Toss the Bride (29 page)

“Three months ago? I thought our trip was a spur-of-the-moment thing. You've been sitting on my proposal for three months?”

Avery waves the waitress away. She shoots us a bored look and goes back to refilling water pitchers. “Anyway, right after we get back from our trip, I'm visited by one of Uncle Len's lawyers. The man had a prenuptial agreement a mile long.”

“What did you do?”

“I hit the roof. I practically tossed the guy into those prize rosebushes my mother is always fawning over near the porch. My father was pretty upset, too. He called Uncle Len and told him to stay out of my business. Len said it was my father's job to stick his nose into family affairs and protect our assets.”

“Why is he so scared of a wedding planner from Cutter?” I was starting to feel compassion for Avery. I would have never heard about the prenup if it hadn't been for Babs.

Avery sighs. “Who knows? I just think that Uncle Len sees life as a game to accumulate as much money as you can and not share a penny of it. I'm sorry to have to tell you this. Please don't judge my family on this one incident—my father had nothing to do with it.”

“Why was your mother pushing me to sign it?”

Avery rubs his hands together and leans back. “That is a more troubling question. I never told her I was going to show it to you, let alone ask you to sign something like that.”

Nibbling on a piece of bread, I ask Avery, “What do you think of our chances? People sign things like that prenup because they want to hold something back, I suppose.”

To my surprise, Avery stands up and walks around to my chair. He squats and puts his arm around me. A woman next to us whispers to her companion, “Oh look, he's going to propose.”

Avery smiles up at me. “Macie, when I asked for your hand, it was because I had already thought of the what if's and maybe's and all that other junk. I was ready—and I still am—to be with you forever. I'm just not sure you feel the same way. Do you?”

Taking a deep breath, I feel my answer with every quiet and joyful part of my heart, my mind. “Yes, Avery, I do. I really, really do.”

At this moment, our dim-witted waitress makes her third attempt to wring an order from us. Avery stands, takes my hand, and tells her that our plans have changed for dinner. He tosses a five on the table and we walk out of Tang hand in hand as the woman seated next to us remarks to her friend, “Oh, that didn't go well at all, poor dear.”

We find ourselves strolling down Piedmont Avenue, walking with traffic on its one-way approach to Piedmont Park. Avery takes the outside of the cracked and broken sidewalks fronting million-dollar homes. I lean slightly on his shoulder, feeling a deep and soft part of me return to happiness.

As we walk, I tell Avery my fears. I retrace my steps to the moment I said “yes” and then into the few weeks of confusion and worry. I fill him in on my attempts at figuring things out with the help of Iris and Gwen.

“Iris sent me the best cake today, or did I already tell you? And I got the prettiest bouquet of daisies but with a weird, unsigned message.”

“Did you say ‘cake'?”

“It's amazing. You'll have to see it.”

Avery pulls me closer. “I don't have any dessert plans. How about you?”

Thinking of dessert reminds me of Gwen and her breakthrough moment with Jake by the dock when she realized she wanted to marry him. I am having that moment with Avery again, and it is right. I know it with everything that is good and pure.

We return to the car, and as we get settled, I tell Avery about the house for sale near my apartment. He looks surprised but does not say anything.

“Do you want to? I mean, we could just drive by. We don't have to stop or anything,” I add. Maybe it is too early to talk houses. I don't want to push him.

Avery's smile is my answer. He slips the car into traffic and instructs me to reach into the glove box. My fingers find a stack of house flyers wadded up next to an old bottle of sunscreen. I reach into my pocket and pull out the flyer for the house with the blue door. Avery glances at the flyer and then back to my face. He leans over and gives me a fleeting kiss while keeping one eye on the road.

“There's a great bungalow on Argonne Avenue, and you should see the Tudor on Morningside. You'll love it,” Avery says, driving a little too fast. “And this house you've found looks really nice, too.”

As we speed down the street toward a parade of homes, I have to laugh. It is good to have a stack of house flyers on my lap and my fiancé in the seat beside me. The air has turned a bit cooler, thankfully, and I reach for Avery's hand. If I snapped our picture at this very moment, the image would be of eyes and mouths, our faces lifting toward the sky and the space between us blurring as we race to fill it.

14

The Happy Bride

An audible hum lingers in the air wherever a bride walks on her wedding day. I have heard it with my own ears and even contributed to it as I buzzed past the bride du jour, peppering her with this question or that. Florists, hairdressers, makeup people zoom in and out of her field of vision, offering their wares. Studied closely, this last-minute activity either terrifies the bride as her natural habitat is disturbed or it excites her and she adapts, even thrives.

It is my wedding day, and I am falling solidly in the middle.

The entire two months we were putting this day together, I never had a sense of a clock in my head. Of course, I had my files and Maurice's steady hand. But it was not until last night's rehearsal dinner at Tang that it hit me: Go to sleep tonight, and tomorrow you'll get married.

I was up until midnight, packing for the surprise honeymoon. I was tempted to stay up all night, to welcome the sunrise on this most special of days. But sleep eventually came for me and I went to bed, arms wrapped around the pillow. When I awoke, it took me a few moments to realize the day—Avery and me! Our wedding!—and then I flopped back into bed and smiled just because I felt so wonderful.

My parents are staying at the Lelands' house in one of their luscious guest suites. Avery has been living at our new home for the past three weeks, so he spent last night there, surrounded by mounds of wedding presents. He seems bewildered by all of the silver-and-white boxes dropped at his door daily, but I tell him that's what he gets for letting his mother have too much control over the guest list. “Think of it this way,” I said the other day, “We'll never have to buy a crystal vase again in our lives.”

“That's a huge relief,” Avery said, rolling his eyes.

Iris will be stopping by soon to take me to the salon. Babs wanted to spring for a hairdresser and makeup person to come to the house, but the cost of something like that is ridiculous. Even though the Lelands are footing most of the wedding bill—my parents paid for flowers and the dress—I still do not want to spend money frivolously. Besides, it gives me a chance to be with my maid of honor.

Iris spent the past few days working on our wedding cake. I cannot wait to see it. The four-tier cake will be delivered to the reception by her staff so that Iris can be with me today and not worry about setting up. Avery's mother sniffed at this plan, and wondered out loud if we should have gone with the pastry chef from their club. I sweetly told her that Iris was our choice. I have never spoken with her about the things she said that awful day, and Babs has been fairly nice through this entire wedding planning event, so I have decided to let it go. I am learning how to be a daughter-in-law already, and the first lesson is: Some people do things differently. I am rolling with it.

Surveying my messy bedroom, I take stock of everything I will need today. Honeymoon bag, packed. Personal bag, packed. I wear a button-up shirt so I can take it off without messing up my styled hair. The veil hangs on a hook, covered in plastic. My shoes are in the personal bag, along with the strapless bra and pretty underwear Babs insisted on buying. I have to admit it is beautiful, but the price was crazy for what amounts to a few inches of white lace. I do not think I will ever feel comfortable spending money like she does.

Lastly, I gaze at my dress that waits patiently, hanging from the door frame. Slipping a hand inside the garment bag, I once again feel the supple fabric. It gives me goose bumps. I cannot wait to wear this dress. It's funny, but I already miss it. You only get to wear these things once, and that makes them all the more special.

The phone rings. Maurice sounds completely in control and I realize for the first time that today will be a little strange for him. Even though he is cool, calm Maurice, it will be sort of strange to toss a bride he cares for—even if it is an employee.

Leaning forward into the mirror, I apply a little moisturizer and correct myself. “Partner” is the new word I must get used to saying. I am Maurice's business partner. Last week, after we wrapped up some last-minute shopping, Maurice asked me to dinner. Over a tasty plate of souvlaki, he told me he had been impressed by how I handled myself in all sorts of tough situations. Would I be interested in taking on a share of the business and working as the “special weddings” coordinator?

“We'll toss all the weirdos your way, it will be fun,” he said.

“Maurice, they are not weirdos—these women just have different styles,” I started to protest.

“Kidding! I'm kidding. Some people just can't take a joke around here.” Maurice examined his fingernails. “You know I secretly admire freewheeling souls like you and Avery. I realize I'm not the best person to dispense advice, given my recent behavior, but I do have one thing to say: be generous with each other.”

I stared at Maurice. “You're the one who sent the flowers a couple of months ago! I could not figure it out. Why didn't you say anything?”

“Things were so bad with Evelyn, I didn't think you would listen to me. But I could tell you and Avery were going through something tough. I figured it might make you think.”

“It did. Thanks. I want to always be generous with Avery, in everything I do.”

Maurice wore an emotional expression, something not often seen on his face. I was tempted to reach over and hug him, but he quickly composed himself and talk turned back to business.

With my change in status to Maurice's partner, we will both need to hire assistants. While we are on our two-week honeymoon, Maurice is going to sift through résumés and set up some interviews. He seems excited to have a new challenge. While I court the “different bride,” he can go after the top-shelf money brides who want things a little more traditional. Maurice will also work less because he can trust me to handle my weddings. I know that working fewer hours—and staying out of a certain café—are two of the conditions that Evelyn has set for Maurice to move back home. He has been living in one of those extended-stay motels and is desperate to make things right again with his wife.

Iris breezes into the apartment a few minutes later, shaking me out of thoughts about work. She picks up my bag and bursts into tears. Startled, I ask what is wrong.

“Oh, I'm just so emotional today. I am happy for you, the sky is bright blue, it's a perfect October day, you're finally taking this huge step—everything!”

I hug Iris. “I would have never gotten to this day without you. How many calories did you feed me while I wailed on and on about my love life?”

“Too many, I'm sure. But I was happy to do it. Now, get out there, marry that man, and send lots of his cute friends my way.”

On the drive over to the salon, I sit quietly in the passenger seat. A little song plays in my head:
Today you are getting married, today you are getting married.
We pass the street where I will live after today. I think of Annette, my golden bride. She always remembered the street address of the house she was supposed to live in with her sweetheart. I know that I will also cherish the sound of our new address: 1411 Adair Street.

The past two months have been a whirlwind. We had Baker Land's wedding and all of the media hoopla surrounding marrying off a celebrity. She was pretty fun to work with, but by the end, I really did not feel like she got the wedding of her dreams. There were just so many people butting in with their opinions and changing Baker's wishes behind her back.

After all of our starts and stops in the engagement department, Avery and I decided to just go ahead and get married. Neither one of us wanted something huge or fancy. We wanted to keep the guest list small—something that failed to happen, thanks to Babs—and the wedding simple. I think our guests will enjoy themselves. As for me, I am looking forward to tomorrow, when I wake up as Avery's wife. That will be a good day.

While my hair is twisted and prodded into a sleek pile on top of my head, Iris snaps a dozen pictures until her stylist sits her down and goes to work. I feel so lucky to have a good friend with me during these crazy hours before the wedding. I spent about three or four days at the Lelands' house this week working on wedding stuff and visiting with my parents and in-laws-to-be. I love them all, but the bridal buzz was killing me. I could not take a step without someone saying, “Macie, come look at the wedding favors. They were just delivered!” Or, “Macie, the caterer called. Do you want the silk bows tied tightly on the chair covers or sort of loosely?” For my mother's part, I have been really proud of her. She jumped right in, even though the Lelands can be a handful. My dad and Mr. Leland mainly steered clear of wedding madness. They took a classic car out for a spin or played golf.

After the makeup artist finishes up, we grab a quick bite to eat at a little sidewalk café. Iris remarks that with our casual clothes and overdone makeup and hair, we could be taken for a couple of out-of-place hookers. This makes me spit out a mouthful of water, which only makes Iris laugh harder.

“Can you believe we have to be dressed and at the botanical gardens in one hour?” Iris glances at her watch.