what I do for a living every single day. So on that note, I will drift off to sleep. At peace. Dreaming of love.

Friday, November 22nd

Laura and Lillian brought in lunch today to thank us for our hard work in the busy stretch of October and November. Laura said they could not be more proud of our team. Lillian nodded, dramatically lifting her iced tea in a toast. She was in a great mood today. More talkative than normal. Maybe she had the opportunity to thoroughly berate someone on her way in to work or something. I don’t know, but she sure seemed quite jovial.

“So, Tyler, Laura tells me your friend Cabe has returned to nurse wounds from a sour marriage,” Lillian said.

“Yeah, he has. It’s really unfortunate,” I answered. I glared at Melanie and Chaz. One of them must have told Laura. I certainly didn’t.

“She asked,” Melanie said defensively in response to my glare, holding her napkin up to hide her talking with her mouth full. She swallowed quickly before repeating herself. “Laura asked.”

“I did,” Laura said. “You’ve been quite busy lately. I asked Melanie about the lucky guy. When she said it was Cabe, I was confused since he’d moved away and gotten married.”

“It didn’t work out,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Lillian asked.

“They’re getting a divorce,” I answered. I wondered how much of Cabe’s personal details Melanie already shared.

“Divorce.” Lillian spat the word out like it tasted bad. “Well, that’s always dreadful. How’s he doing?”

I thought about his meltdown Tuesday night and his tearful call Wednesday morning. “Um, okay, I guess. Not okay sometimes.”

“You be careful with him, Tyler. Going through a divorce is very painful. It changes a person. During the metamorphosis, they are quite vulnerable and easily hurt,” Lillian said, ever so casually dipping a steamed dumpling in the duck sauce with her chopsticks.

Her comment stabbed me a bit. I would never do anything to hurt Cabe. Did Lillian somehow think I would? Why would she tell me to be careful with him? I’m trying to help him.

“Careful with
him
?” Laura said. “She’s the one who needs to be careful
she
doesn’t get hurt. A man coming out of a divorce can be a dangerous time bomb. He’s looking for someone to affirm his manhood and restore his confidence. He might be sending out messages he doesn’t intend to deliver.”

“Oh, Cabe wouldn’t hurt Tyler,” Melanie chimed in. “He adores her. You’ve seen the way he looks at her. The way he talks about her. That boy is crazy about Tyler. Always has been.”

“All the more reason for her to be careful how involved she gets,” Lillian said. “She can’t be leading him to believe something that’s not possible.”

“She’s not! Tyler cares a lot about Cabe. She was devastated when he left,” Melanie said.

I whipped my head back and forth between them.

“Excuse me, guys, I’m sitting right here,” I said, dramatically pointing to myself and making a large circle around me. “I can hear you!”

“All I am saying,” said Lillian as though I had never spoken, “is that Tyler has daddy issues. She tends to attract men who think they can rescue her to feel masculine, but she rids of them quickly. This boy is in a fragile place. She needs to heed that.”

“Daddy issues? I have daddy issues?” I put my box of noodles on the table and swung my entire upper body to face Lillian.

“You very well may, dear,” Laura chimed in. “You lost your father at a very formative age. If so, no one faults you for it. It’s a consequence of the hand you were dealt, but it’s neither here nor there.” She then turned to Lillian. “I just think it would be best if Tyler didn’t spend all her time with him. You know, for both of their sakes.”

I stood and stared at them all in amazement.

“I am right here. You are discussing me as though I can’t hear you. I do not have daddy issues, and I’m not going to hurt Cabe. Cabe is not gonna hurt me. We are friends. Got it? I think I’ll eat my lunch at my desk. I sincerely hope you can find another topic of conversation in my absence.”

I walked to my office carrying my box of noodles and my indignation. How dare they sit there and discuss me—and not just me, but my mental and emotional health—like I wasn’t even there.

My desk wasn’t far enough away. I could still hear them.

“Why’d you have to go and say that?” Laura asked.

“Say what?” Lillian asked.

“That she has daddy issues,” Laura answered. “You don’t tell somebody they have daddy issues. You’re not her therapist.”

“As I recall, you agreed with me. Did you not?” Lillian said.

Laura’s voice hushed to a whisper, but I could still hear her words. I could practically feel them prick me as she spoke.

“I said she may have. The poor thing lost her daddy at thirteen. How could she not? That would screw anyone up. You don’t have to go pointing it out, though. I’ve told you before you don’t necessarily have to share every piece of information you have, no matter its truth or value.”

“Y’all mark my words,” Melanie said, sounding like her mouth was full again. “They’ll end up together. Tyler and Cabe love each other. They really do. She doesn’t see it yet, but they truly love each other.”

“I can still hear
you
!” I screamed.

I know I have issues, but I certainly don’t want my issues to be office conversation. To be truthful, I’ve been told before, by a qualified therapist I might add, that I do indeed have some baggage stemming from losing my daddy. I suppose, in all honesty, I am aware that might factor into some of my relationship problems. My reluctance to commit battling with my desire to be loved. However, none of that has anything to do with me and Cabe. We’re just friends. Why can’t everyone get that?

Saturday, November 23rd

They say you marry the person and not their family, but the reality is you have to put up with the family, and the family has to put up with you. That lesson hurt my heart today, not for Ricky and Kim, the bride and groom, but for Ricky’s poor sister, Amy.

I went to meet the girls at the elevator to take them to pre-ceremony photos, but Amy was missing.

“Where’s Amy?” I asked.

“Upstairs,” Kim answered sharply.

“Is she ready?” I asked.

“Who knows?” answered a bridesmaid.

“Well, she needs to be downstairs for photos. Is she coming soon?” I asked.

“Who knows?” answered another bridesmaid as they walked away from me toward the photographer.

“Um, ladies, wait, where is she?” I tagged along behind them like a puppy, but no one would answer me. When we reached Melanie, I told her I’d try to find the missing bridesmaid.

As I got off the elevator on Kim’s floor, I saw Amy peeking out of a doorway a few rooms down.

“Can you help me?” she asked.

“Sure!” I said, relieved to have found her so easily. “What’s up?”

As I got closer, I could see tears streaming down her face, her makeup an utter mess.

“What’s wrong?”

“I must have gained weight since the last fitting. My dress won’t zip.” She turned for me to see the open back of her dress. The zipper was nowhere near touching.

“Oh, okay,” I said casually, as though I saw this happen all the time and knew exactly how to fix it. Meanwhile, my mind raced trying to figure out how I was actually going to fix it and get her to pictures. I had no time.

Amy turned back to face me, and the faster she talked, the more she cried.

“They’re all so skinny. They look so pretty in their dresses. Kim had to pick a different dress for me because I couldn’t wear the strapless one with these boobs and these arms. I asked her if I could wear a jacket, but she got mad. Ricky told her she had to let me pick a different dress, which pissed her off even more. So they were fighting, and now all the bridesmaids hate me. I tried getting ready in there with them, but no one would talk to me. Plus, I didn’t want to get undressed in front of them. So I came back here to our room to get dressed, but my husband had already taken the baby and gone downstairs. I couldn’t get it zipped by myself, and now I’m late, and . . .”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s okay!” I cut off her never-ending explanation and dabbed at her puffy eyes with a tissue from the bathroom.

“I had a baby six months ago,” Amy said. “I’ve struggled to take off the baby weight. I mean, I wasn’t skinny before, but I gained a lot with the pregnancy. I was working so hard to get it off before the wedding, but we’ve been eating out a lot and getting ready for the trip.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get it zipped. You’re gonna be fine. You’ll be at your brother’s wedding with your husband and your new baby, and you’re going to have so much fun!”

I turned her around and tried to get the zipper closer together. The skin on her back was red and splotchy both from her crying and from fighting to get the zipper up. I pulled. I tugged. I yanked. The harder I tried and failed, the more upset Amy got. I texted Mel that we had a technical difficulty with the dress and would be there as soon as possible.

I wiped the sweat from her back with a towel and asked if she had any powder. I had to get the dress zipped, and I figured it was better to risk getting a bit of powder on the red dress than to have her entire back exposed.

By the time I dried and powdered her, she calmed down somewhat. I got the zipper above her lower back, but it wouldn’t budge when I reached the area where her bra strap came across. It was my turn to sweat and panic. We were not even to the widest part of her back just below her shoulders.

I so wanted to get this poor girl zipped and to the wedding. Not only to keep Melanie on her time schedule but also to protect Amy from further humiliation by those skinny bridesmaids and her future bitch-in-law.

My fingers ached, and I had to put powder on my own hands they were sweating so much.

“Maybe I should just wear something else and tell Kim I can’t be a bridesmaid. I don’t want everyone waiting for me. She’ll be furious if I make the wedding late. I’d rather drop out.”

Amy’s resignation made me even more determined to get the zipper up and get her to the wedding.

I tried to think of ways to get the dress to come together. If your jeans are too tight, you can lay down flat on the floor to redistribute the fat so they’ll zip. I tried to think of any position I could put Amy in to redistribute her back fat. I couldn’t lay her face down, because then the only thing shifting and redistributing would be her new mommy breasts coming around to the back. That wouldn’t work.

Then I got a spark of genius and had her raise her arms a little so I could pull the dress up a bit. When I pulled it up, the excess material allowed me to zip a little more. So I pulled it up again, and I could zip a little more. We kept doing that until the whole dress zipped, but a good portion of it was now over her head. It took both of us working together to shimmy it back down ever so carefully over her body. I kept thinking about Janet and her seams splitting, and I prayed this dress could stand the pressure since it was newer and better made. We finally got it pulled over her, although it was beyond any definition of snug. I still don’t know how that girl was managing to breathe.

“Let’s do this,” I said. “We’ll get you to the ceremony. Then after it’s over and you’ve taken family pictures, you can come up here and change into something more comfortable. Something you can breathe in. Just don’t sit down at all between now and then, and try not to take any big, deep breaths, okay?”

Amy’s gratitude was written all over face in her huge smile and happy eyes.

“Go fix your makeup, girl. We gotta get you downstairs!” I actually felt a little lump of emotion in my throat.

She hugged me as tightly as she could in her confined state, then she laughed and high-fived me. After a quick makeup touch-up, we headed to the wedding. Kim had done all the pre-ceremony photos without Amy, but at least she would be in the ceremony itself and all the post-ceremony photos with her brother and her family. I hope at some point Kim will realize what a big “B” she was today. And I secretly hope she gains a hundred pounds and isn’t able to zip her dress someday.

I don’t care what the photographer or the fashion magazines say. I think family relationships and people feeling comfortable are worth much more in the long run than the way the dresses look in the photos.