Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (2 page)

“Mine too,” I responded, hoping my eyes matched the smile plastered on my face.

I like purple, I do, but this was a bit much purple. Over the top and then some. Some green to be exact.

A brilliant emerald-green satin bodice peeked out from underneath the jacket, coordinating with the humongous emerald-green bow and ribbons that trailed down the back of the skirt to the floor. A thin layer of green tulle was gathered around the hips in some sort of ode to a bustle.  I had definitely never seen anything like it.

When the queen for a day was clothed in her royal garb, I handed her the exquisite bouquet from the floral box on the counter and headed for the door.

“Wait!” she said. “My veil!”

I felt a little apprehensive to even look in the direction she pointed. With good reason. Plumes of purple feathers waved at me from the Styrofoam head on the corner table. At the base of the feathers was an emerald-green satin hat, surrounded by a pouf of purple tulle barely long enough to cover her face.

The contrast of the purple veil and green hat against the neon orange of her hair was like Picasso on crack. The entire visage of purple satin, organza, feathers and eye shadow was practically enough to turn me against the hue forever.

I have always believed every bride should wear a gown reflective of her personality and tastes. I am also a proponent of women of any size being fashionable and stylish. But there is always an exception to every rule. Lines need to be drawn sometimes. It is possible that three hundred pounds of satin and organza in colors vivid enough to produce light may be the place to draw one.

I loaded Barney the Bride into her elegant carriage, and the driver nudged the horses into action. I considered turning the other way and running. It would take them several minutes to navigate around the pool area and down the long wooden boardwalk that ran along the lake to the beach. I could have been in my car and gone by the time they arrived at the ceremony site and Lillian looked for me. I would still have to see her eventually, though, so I turned my phone on and faced the inevitable.

She answered after the first ring and yelled into the phone, “Where are you?”

I had never heard her yell before. Lillian is a formidable lady, fully capable of ripping a person to shreds without a second thought, and she doesn’t even have to raise her voice to do it.

I didn’t get a chance to answer her.

“Are we calling the whole bloody thing off, Tylah?” Her British accent sounded even more intimidating when she yelled, dropping the
er
from my name as she always did.

“She’s almost there. We, um, hit a little complication,” I answered.

“What happened? Did you turn your phone off? I’ve been trying to call you and it kept going straight to voice mail. What complication?”

This wasn’t something I was sure I ever wanted anyone to know about, and it definitely wasn’t anything I was prepared to discuss right then.

“I’ll explain later. She’ll be there soon.” I hung up on my boss for the second time in one day.

Tonya’s sweaty wedding guests looked at her with more contempt than joy when she finally pulled up in the carriage, an hour past the time they were put out to fry in the blazing Florida sun. More than a few grumbled and complained loudly, although her groom did manage a smile.

As I watched at Barney the Bride and her groom, I wondered for the millionth time if there really was someone for everyone. Was this guy some poor, masochistic chump who mistakes abuse for charm? Or was he just as volatile as his bride, an even match in poor health and behavior?

Maybe they were blissfully happy together. Maybe they were both fortunate enough to have found “the one.” But I’ve learned while doing weddings that just because people are getting married, it doesn’t mean they’re happy. Or that they’ll stay married.

Sunday, October 6th

I woke up just before dawn, feeling all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I don’t get it. If I have to be up early for work, it’s all I can do to drag my butt out of bed and into the shower. But this morning, when I had a late wedding and could have slept in, I was wide awake and full of energy.

Granted, it’s probably because I went to bed around seven last night. I was exhausted after my WrestleMania session with Tonya’s pantyhose and my frosty encounter with Lillian. She had been none too pleased with me for bringing Barney the Bride down late and turning off my phone. (I don’t think the heat and the fact she had no shade to stand in helped.) No sooner had Barney sashayed down the aisle to snag her groom than Lillian peered down her nose at me to say, “Tylah, your services are no longer needed today.”

I normally stay through the ceremony to help her with the reception until cake-cutting time, but she dismissed me before the vows were even read. She said it all matter-of-fact, too, so I knew there was no room for discussion. I was just relieved she ended the sentence with the word
today
. It is never a good idea to be on Lillian’s bad side.

It’s not that I don’t like Lillian. I do. I admire her. She is an incredibly smart and strong woman. Able to orchestrate the most complicated of events with ease and grace. I think I kind of view her through a set of glasses with one lens of fear, another of respect, and neither rose-colored. Maybe it’s because I look up to her so much that I always seem to screw up in her presence. I guess I get nervous.

I was too keyed up to go back to sleep this morning with yesterday replaying in my head, so as soon as the sun rose, I got out of bed. I even put on a pair of shorts and some running shoes, feeling all ambitious about the day. But then I remembered how much I loathe running, so I ate a bowl of Cheerios instead.

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, I had already vacuumed the entire apartment, started a load of laundry, and tweezed my eyebrows. I still don’t get how my brows can be perfectly clear of strays when I go to bed and morph into furry kiwi by the time I get up. Seems like that many spontaneous hairs sprouting out of my head in my sleep would wake me.

By nine, I had cleaned the bathroom and emptied a week of take-out containers from the fridge. I really should go to the grocery store more often and eat at home, but the whole process of shopping, then cooking, and then cleaning is not worth it for only me, especially on wedding nights. It’s much easier to grab takeout. (Hence, my jeans getting tighter and my need to get over my hatred for running.)

I was still pumping adrenaline and amazed at how much energy I had. To the point that, for one insane moment, I actually considered getting up at sunrise every morning. Luckily, that moment passed before any damage was done.

With the whole apartment pretty well spic and span, I decided to venture into my closet and clean it out a bit. I didn’t get far.

The first box I pulled down was filled with pictures of Cabe. My heart pinched in my chest, and I sank onto the floor in my bedroom holding the box. I probably should have just buried it under the bed, but I didn’t.

I still can’t believe it’s been almost a year since my best friend galloped across the country to follow some chick and marry her. I also can’t believe the jerk hasn’t called me in nine months. Which is why I packed up all his pictures and anything that reminded me of him and shoved it in the top of my closet.

How do you just drop off the face of the earth and not talk to a friend? Your best friend even? To go from being inseparable for four years, talking every day, and hanging out pretty much all the time, to just not talking for nine months. All because of
her
. Thank you, Monica.

I reached in the box and pulled out a photo of the three of us at a downtown concert right after they met. We’d had a blast that night. I looked like a total dork in the picture, of course. The humidity had wreaked havoc on my unruly curls, making me look like I had strands of chocolate cotton candy swirling around my head.

Monica looked picture perfect. Monica
always
looked picture perfect. Her blond pixie cut was never out of place. Her nail polish was never chipped. She never had an oily forehead or smudges of eyeliner beneath her eyes. And her dancer’s body was, well, a dancer’s body. I bet she was a size zero. Which I never understood. How can anyone actually be a size zero? Zero means nothing. Nada. Zilch. So if you were really a size zero, you would be invisible.

Cabe towered above both of us at six feet four. It was a great picture of him standing between us and pulling us close, happiness lighting up his entire face. His clear, blue eyes danced for the camera as he laughed. I looked back and forth from his eyes to hers, almost the same exact shade of blue, and then to my own greenish-brown, quite muted in comparison.

I dropped the photo back in the box and pulled out another. Cabe and me. At the coffee shop where I worked when I first moved here. Where we met. I called him Plain Coffee because that’s what he ordered every day.

Another picture—this one of Cabe and me in the Keys. Holy Cow, I looked skinny. I guess I was, back then. Still nursing the wounds of a painful breakup that drove me to leave home in Georgia and move all the way to Orlando. Cabe’s friendship helped me heal. Plain Coffee ended up being one of the best friends I ever had.

God, I wished I could talk to him. He would have roared with laughter at my pantyhose encounter. I closed my eyes, still hearing his deep, rumbling laugh in my memories. Until my cell phone rang in the living room. I nearly broke my ankle trying to get to it, spilling the photos across the carpet in the process.

I think I may have actually hoped it was him. Like I had telepathically summoned him or something. But it was just Melanie. Well, that’s rude, I guess. She’s not “just Melanie.” She plucked me from barista hell at the coffee shop and whisked me away to weddings world, talking her bosses, Laura and Lillian, into hiring me with no experience at all.

“What’s up, Mel?”

“How’d the wedding go? I thought you were going to text me last night when you finished,” Melanie said.

“Let’s just say tonight might be our last wedding together, because I’m probably getting fired tomorrow.”

“She can’t fire you,” Mel said. “Laura won’t let her. Laura loves you. That’s the beauty of having two bosses. What happened?”

I recounted the entire story to Mel, pausing quite frequently for her to recover from laughter and then repeating parts of the story on speaker for her husband, Paul.

“Did you take any pictures?” Mel asked when she finally caught her breath.

“Lord, no!” I said. “What was I going to do? Ask if I could take a selfie with her tattoo?”

“Not of her butt, Tyler! Her dress. Did you get a picture of that dress?”

“No, but I’m sure the photographer will be happy to give you a copy.”

“I am so glad that wasn’t my client. I don’t think I could have kept a straight face,” she said to me, and then to Paul with her face away from the phone, “I’m getting to it, honey. Hold your horses.”

“What’s he want?” I asked.

“Christopher called, and he’s free Wednesday night,” Mel answered.

I groaned.

Melanie and Paul have been trying to set me up with this guy Paul works with for over a month now. My love life must have reached pretty pathetic lows if my friend’s husband is seeking out men from work for me to date. They both have been singing Christopher’s praises every time I go over to their house for dinner or we meet up for a night out together.

“Come on, Tyler. This guy’s a great catch. He’s successful. Hard working.”

Paul piped up in the background. “She means he’s rich.”

“Paul, stop. He’s a really nice guy, Tyler. A real gentleman. So polite. Very interesting to talk to with all his travel stories. You’ll have a great time.”

“So you say,” I replied, shaking my head in doubt. “But if he’s that flippin’ awesome, why is he single? I mean, seriously.”

“You’re single,” Paul called out.

“Paul, stop it! Go away! Tyler, just go out with him. If you don’t like him, you don’t ever have to see him again, and Paul will leave us both alone about it.”

“Alright, alright!” I caved. It wasn’t like I had any better plans on a Wednesday night.

“Great. I’ll give him your number. Now, can you be at the staircase at four? I need to drop off the toasting glasses before I come to photos. Should be a pretty easy wedding.”

“Well, hey, if your bride’s dressed and I didn’t have to dress her, then it’ll be easier than yesterday’s wedding,” I said.

Mel laughed. “I promise you will not have to dress anyone tonight. In fact, I’ll work the ceremony and you can just head straight over to set up reception right after photos. How’s that?”

“Wow! I feel honored. You must be convinced I’m getting fired. You never choose ceremony over reception.”

“You know I loathe ceremonies. Standing around forever waiting for everyone to get there so it can start, then waiting for the ceremony to end, and then standing around again waiting for the photographer to finish. Aargh. Slit my wrists already. At least with the reception setup, I can be busy.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

“Maybe not you, after tomorrow,” Mel teased.

“Oh, not fair. I’m hanging up now.”

For the record, everyone was dressed at tonight’s wedding, and they were nice. Which made the time standing around much easier to bear.