Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (5 page)

Friday, October 11th

A frantic text message summoning me to a bride’s room fifteen minutes before photos start is never a good sign.

I knew something was off when I entered the room. No excitement. No laughter. No last-minute preparations or animated chatter. Just an eerie quiet.

Janet, the bride, stood gazing out the window. From the look of the yellowed tulle and the ruffled, tiered skirt of her wedding gown, it was an antique or a family heirloom. She didn’t turn to acknowledge me when I entered. The silent bridesmaids returned my greeting with briefly fleeting pasted-on smiles, which faded as their eyes widened and flicked toward the bride. I got the distinct impression something was horribly wrong, and they expected me to fix it.

My mind raced through possibilities. I scanned my memories for details of their relationship and any signs of trouble. They were an older couple, both in their late forties. Her first marriage, his third. Maybe she was having cold feet?

“Janet? Honey? Is everything okay?”

She turned then, and I was struck again by what an attractive lady she was. Her soft, honey blond hair framed her face in beautiful waves straight from a hair product commercial. Her brilliant green eyes had sparkled and danced when we met, but today they seemed paralyzed in sadness. The lines in her pretty face were a little more prominent.

It confused me. Janet had been so happy to get married. Overjoyed to find love late in life. Excited about every little detail of the wedding. I couldn’t figure out what had changed.

When she spoke, I had to lean in to hear her despite our close proximity. “I found this dress when I was twenty-three. I was helping my friend shop for her wedding dress and envious of her getting married. I saw this gown hanging there, and I wanted more than anything to try it on. I went back to the store the next weekend all by myself. I put it on and knew this was the dress I wanted to wear in my wedding. I wasn’t even dating anyone at the time, but I bought it. I put it on layaway and never told anyone. I figured I could hold onto it until I got married. I didn’t think it would be twenty-four years, you know?”

She smiled at me as a huge tear rolled down her cheek.

“I put it on again when Ray and I first got engaged a year ago. I was amazed it still fit. Ecstatic! I automatically had my something old!” She chuckled as she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I didn’t put it on again until today. It’s old. Fragile. I didn’t want anything to happen to it.”

She took a deep breath and gazed back out the window.

“So I put it on today for my
wedding
,” she said, stressing the word as she spread her hands in the air and motioned to the hubbub in the room around her, “and this happened!”

She raised her left arm, and I saw it. The seam of the dress had completely ripped free, from just under her arm all the way to the bottom of the bodice. I gasped out loud before I could stop myself.

“And this,” she said, turning so I could see the huge hole in the middle of the seam on her right side. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

“Okay,” I said, mustering up my best confidence-boosting voice, “we can fix this. We can.” I nodded several times and flashed a huge smile, all the while trying to figure out how on earth I could fix it in time for pictures in ten minutes.

“You can?” she asked, her face lighting up as her eyes dared to dance ever so slightly. The other bridesmaids came to life, chiming in around us. One saying, “I told you she’d fix it.” Another saying, “It’s going to be fine!” And one bitchy one muttering, “How are you going to fix that?”

I had no clue, but I sure didn’t intend to say that out loud.

“Let me make a call. I’ll be right back.” I smiled as I backed toward the door. “Hold on, okay? We’ll get you fixed up and down the aisle!” I made the universal “atta girl!” symbol with my fist swinging triumphantly in the air. Then, realizing how stupid that must look, I smoothed my hair back and cleared my throat before stepping into the hallway to call our favorite seamstress, Eileen.

The universe smiled down on me today. Or on Janet. Or both. Eileen happened to be in the hotel already, finishing up with Melanie’s bridesmaids.

I’ve never doubted her prowess and expertise, but she proved her brilliance all over again today. The amazing Eileen took material from the lining of the skirt and stitched it inside the bodice. Then she stitched over the frayed seams to create a slight ruffled effect. It wouldn’t hold through much sitting or dancing, but it would get Janet down the aisle.

We missed photos before the ceremony, but I assured Janet we would have plenty of time to get pictures afterward. Not to mention the pictures would look much better without her busting out of her dress.

Thankfully from the time I said we could fix it, her spirits lifted. Every detail is important to a bride, but not having skin bulging out of the dress is a pretty big detail. I hated seeing her so distraught and depressed when she thought the dress was ruined.

I kept thinking all day about that 23-year-old girl who went and picked out a gown and the dreams that went with it, paying forward with hope that someday she would wear the gown for her own fairy tale. I cannot even begin to imagine how much faith it took to keep that dress for twenty-four years. How often must she have felt like throwing the damned thing away and giving up. I probably would have thought the dress was bad luck and gotten rid of it to try and stop the curse.

I wonder how many times she may have moved to a new place, or how many times a relationship fell apart, or how many lonely nights she spent with that dress hanging in the closet, taunting her and daring her to keep on dreaming.

How excited she must have been to finally find love and somehow still fit into her 23-year-old dream. How devastated she must have been when they zipped the bodice and those seams gave way.

I guess sometimes my dreams feel like that. Fragile bits of fabric held together by memories of what I wanted to be. Ripped apart a bit, disintegrated somewhat, but still with me. I know there is someone out there for me. I know my dream of finding true love will happen. I just need to have faith. I can’t give up. Maybe I should go dress shopping and buy myself a reminder to hang in the closet.

Saturday, October 12th

Before I started doing weddings, I never knew how exhausting it could be to watch drunk people party. I feel hungover from just watching them tonight, and I didn’t even drink.

I knew it was gonna be bad when I walked in the dressing room before pictures and they had already finished off a bottle of champagne. I told Rebecca several times she needed to eat something and lay off the alcohol, but when I went back in to get her for the ceremony she was drunker than Cooter Brown’s dog. (It occurs to me as I write that phrase that although I have heard it my entire life, I have no idea who Cooter Brown was or why on earth his dog was drunk. But anyway!)

I should have known when Rebecca chose “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” for her bridal processional that it was going to be a rowdy night. We ended up closing the bar an hour early after two people passed out and one lady threw up in the bathroom sink. At least Rebecca managed to stay upright all night, which was quite the accomplishment since she walked down the aisle giggling and burping behind her bouquet before slurring her way through her vows.

She went to all that trouble, planning out the most minute details for her event, and how much of it will she remember? I guess it doesn’t really matter. She and Tim gushed about how wonderful everything was as I put them in the limo at the end of the night, and her parents kept remarking about what a great job I did.

I just think that if it’s one of the most important events of your life, you’d want to remember it.

Maybe I’m getting old. I can’t remember the last time I went out partying. Working a wedding every Friday and Saturday night kind of puts a damper on the weekend. Nowadays, going out means catching a drink or two after a wedding with the people I worked with that night. The florist, the DJ, the photographer. I go out with Mel and Paul sometimes, but it’s usually just dinner or a movie on a weeknight.

I used to go out all the time. Especially when I worked at the coffee shop. I still keep in touch with those friends, but it’s hard to connect with everyone’s diverse schedules. Cabe and I had a group we hung out with—mostly his friends from growing up and his sister Galen and her friends—all of whom I stopped seeing when he left.

I guess I kind of cocooned a little when he moved. I didn’t want to be around anyone for a while. Didn’t want to go out and be reminded he was gone. Then it became normal to just go to work and come home. I should look at the calendar to see when I have a weekend night off and call some of the old coffee shop gang to get together. Definitely would have to be after October, though. Or maybe Halloween. That would be a cool night to go out. I think I’ll call a few people tomorrow and see what everyone’s doing for Halloween.

But for now, I’m headed to bed. Sober and exhausted.

Sunday, October 13th

Mr. Hotel Man called today. Wanted to check and see how this weekend’s wedding went. He said they’d be happy to book any future brides and grooms, and he’d love to work with me again. What’s up with that? He calls my cell phone on a Sunday afternoon to tell me I can book future brides and grooms at his hotel? Is he running for salesman of the year for the resort, or is he leading up to asking me out? He kept it short and sweet, so maybe it was just a courtesy business call. But who does that? On a Sunday afternoon?

I think he likes me.

Monday, October 14th

Wow. Just wow. I left my desk to get a cup of coffee and missed a call from Cabe. I haven’t heard a peep from the man for nine freakin’ months, and then the one time he calls, I’m not by my phone. I would have been totally caught off guard, though, so it was probably a good thing I had a warning.

Of course, I immediately went to Melanie’s desk and shoved my phone in her face. Never mind that she was in the middle of a cake design discussion with Chaz.

“He called?” Mel shrieked when she saw his name on the screen. She looked up at me with her mouth wide open.

I nodded.

“Who called?” Chaz asked.

“Did you call him back?” Mel asked, handing me back the phone.

“No! I came to show you first.”

“Call who back?” Chaz asked.

“I don’t know if I’m going to call right back. I think when you don’t call me for nine months, it’s perfectly acceptable to make you wait for a call back.”

“Let who wait? Who called?” Chaz asked.

“Don’t do that, Tyler. Call him,” Mel said.

“Call who? Will somebody tell me who we’re talking about?” Chaz shouted.

“Cabe!” Mel and I yelled in unison.

“Who the hell is Cabe?” Chaz asked.

“Nine months, Mel. Nine months and I’ve only heard from him twice. One call from a concert where I couldn’t hear a word he said and a text to thank me for sending his mother a birthday card. Why should I call him back at all?”

“Maybe he has a good reason,” Mel offered.

“Who is Cabe?” Chaz tapped his hands on the desk in frustration.

“What would be a good reason for not calling your best friend for nine months?” I crossed my arms and arched my eyebrow, twisting my lips in anger.

“Okay, got it. Cabe’s your best friend. Next clue?” Chaz seemed quite pleased with himself.

“
Was
my best friend,” I corrected him.

“Oh, he still is,” Mel said. She turned to explain to Chaz. “Tyler and Cabe were inseparable. They did everything together. The closest of friends. Should have gotten married, but neither of them had the guts to make a move.”

“Ha!” I scoffed. “Marry him? Never. Not even a consideration.” I looked at Chaz. “We were just friends.”

“With benefits?” asked Chaz.

“No benefits!” I said.

Mel laughed and leaned across her desk toward Chaz. “Just friends, my patootie. Chaz, honey, do you frequently take out of town trips for the weekend with someone who is just a friend? Have sleepovers on a weekly basis? Call each other a bazillion times a day, text like crazy, and finish each other’s sentences? These two were perfect for each other and too stupid to see it. You should have seen the way this guy looked at her. Like she hung the moon.”

I shook my head as Chaz looked from Mel to me. “She’s mistaken. She wanted there to be more than there was. We were friends.”

Cabe was actually my first friend here. I met him the day I started at the coffee shop five years ago. He came in and stressed that he wanted “plain coffee.” He was a systems programmer and came in a couple of days a week with his laptop to work for a few hours. His
coffice
, he called it. We started hanging out, and soon we were spending all our time together. It was comfortable. Easy. No stress. No pressure. We had this weird chemistry that worked. Sure, there was some physical tension between us, but neither of us ever acted on it. In fact, we discussed many times how we treasured the friendship too much to screw it up by trying anything further.

No matter who I went out with, and no matter who he went out with, we were always there for each other. Prospective partners knew upfront we were a package deal. If you dated me, you got Cabe. If you dated Cabe, you got me.

My mother never got it. Never understood.

“But why do you spend so much time with him if you’re not dating? You’re never going to find someone if you’re always with Cabe. Boys aren’t going to come up and talk to you if you’re already with a guy. They’ll assume you’re together. Are you sure he’s not gay? He must be gay. How can he spend so much time with you and not be gay? Are you sure he’s not attracted to you and he’s just not saying so? Maybe you should make the first move. Maybe you should simply ask him if he’s interested.”

Oh, good grief. It was never ending with her.

But we didn’t care what other people thought. We were partners in adventure. Dance buddies. We were best friends. And we knew we could count on each other.

Until Monica
.

“Okaaay, so what happened?” Chaz asked. “Why haven’t you heard from him? Why haven’t I heard about him? Do tell, girl.” He sat on the edge of his seat, awaiting the new dirt.

“He left,” I said. “He moved to Seattle.”

“You told him to!” Mel slapped her folder against my leg.

“Why’d you do that?” Chaz asked.

“Because I wanted him to be happy. He met a girl who made him happy. They were perfect for each other. They fell in love hard and fast, and we thought he’d finally found the one. Until she decided to move back home to Seattle.”

Cabe had showed up at my apartment around midnight that night, crying like I’d never seen before. I mean, he’d always been one to tear up over a good movie here and there.
The Notebook
got him every time. But nothing like that night. He was devastated.

We talked ’til four in the morning, and he asked what I thought he should do.

I told him he should follow her.

“If you love her, if she’s the one you want to spend your life with, then you go where she goes. Your job doesn’t matter. Your family doesn’t matter. None of it does. If she’s the one, and you can’t imagine life without her, then you follow her.”

It was what he wanted to hear and what I wanted to believe love should be. He arranged a transfer with his company, agreeing to give up his remote office status and show up at a desk in a cubicle every day. Within a month, my best friend was gone.

We had been spending less time together since they started dating, but I always knew he was right there if I needed him. Suddenly, he lived all the way across the country, and I felt his absence in the pit of my stomach.

“But I don’t get this,” Chaz said. “If you guys were so close, why haven’t you heard from him since he left?”

“Because she’s his chocolate chip cookie.” Melanie purred the words, sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed, obviously satisfied with herself. Her words stung too much for me to even comment.

“What does that mean?” Chaz asked.

Melanie nodded for me to answer, but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Still too painful, even though it all happened months ago.

“Don’t take it personally,” Cabe had said about a month after he moved. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Monica likes you, she really does. But she, well,
we
, feel like maybe I’m not fully committing to the whole relationship thing if you’re still my closest friend. You know? Monica has to be my closest friend now. I don’t know if I can be as close to her as I should be if you’re still around. I mean, I’m closer to you than I’ve ever been with anyone. You get me. You and I kind of have our own language. Our own vibe. It makes it hard for Monica. For
us
, I mean. It’s kind of like chocolate chip cookies when you’re on a diet. You just can’t stay away from them. If they’re around, you’re gonna want a cookie. Therefore, the best thing to do is not have chocolate chip cookies around, you know?”

Being across the country wasn’t good enough. He severed our ties. I became a chocolate chip cookie and lost the best friend I’d ever had. It’s not like cookies weren’t already the enemy of my ample thighs. Now they had to gash open a hole in my heart as well.

“So the two of you didn’t get along?” Chaz asked. “You and Monica?”

“I thought we did! I thought she and I were friends. We hung out together all the time when they were still here. If there was a problem, I didn’t know about it.”

“Okay, so she’s a catty bitch who was nice to your face and then sunk her talons in him once she got him away from you,” Chaz said, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his knee. “Go on. What happened next?”

I swear the man should have his own talk show or something. He thrives on gossip like a baby on breast milk.

“He called again less than a month later. This time to tell me they’d driven to Big Sur and gotten married with nobody there except her sister and her mom. He said he was sorry I couldn’t come.” I could feel the hurt and anger unleashing within me all over again.

“Would you have gone?” Chaz the interviewer asked.

“I don’t know. I think it would have been awkward to watch him marry someone who didn’t want me around, you know? I mean, I would have been the chocolate chip cookie skulking in the background. Anyway, I wasn’t invited.”

“And she hasn’t heard from him since the wedding day,” Melanie added.

“Whoa, Nelly!” Chaz gasped, sitting back in his chair. “So he meant it, huh?”

“Well, technically, that’s not true, Mel. There was the concert call and the text about his mom’s birthday.” I don’t know why I felt like I needed to defend Cabe.

“No way, girl,” Chaz said, shaking his head. “Don’t you call that boy back!”

“Don’t you listen to him! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Mel said.

“Honey, if there is one thing I do know, it is men.” Chaz pointed his finger and pursed his lips. “This one does not deserve a callback. Let it go, girl.”

“No, I’m gonna call him back,” I said.

“I wouldn’t.” Chaz uncrossed his legs and crossed his arms simultaneously.

“She will,” Mel said. “She wants to talk to him. No matter what.” She nodded her head again, smug in her assessment.

I turned and went back to my desk, my stomach twisted in knots. She was right, of course. I knew I would call him back the minute I saw the missed call. I needed time to compose myself, though. To gather my thoughts. I decided I’d go for nonchalant. As though I hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed.

My hand shook as I dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

“What’s up, Buttercup?”

His voice cut through me like a knife. So deep. So throaty. So Cabe.

I swallowed back tears and called forth sarcasm, the great camouflage for all emotion.

“Wow! Could it be? Could this actually be my very best friend? Who skipped town, got married, and then dropped off the face of the planet? Is he calling to talk to little ole me?”

“Very funny,” he said.

“So how’s married life? Are you able to enjoy a cookie now without the world ending?”

So much for the nonchalant approach. He went silent, and I worried he may have hung up on me.

“Hello? Dude, are you there? Cabe? Did you call and say hello and hang up?”

“I’m here. You off today?”

“No, why?”

“I want to see you.”

I sat back in my chair and raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Here. In town. Can I see you?”

Conflict coiled my insides. Excitement he was in town and wanted to see me. Hurt that he hadn’t let me know he was coming.

“Sure. When?” I asked, my voice clipped as I tried to remind myself to be nice. After all, he was calling and asking to see me, right? It’s not like I heard from someone else that he came and went without even telling me.

“Right now?” His voice sounded off. A little hoarse. Emotional, maybe?

“Um, I don’t know. I’m working.”

“On a Monday?” he asked.

“Yeah. October. Crazy busy. Can we meet up later?” I cringed, waiting for him to say they had plans later. I suddenly very much wanted to see him. I hoped I hadn’t missed my only opportunity.

“Okay. What time?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Wanna meet for dinner?” I selfishly hoped he wouldn’t bring Monica.

“Can you maybe leave early this afternoon? Maybe we could meet at like four?”

“Um, sure. I can do that. Are you okay?” I could definitely detect emotion in his voice now. It didn’t sound happy.

“Yeah, I just need to see you.”

“Okay. Four o’clock then. Where are you staying?” I started to ask if Monica was coming with him but decided against it. I’d find out soon enough.

“I’ll meet you by the lake. On the bench.”

The lake. The bench. Our favorite spot. My heart tugged. We both loved this little lake tucked away at the back of one of the older neighborhoods in town. Mediterranean-style mansions lined the perimeter. They’d been built back in the 20s with stucco, tile roofs, and colorful porcelain accents. We used to sit on the bench for hours, feeding the ducks and making up stories about imaginary characters living in each house. In our stories, they lived incredibly dramatic lives. We created outrageous circumstances and dialogue for our make-believe residents, laughing our heads off at their antics. It was a game we thoroughly enjoyed. The kind of crazy stuff that no one else understood.