When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (20 page)

What makes me feel so blasé about it, however, is that I can’t let any more mishaps—with this wedding and life—make me skid out of control. I’m getting tired of being so stressed, and it’s so much easier to just assume that the headcount will continue to grow. It’s easier and far less stressful to assume that Melissa will run the show the way she sees fit, and whether that means I’ll have birdcages or books as the centerpieces, and whether that means I’ll really have peonies or be surprised to find hydrangeas on the tables, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to let go somewhere, right?

All control over the wedding is slipping between my fingers, and along with it goes my car and my fiancé (even if it is just a quick, mini vaca to see family). Maybe my mind is going, too. Hmm. Definitely my patience and cool. I’m just too tired to blow up or feel debilitating disappointment right now, so I let the long-gone centerpiece décor roll off the back.

“Well, what’s the better solution, Melissa?” I lean over the table to look at the screen, forcing myself to feel at least a fraction of positivity.

“You’re not super mad?” she asks, still making her face look like a pug puppy’s.

“Eh,” I shrug, “I mean, yes, I’m bummed you didn’t order them sooner. Having them would have been nice.”

“Yeah.” She’s nodding voraciously.

“Let’s see your ideas, and I’ll show you what I’ve come up with,” I offer, my voice registering mild enthusiasm. Come to think of it, I’m not feeling up for this meeting now, after all. I’d rather go home and hang out with Emily for the weekend.

But there’s work to be done, and eventually, as the hours pass by and as the Frappuccino I get around to ordering makes me feel more chipper and back in the fun swing of things, I’m back on track with Melissa.

We’re poring over some really beautiful photos and great ideas. Her iPad is definitely coming in handy! Melissa knows what she’s doing, even if there are some hiccups here and there.

She is a newbie at this, after all—her company
is
a brand new creation, and I’m one of her first clients. But, hey, I’m having peonies at my wedding! At my August wedding! That’s pretty fan-damn-tastic if I may say so myself. Surely some hiccups are worth luscious peonies.

***

“You
honestly
don’t think she’s fudging some numbers?” Emily asks.

“Fudging the numbers?” I ask, incredulous. “Why would Melissa do that?”

“The thought has never crossed your mind? Honestly? I mean, I don’t want to think ill of someone or cast judgment or prejudices or anything.”

Schnickerdoodle couldn’t wait a minute longer for his afternoon walk, and keeping him on the leash right now isn’t exactly a viable option. This particular park, the one Conner and I frequent the most in our neighborhood, is often a leash-free area, anyway. Most of the dogs here are regulars and know one another, and at this time, when it’s so deserted, I don’t think twice about letting Schnickerdoodle off the leash. He needs to get out some of that pent up energy of his. The jog I took with him yesterday morning did him well. Oh…for about two hours. Then he was filled up with crazy energy again and ready for a walk. Maybe some time off the leash will help out today.

“Okay,” I sigh. “To be honest, yes. I did think this morning, actually, that maybe things were fishy. I mean, Melissa’s charging Mom and Dad left and right, and not buying items that I’m telling her to
buy already!
Maybe…” I think for a second on the thought. “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

“She could be spending all of her profit right away,” Emily proposes with a shrug. “You said she’s new to owning her own business. Maybe she’s just…a ditz when it comes to finances. She might have no idea how to operate a small business.” She briefly stops to slip off her flip-flops, letting her feet tread freely about the freshly cut grass. “She says she has experience planning events, has as ‘eye for design,’ and
assumes
she’s a halfway decent planner because she can, what? Stick to a diet longer than most girls? “ She alights on a small patch of dandelions and skips over them. “Obviously she can’t add two and two, you know? She probably just thought being an event designer was all glamour, and now she’s in over her head.”

“Could be,” I consider.
 

“Not to bum you out,” she says sweetly.

“She did say she planned a lot of her sorority functions.” I raise one eyebrow, not sure if my statement is made in an effort to defend Melissa or mock her.

“Sorority girl…” Emily wrinkles her nose. “Well, Jackie turned out all right.” She stutters a laugh. “I’m only saying. Young, inexperienced, big goals…and then the pressure as the wedding gets closer. A
big
wedding at that.”

“A growing wedding,” I add dryly.
 

“She really
could
be in over her head.” Emily cocks her head to the side. “Could be too much to handle.”

“Or she just spends too much damn time on Twitter and Facebook,” I half-kid.

The thought
has
crossed my mind. I mean, out of curiosity I checked out her accounts, and she’s tweeted over four thousand times. She also has hundreds upon hundreds of Facebook fans (most of whom I’ve realized are sorority sisters who almost seem to want to
be
her, and friends who do nothing but tell her how great she is and how she should write a wedding planning book because she’s so, what?,
experienced?
).

“Sounds not so great,” Emily says, toying with the ends of her rainbow-colored scarf.

“You know, I was reading something the other day,” I say. “Some piece in
Time
magazine, I think it was, that with it being so easy for Joe Schmo to open up his own business—which is a neat thing, if you want to do that, like Sophie!”
 

Emily nods.
 

“But…it was saying something about how on the flip side, the ease of making your own startup means the percentage of failed businesses is high. So many people think they can do it, they try, and, well, have no idea what the hell they’re doing.” I pause to consider the article I read. It was so fascinating, and I’d only read the entire thing because I had Sophie in mind.

“But Sophie won’t fail,” I quickly add. “And I’m sure Melissa won’t, either. She might not be very knowledgable about owning her own biz, but I bet she’ll get the hang of it. And,” I lean in to Emily, “I think I’m like one of her
very
first clients. I mean first-first.”

“Aww,” Emily sighs. “The old guinea pig. Sure you’re getting some kind of a bargain then?”

I break into a quick shout of laughter. “Yeah, you’d think. My parents are getting invoiced like crazy.”

“It’ll be a beautiful wedding, though, Claire,” Emily says comfortingly. “I
know
that. And, in the end, all that matters is that you and Conner are together. Happily married…that’s all.”

I whistle for Schnickerdoodle to return. He’s run rather far from us, and I don’t want him to catch sight of a squirrel and go AWOL. I can see in the distance his tan ears perk up when he hears my whistle, then he breaks out into a full-on sprint.

“Oh, and get this,” I say, stopping our walk along the grass. I squat down, ready to greet Schnicker. “Melissa told me that it’s okay we lost the birdcages, because she doesn’t really think they go with the whole wedding motif. Can you believe that?”

“Question is,” Emily says, hunkering down to my level, “
do
you believe that?”

Right then Schnickerdoodle makes a running leap into my lap, and I give him a good rub on the belly.

“Not one bit,” I reply. “How can antique birdcages
not
go with a vintage wedding that has bird décor everywhere? Seriously.”

“Claire, I don’t get it. Why don’t you fire the girl? Like I said, your wedding will be
gorgeous
no matter what, and all I’m hearing is some pretty negative stuff about this girl. Fire her.”

“I’ve thought about it.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “I just can’t really imagine gathering the nerve to fire her. I mean, what would I say? ‘You’re fired!’?”

“Yeah…suppose so…” Emily takes a turn at rubbing Schnicker’s belly.

“I don’t think so.” I hand her the tennis ball from my jacket pocket, and Emily sends it sailing across the park. Schnickerdoodle is in instant race mode.

“Besides, then what?” I ask. “I’m left with
all
of the work, and I’d have wasted my parents’ money on her deposit.” I puff out my bottom lip. “Nope. Melissa is here to stay, however shitty or grand a job she does.”

Chapter Thirteen

When the pressure of having a lackluster wedding planner is on, there are a couple things a girl can do to lift herself up and not let the worry and the panic and the stress get to her. Yeah, yeah, yoga is great. But one stress buster trumps them all: going out with the girls.

Nothing beats putting on something sexy and saying goodbye to everyday, humdrum life, knocking back neon, fruity drinks, letting loose on the dance floor, and swapping bits of gossip with your best friends, then dispensing usually horrible or half-thought-out advice.

So that night, after Emily and I finished glittering the clothespins (That’s right! We came, we glittered, we conquered!), we decided to cast our worries away and have some fun out on the town. We might not have done it if it weren’t for Jackie calling Emily to say she had nothing to do. She wanted to know if she could crash at her place, because she was not up for another solo weekend thanks to Andrew’s busy work schedule.

In fact, I kidded with Jackie that if she could get the three of us a sweet ride to the night scene then she could come over and crash with us for the weekend.

Of course, the whole
mi casa es su casa
thing works for all my friends, no matter what. But, when one of them has an extremely wealthy husband who gives her pretty much anything she asks for (except for a little more one-on-one time, apparently), the
mi casa es su casa
thing comes in return for a very sweet ride to Seattle’s nightlife.

Jackie’s relationship with Andrew has its real perks. All right, so it sucks that when he’s in town she’s totally monopolized—almost as if she’s dropped off the face of the planet. But, to every coin there’s a second side, or however that saying goes. There’s definite bonus material to Jackie’s marriage to Andrew.

He’s rich—beyond rich. Whenever he and Jackie go out (although Jackie insists it’s usually just when
she
goes out, because often Andrew doesn’t want to hit the night scene), he arranges for a luxurious town car or limousine. The girls and I really go everywhere in style when we go with Jackie. It’s like, “Oh, someone’s having a birthday and you girls want to celebrate out? Arrange for a limo.” Or, “Oh, you don’t want to stay in tonight? Or you girls want to check out this outdoor concert? Call the town car.” It’s ridiculous—ridiculously cool!

Emily, Jackie, and I are sipping on cocktails now and chatting at an old-time hang-out of ours, Vogue. We look like we belong in Manhattan. Vogue had once been our favorite bar, that is until Jackie and the owner, a skeezy ex-boyfriend of hers, broke up. Then we had to seek other locations to find “our new faves.”

Now that Jackie’s married, she doesn’t care about avoiding places where exes might creep out, and she feels sort of invincible, so she says. Running into her long list of ex-boyfriends (and the list is long—as long as Emily’s, although Em’s loves are spread all over the globe) is no big deal now that she’s got the rock.

I’m thumbing my own sparkling piece of marital jewelry and suddenly considering how I truly feared I’d never get to this spot. Nearly ten years with the same man and slowly losing hope that the time to pop the question would ever happen. Then, here I am! Engaged to be married. No matter how many months have already passed since Conner got down on bended knee, and no matter how real all of the wedding planning feels (and is), I am still blown away at times when I remember that I am
seriously
an engaged woman. I’m a fiancée!

“So married life really is great, huh?” Emily asks Jackie, admiring the new diamond necklace Jackie’s donning, the latest gift from the hubs. I look away from my glittering distraction and over at the girls seated along the bar.

“Meh,” Jackie says, taking Emily by surprise. “It’s fine.” She fiddles with the new necklace.

“Fine?” Emily guffaws. “We’re back at old bars…not worrying over exes… And Andrew’s making more of an effort to be home more often, right? He is at least
trying
?”

“Yeah,” Jackie says in a soft, little girl voice. She crosses her legs and shakes her high-heeled foot.

“He’s not falling short in the gift-giving department, that’s for sure,” Emily says, knocking back a drink.

Jackie fingers her necklace again and gives a frail shrug. “Sometimes I feel like, high as a kite about it. About being married to Andrew,” she explains. “And sometimes I feel…I don’t know. Kind of blah about it. Sort of…well, vague. Does that make sense?” Jackie forces a laugh, then takes a pull on her cosmo. “All right, yeah, gifts are great.
Obviously
I love them. Him being around more would be nice… Hell, him wanting to actually
go out
with me…like this.” She waves her hand about. “I dunno.” She takes another long sip, polishing off her cocktail. “I just feel blah about it all.”

“Maybe that’s still early marriage jitters,” I offer helpfully, feeling like it was only yesterday Jackie was grousing about her life as a Mrs.—and now again?

“You know,” I say in an upbeat tone, hoping to wipe the slightly sour expression from Jackie’s face. “I read in
Redbook
, I think it was, that the first year of marriage is the toughest.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Emily says matter-of-factly.

Good. I knew I got that one right!

“Well, let me tell you,” Jackie says, “being with Andrew before we were married wasn’t exactly like
this
. Sure, we had some ups and downs—like all couples do. He still traveled a lot, and maybe we did hang out together a lot when he was home…”
 

Emily and I both nod.

“But now it all feels so…so…permanent, I guess.”