Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (13 page)

But the more selfish part of me could not believe what a miserable “date” this was. I hated to be rude or ugly, but the last straw had been broken. In several pieces. I could not wait to get away from him.

Mr. Bad-Breath-Bad-Knees-Bad-Date didn’t say too much on the way back to the car. Like a pouty child being made to leave the park when he still wants to play. We rode to his house in silence. I didn’t even pull into the driveway. I stopped the car in the street for him to get out. He had the audacity to lean in close with his ass-breath and whisper, “I had a good time tonight. I appreciate you giving me a chance after we got off to a rocky start. I can’t wait to see you again.”

I laughed. A shaky, nervous, I-may-just-go-off-on-you-asshole laugh.

He didn’t seem to notice.

I pulled away without even saying goodnight.

Where the hell is Prince Charming??? He needs to hurry up and come. These dates are killing me.

Sunday, November 10th

Only one wedding today, just a ceremony. I enjoy those. Outside of confirming the florist, organist and photographer, I don’t have a whole lot to do ahead of time, and I only need to be onsite an hour and a half before and about an hour after. I was finished and headed home a little after noon, which was great since I’ve been in a funk all day. Irritable and grumpy.

Melanie called this afternoon to invite me to Thanksgiving with her and Paul. She has three sisters, two brothers, and Lord only knows how many aunts, uncles, and cousins. It’s an absolute madhouse when they all get together. Always a good time, though. They’re all so cool about including me, but I can’t help feeling like an outsider.

For the past few years (
before Monica
), I’ve spent Thanksgiving with Cabe at his mom’s, which I love. Maggie is so laid-back and sweet. An incredible cook, too. We’d all eat ourselves beyond stuffed then crash on the couches and the floor to watch movies the rest of the day. Pausing every now and then to nosh on leftovers, of course.

It was usually just me and Cabe, his sister Galen, and his mom. Occasionally an extra if Galen was dating someone or a family member was visiting. No tension or drama, though. No fussing and fighting. Simply a relaxing, fun time.

Cabe hasn’t mentioned me coming over this year, and I don’t want to bring it up or assume. Too many unknowns and uncertainties since he’s come back. I must say, if I can’t be with my own family, I’d rather be with Cabe and his.

I miss my family most around the holidays. All it takes to make me a blubbering mess is one holiday movie where everyone is celebrating together in their funky sweaters, drinking egg nog, and singing Christmas carols. It makes me think about all of them and how far away I am.

It’s funny how much I yearn for home sometimes when I so desperately wanted to get away from there growing up. I don’t think it’s the place I miss, though, but more the people and the feeling of belonging. Being part of something bigger than yourself. I have a very large extended family, so sometimes it feels a little strange to be only me living here by myself. Party of one.

I don’t think I could ever move back home. My mother and I would probably drive each other nuts for one thing. I don’t know. I definitely feel like I’m at a place in life where I want to belong. To something. To someone. People tell you not to look for a relationship. To be okay being on your own. Which I think I am in many ways. It doesn’t mean I don’t want someone though. Someone to come home to. Someone to laugh with, cry with, talk with. Just be with. I’m beginning to wonder if it exists for me, especially considering the prospects I’ve seen lately from the dating market.

I look at brides day in and day out and wonder what the crap is wrong with me. I mean, some of them are beautiful; some of them are not. Some are nice; some are total bitches. Some have health issues or children from past relationships. Some are just plain kooky or weird.

Yet, each of them comes to us because they’ve found someone who said, “You’re the one. Out of all the world and all the girls, you’re it. You’re my Frosted Flakes.”

I’m not stupid enough to think every bride we meet has a great relationship or that all these relationships last, but I do wonder why the hell I can’t find anyone if all these other people did.

Both my sisters were married by the time they were my age. My mother already had four kids by the time she was my age. When is it my turn?

I swear I hear my poor mother saying to me now, “You’ll find someone when you quit looking.” Which may be the stupidest thing that woman has ever said to me. If I stopped looking, how would I find someone? And how the hay do you stop looking? Do you suddenly decide to become a monk and not notice anyone? Shun all social activity that makes it blatantly obvious you don’t have a date? Maybe I should just quit my job so I’m not exposed to the endless cheese fest of people getting married and finding their soul mates.

It might be easier to try and follow my mother’s advice then.

Okay, Universe. Here we go. I am officially announcing I have quit looking. My eyes are closed. Not peeking. Not a bit. (Did you send someone yet?)

Tuesday, November 12th

Out of nowhere, Lillian popped into my office and threw a file on my desk today.

“I need this budget revised. Type up a cover letter to go with it and send it to the bride. Make sure you put the revised total in the system. Also, double-check with the pastry chef for this weekend’s event. I’m not sure she has the illustration for the cake request. I’ll have my cell if you need to text me, but I’ll be in a City Council meeting and I won’t be able to talk.”

I scribbled bullet points of her instructions on my notepad.

“Revise budget, cover letter, mail it, input it, and check on cake request. Got it.”

At the exact moment I said “Got it”, my brain asked “Why?” So I looked at Lillian and asked, “Why?”

Her eyes widened as her head tilted slightly to one side. I tried to backpedal.

“Um, I mean, um, no, it’s okay, I can, I mean, will, get this done. I didn’t mean . . . I guess I . . . I was just wondering why you’re giving this to me,” I smiled and gave a little shrug, wondering for the millionth time why I become a babbling idiot in front of this woman.

I wished I had just taken the file and gotten it done, but I didn’t understand why she was handing it to me. Lillian had never given me any of her clerical work before. Carmen always did everything for Lillian, and I do mean
everything
. Since Carmen left for maternity leave, Lillian had been doing quite a bit more on her own, which I knew she didn’t like. The whole office knew she didn’t like it. She was quite vocal about it. I guess I assumed when Charlotte came on board Lillian would give her work to Charlotte. She was technically Lillian’s assistant now.

“Whatever do you mean
why
?” Lillian asked. The British accent is so intimidating, I swear.

“Um, well, I don’t mind doing it, of course, but I thought Charlotte was handling things for you.”

“Humph,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t trust that twit to pour my coffee. She is completely daft. Not a brain cell in her head. I fear someday she will run out the front door, and the authorities will find her cavorting in a field of daisies singing
Fa La La
. I have been managing with much difficulty on my own thus far, but I have to be at this meeting and this cannot wait. I trust your abilities to handle it thoroughly and competently in a timely manner.”

Out the door she went without waiting for any reply. I could have been momentarily pissed. After all, Lillian threw this on my desk to be completed right away with no thought or consideration to what I already had planned or any commitments I already made.

I wasn’t pissed, though. I was over-the-moon beaming. Lillian felt I was thorough and competent. Yes, I realize it was in comparison to Charlotte, so the bar was not real high, but still. Lillian trusts me with her good-deed secrets, and she respects that I can complete my work efficiently.

She likes me. She likes me! Lillian likes me.

Friday, November 15th

One of my favorite things about my job is the moment right before the bride walks down the aisle. It’s like I’m standing outside a window looking into someone else’s life for a brief span of time. A very intimate, personal moment no one else should be allowed to witness. However, by nature of standing there waiting for music cues to open the door and send her down the aisle, I get to see it.

The majority of the time, it is a bride with her father. The last magical interchange between a little girl and her daddy before he transfers her heart to another and she becomes a woman and a wife. Everything this man has done to bring her to this point—all the sacrifices, the heartaches, the joys, the memories—it all comes together in this moment. She is entering the next phase in her life and leaving her old one behind. That touching, poignant exchange can melt the hardest of hearts, and I love it.

I am sure much of my affinity for it is because of my dad being gone and the fact that we will never have that moment. But I’m also just a sucker for sappy emotions.

I’ve heard some incredibly moving sentiments standing there holding the door, and they have filled me at times with envy and at times with hope. You can tell so much about the relationship between father and daughter through the words they share there.

Unfortunately, my glimpse is not always positive. Sometimes what it reveals is uncomfortable for all of us, and I wish I could shut the window.

Today, as I sent the maid of honor through the doors and pulled them closed, Sidney the bride stepped into the foyer and up to the mirror. She checked her lipstick and hair, which pretty much every bride does, and then she took the arm her dad offered. I cued the organist to change the music and turned to gaze through their “window” for my favorite moment.

I gave Sidney a big smile and said, “Ready?”

She smiled back and nodded, adjusting her bouquet and turning to smile at her dad. I felt a twinge of excitement knowing the magic was about to happen. The moment when she thanks him for everything he has done in her life, and he tells her how incredible she is and how he’s never been prouder. I took a deep breath in hopes I wouldn’t tear up and look like a total sap when they started.

As the organist fired up the traditional wedding march, Sidney’s dad moved closer to her. I looked quickly at the ground so as not to seem too intrusive, but I did lean forward to make sure I could hear their declarations of love and tenderness.

Instead, I got this.

“This is the stupidest choice you’ve ever made, and I’ve never been more disappointed in you. If you’ll turn around and walk out of here right now, we can leave and forget all about this. Your mother and I will never bring it up again. You won’t hear another word about it. Don’t worry about the money. It would be worth it to me to sacrifice the money to get you away from this sorry-ass son-of-a-bitch. So just say the word.”

I couldn’t help looking up and staring at them in shock. The wedding march built to its loudest point where I would normally swing open the doors and send them down the aisle to her waiting groom as I smiled with warm fuzzies inside. My hand hesitated on the door handle, though, not sure of her answer.

Sidney didn’t react at all. She didn’t even look at her father. She looked straight forward toward the doors, her groom, and her future. Then without any emotion at all, she said, “Dad, we’ve had this conversation. We’re not having it again. I love you.”

Then, she looked to me and gave a slight nod, her head held high.

So I swung it open. And away they went. Into the next phase of her life.

Wow. Just wow.

Saturday, November 16th

I don’t get the universe’s sense of humor sometimes. Especially when it seems directed at me. The photographer didn’t like the lighting angles at our outdoor ceremony today, so he asked me to move the seated guests over to the right about four feet and turn them more north. I had barely begun my request at the end of the aisle when the universe decided to have a little fun at my expense.

A huge flock of birds flew over as I spoke, one of them depositing a wet, messy glop of bird poop in my face above my right eyebrow. A bird literally shat on my face! (Is that the correct past tense? I don’t think I’ve ever written it before.) Based on the disgusted looks of shock and horror on the guests’ faces, it was bad.

I attempted to finish my speech, but I could feel the bird droppings sliding ever so slowly down my forehead. I gave up the moment it dripped from my browbone onto my cheek. I stopped mid-sentence and ran to the bathroom.

It was in my hair, on my forehead, all up in my eyebrow, and still oozing down my cheek when I got to the mirror. I scrubbed nearly all the makeup off on one side of my face with those rough, cardboard-like paper towels in the hotel restroom. I used the liquid soap from the bathroom in my hair, vigorously combing through my bangs and the scalp beneath them with my fingers. It still didn’t feel clean, but I knew I had to go back out in front of the guests. With a huge clump of wet hair right in the front.

At least no one complained about moving the chairs after my bird-feces shower. Sympathy for me, I’m sure.

My humiliation didn’t end there, though.

Cabe had dropped me off at work this morning to take my car to get the oil changed. When he picked me up after the wedding, my makeup was still half gone, and my wet hair had dried into a limp, crunchy mess hanging across my eyebrow. As luck would have it, he’d purchased tickets for us to see a movie right after he picked me up. I had no time to go home and shower.

Thankfully, we were at the drive-in theater in Lakeland, so I just stayed in the car where I wouldn’t be seen. But I swear every time I moved my head, I could smell bird poop.