When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (21 page)

“Well, yeah, Jack,” I say, chuckling. “It’s marriage. Not some short-term thing. It’s forever stuff.”

“I hope it isn’t forever like
this
.” Jackie limply waves a hand around the air. “I hope it’s not always going to be about Andrew traveling for work.”

“It won’t,” Emily reassures.

“And not always about him smothering me when he
is
home. It’s like all or nothing with him sometimes. So drastic.”

Emily and I look at each other, unsure of what to say to help an obviously frustrated Jackie. So I offer all I can think of at the moment. “You can relax and get away from things by doing yoga with me. Robin and I are both taking a beginner’s class.” I’m so proud of myself; I actually signed up for a class. Now I just have to go.

“I don’t know,” Jackie says. She attempts another sip of her cocktail, but upon realizing it’s empty she lifelessly pushes it away. “I’m being a baby. A spoiled baby brat who’s whining when she has a great life. Like Andrew says.”

“You’re not a spoiled baby brat,” I say, and Emily gives me a peculiar look. “Not
all
the time,” I correct.

Jackie sticks her tongue out at me. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “It’s up and down a lot, but I think you’re right. It’s the first year of marriage. That’s all. That’s all…” She chews on her words for a second. “Right?”

“What’s there really to complain about?” Emily says.

“Okay, okay. I know.” Jackie shakes her head. “The townhouse, the gifts, the handbags,” waving her designer clutch, “the new car, the—”

Emily interrupts. “No. His so-called ‘smothering’ you, Jack. He
loves
you. You can’t complain about love. You know how tough it is to find a
real
and
lasting
relationship?” Emily tilts her head to the side. “Get back to me when you two don’t love each other anymore. Or when one says ‘I love you’ and the other just smiles and says ‘thanks.’ That’s annoying bullshit.”

“Everything all right there, Em?” I ask, only in a half-joshing tone. Her short grousing about love, like she’s prefacing for a speech about “all is fair in love and war,” is so abrupt.

Emily asks the bartender for a refill. She resettles herself comfortably on the barstool. “I’m only saying that when true love comes around, like Jackie and Andrew, and,” she points at me, “like you and Conner, don’t give up on it.”

The lightbulb turns on, suddenly, and I interrupt Emily. “A fall out with Matt?” I immediately put a hand Emily’s her shoulder and cast an apologetic look.

She rolls her eyes and says noncommittally, “It was fun while it lasted. Only dating. Nothing serious.”

“He broke your heart?” Jackie jumps in.

Emily gives a chuckle and shakes her head. “No. Not at all.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“
Yes
, that’s old news. What I’m
saying…
” Emily looks to Jackie. “Don’t take your love with Andrew for granted. And,
please
, for the love of God, Jack—” Emily quickly thanks the bartender for the refill and continues, “Don’t complain that Andrew loves you too much or wants to be around you too much. Smothering is one thing, true. I’ve been there—he’s all in to you and you’re just so-so.” She takes a sip of her beverage. “He’s your husband, though, girl, and he loves you. You love him. I mean, you wouldn’t have gotten married if you didn’t, right?”

Jackie nods silently, then says, “That’s what my therapist says.”

“You talk to him about this?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” Jackie says unconcernedly. “I tell Dr. Milbanke everything and anything. He’s like a priest and a therapist and a teacher all in one.” She opens her white and gold Chanel handbag. “A sounding board who has some really great advice.” She withdraws a pack of cigarettes and knocks two loose, handing one to Emily. “Seeing him was Andrew’s idea, anyway.” She adds in the last part as if feeling she needs to go on the defensive.

“Claire?” Jackie holds out the pack of cancer sticks, and I wince and nod vigorously.

“I think therapy can be really great,” Emily says factually. She sticks the cigarette behind her quadruple-pierced ear. “The first year of marriage is rough, and it’ll take some adjustment. As long as you’re being open with Andrew and honest, then, you’re doing everything right.” She rubs Jackie’s bare knee. “Right, Claire?” Emily looks to me for acknowledgment.

“Yup,” I say cheerfully. “Honesty is the best policy.”

“Except when it comes to wedding planners,” Emily teases.

“Ugh,” I groan. “Please. I’m not going to accuse her of cooking the books or overcharging. And I’m sure as hell not going to fire her. I’ll just have to…live with her.” I set my glass down on the bar top and ask the girls if they’re ready to move on to the next place, maybe a club, for some dancing.

“Yes, please!” Jackie says enthusiastically, taking a bright pink lighter from her handbag. She nearly leaps from her seat then tugs at the short white mini she has on. “I haven’t gone dancing in weeks!” Then she tosses a large bill on the bar, tells the bartender to keep the change, and grabs each of our hands, leading us on to the next hot spot.

***

When Conner comes home that Sunday evening, I’m extremely happy to see him. I know he wasn’t gone all that long, and there had been almost entire summers in college that we’d spent apart. Surely a weekend away from each other shouldn’t be that difficult. Yet, even though I had a fabulous weekend with Emily and Jackie, I still felt a little homesick for life with Conner.

The girls and I had a blast, of course; basically we did nothing but bar hop, binge on junk food, and rot our brains with television and some decent rom-coms. Oh! We did go to a yoga class together this morning. I had to drag them to join me, but they went. Emily said it was nice, but that she’d had better instruction when she was over in the Pacific Rim or something, and Jackie said her body should only contort in those positions if a man was in the room showing her a good time. But we went just the same, and I got in a good hour of peace and relaxation.

“I am
so
happy you’re back,” I tell Conner when we climb into bed for the night. “I really missed you.”

He smiles and turns out his bedside lamp. “I’m happy I’m back, too.” He leans over and gives me a kiss—a long and warm kiss that makes me remember one of about a zillion reasons why I love this man.

“So it was a really good visit you say?” I give a punch or two to my pillow and sit up, propped against it.

“Really enjoyable,” he says. “Did some surfing, even. And, you know what?”

“What?”

“Even though it was a fun time and all, I realized LA isn’t for us.”

My ears prick up at the good news. Any further confirmation that a move from Seattle and our life and friends here is much appreciated and welcome. Surprising, but welcome.

“Go on…” I coax.

“Well,” he says. “First, it really is so damn smoggy. And crowded—so many people. Traffic is
murder
. And this place really is home now, know what I mean?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” I tell him.

“Yeah.” He sighs and puts his hands behind his head, sinking back into his two pillows. “It’s nice here.”

I give him a kiss on his slightly scruffy cheek. “Glad you feel that way, honey. One less thing to think or worry about.”

He nods and I decide to change the topic, “So,” I say, “regarding the wedding. Your family’s okay with the wedding plans and how everything’s going?” I wonder if they’ve really accepted the church wedding. Not that I need to be borrowing any trouble. What’s done is done, and there’s enough to deal with; I don’t need to add Conner’s mom’s fear of the pulpit or his dad’s wacky, anti-religious stance to the pile. But I can’t help but wonder.

“Everything’s great,” Conner says, and his voice is thick with positivity. His smile to match reassures me not only that, yes, everything is in fact okay (at least on his side of the family), but that everything is okay with us. Better than okay, even. He’s had some zone-out time, and I’ve had a fun girls’ weekend. Things are all right again. And we’re back together now, under one roof, the way it’s supposed to be.

Conner cuddles close and envelopes me in a hug and another kiss. This one lingers. He brings me nearer to him, his fingers drawing an indistinct pattern between my shoulder blades.

“And,” I sneak out, because I can’t help myself, “your brothers? Daniel and George
swear
that they’ll be there for the wedding? And they’ll have suits?”

Conner laughs, presses his lips to mine, and begins another strong kiss, but I ask again. I have to know.

“Yes,” he says, smiling seductively. “They’ll be there. And they’ll have suits.”

“Even though they’re studying abroad in Europe right now? They’ll still get measured for suits?”

“Claire, babe.” He gives me a sideways glance. “Everything’s under control. Mom’s told them to get their measurements over there, and we’re doing all that we can. Don’t worry.”

I heave a sigh and look off to the side, wondering why, when the engagement’s been on for nearly a year, Conner’s brothers are just now figuring out their wedding apparel situation.

All right, so it took us a while to coordinate the wedding party, and it took me forever to settle on the perfect ensemble. Still…things with his brothers always end up more complicated than they need to be—or maybe just things in general.

“Babe,” Conner says. He turns my head to face his, his finger nudging my chin. “Chill. I love you, but chill.”

I give a small nod, and Conner leans in, pressing his lips to mine and pulling me further down onto the bed of soft, crisp sheets.

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

***

The billowy hydrangea bushes and beds of roses that fill the neighbors’ yards are in full bloom. The quaint street of Parker Lane is rich with a rainbow of colors. I’ve been behind in doing my spring planting, and I asked the girls if any of them wanted to help put in some new garden-variety blooms in pots around the house. Nothing too over the top this year.

Emily said she’d try to make it in the next couple of weeks to help out, but she’d have to see how her work schedule would map out. The magazine she’s been shooting for is really pleased with her work (as they should be; she’s awesome), and have given her more projects.

Today, though, I’m going to Katie’s Kitchen to meet with Sophie and her boss, Katie, to talk about catering. One of the most exciting things about planning a wedding (minus the dress, the accessories, the design concept, the flowers, the…okay, almost everything), is the wedding cake. Sophie’s going to make it with the team at Katie’s, and she swears she has the perfect design in mind. We’ve gushed over photos together and design ideas, and I know she’s going to do an exquisite job.

I’ve already told Melissa that I’ve got the catering and cake taken care of, and politely declined her offer to help in that area. I don’t need any recommendations or referrals. My best friend is a brilliant baker and works at one of the best catering outfits in Seattle. I’ve got this one covered.

Melissa, however, didn’t exactly see me eye-to-eye. We had the longest telephone discussion in the world the other day. I told her repeatedly that I appreciate her help, but that I really do have it covered.

In fact, if I remember correctly, it was at our initial meeting when I told her that I could use all the help and vendor recommendations I could get for the wedding, but I was all right with all things food. Maybe if she put as much of the effort that she does convincing me to go with her catering and cake vendors into the…uh…
rest
of the wedding planning…

I don’t know. Maybe, had Melissa had that iPad then, she could have noted down that special piece of information. Or maybe, at that time, her head was off in la-la land and all she could think about was how she’d be able to strut into Louis Vuitton over on 4
th
Ave. and buy herself that pretty little bag of hers. Maybe, while I sat there talking about catering, she was looking at my head and seeing a big dollar sign and hoping I’d sign the dotted line so she could make a mad dash to the bank.

Anyway, Melissa tried to give me one last pitch about how she had “preferred vendors” that she wished I’d use, because she could get me a discount. I shut that one down by saying that I doubted the deal from Sophie could be beaten. Melissa made a very loud
hmph
sound, told me she wished I’d reconsider, then slowly moved on to talk about the seating arrangements, the whole time letting the topic of catering fester.

See, the headcount is—that’s right—growing! We’re at two hundred and thirty now and this time it was Dad who messaged me, saying,
Make it 230, Claire! Forgot about the Johanssons.
Again, I don’t know who these people are, but it looks like at least half of the guests will be complete strangers to Conner and me.

“Hey there, Claire!” Sophie says from the front walk of Katie’s Kitchen as I emerge from my car.

Belltown is an urban kind of retrofitted area of Seattle, and the area where Katie’s Kitchen is located doesn’t have much curb appeal, but it’s such a beautiful day you just can’t help but be outside. The sun is out, the birds are chirping, and it’s warm. I’m finally sporting my favorite pair of white espadrilles and a beloved pair of perfectly fitted Calvin Klein jeans that I found by sheer luck at the bottom of a thrift sale pile. I’ve topped off the comfy and weather-appropriate outfit with a vintage
Flintstones
t-shirt and my gold locket necklace from Conner.

“I hope you came hungry, because we have a lot of yummies to taste today,” Sophie says, opening the front door.

“Am I ever,” I say. “Went for an early morning jog today with Schnicker and Conner.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, more for Schnicker than for us.”

We share a laugh and up strides a tall, brunette woman clad in a bright orange apron that’s dusted with a thick layer of flour. She extends her hand and introduces herself as Katie.

“We ready to get started?” Katie asks. She dusts her hands off and apologizes for her appearance. “It’s wedding season. That means non-stop cakes.”

Sophie nods severely in agreement, and we head to the back of the building. The place is massive—much bigger than Sophie’s location. Although, Sophie won’t be needing a giant kitchen like Katie’s, because she doesn’t plan on doing catering or offering a full-blown menu of items. The front area of The Cup and the Cake is larger than this here, though, and that’s going to be ideal for the café concept.