Hmm. Maybe I should take my time here in Heart Springs, delay the inevitable familial disappointment for as long as possible.
I land in front of Kate’s shop and quickly change my mind about that.
The awning over the front window is a soft baby pink, as is the trim around the window and the door to the shop. The words “Best Day Ever” are painted in a gold, flowing script across the glass, behind which are three of the biggest, poofiest wedding dresses I have ever seen.
When I push open the door, the first few bars of the Wedding March chime throughout the room, carpeted in pink and overflowing with flowers, linens, invitations, and sample table decor. I’ve never had claustrophobia until this moment, but it hits me hard.
“Hello?” I call out into the empty and yet stuffed to the brim room.
A stunningly gorgeous Southeast Asian woman flurries into the room, her arms laden with binders, one pen in her mouth, another holding up her messy bun. She wears a pink sheath dress and pink ballet flats and it should look ridiculous but somehow she manages to look something bordering on chic.
“Hi, I’m Cam.” I catch one of the binders as it topples from her pile, tucking it under my arm and taking a few more from her stack before they fall.
Kate lets the rest of them slide onto one of the tables—set with various sample place settings—and removes the pen from her mouth, revealing a wide smile. “Hi, Cam. Mimi told me to expect you.”
I still have yet to see a single phone in this town and somehow everyone always knows what’s going on everywhere at all times.
“I’m sorry to interrupt while you’re clearly so busy.”
“Nonsense. I could use the help.” Kate gives me a quickonce-over. “I take it you don’t have any experience with weddings?”
“Can’t say thatI do.” Pun intended.
“Well, that’s no problem. If you just listen carefully to instructions, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” She starts flipping through one of her binders (it’s, you guessed it, pink). “The main thing to remember is that you are always wrong and they are always right.”
“I’m sorry?” The reason I have built such a successful career is because of my ability to be right, which I am. Pretty much always. Truly. Always.
“If the bride tells you she really wanted pink flowers even though you know she said white, you have a signed contract saying white, and you have her mood board without a drop of color on it, you obviously ordered the wrong flowers and will correct your mistake immediately.”
I start to slowly back toward the door, hoping she’s so busy she won’t notice if I disappear and run for the hills because I’ve definitely made a terrible mistake.
She pins me in place with a pointed look. “Don’t worry. Most of the ire will be directed at me, not you.”
“Do you receive a lot of ire?” It could be my total lack of wedding knowledge, but I would think people would be pretty kind on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of their lives.
Maybe they all know deep down that marriage and life-long love are a crock of shit.
Kate laughs, and despite the subject at hand, it seems genuine. “Oh yes, of course. Weddings are emotional, and when emotions are running high, people get nervous. And I tend to be the one they take those nerves out on.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
She shrugs. “If it means they get to enjoy their day, then I don’t mind.”
“You are a better person than I, Kate.”
“It’s all worth it in the end, you’ll see.”
This is probably my last chance to run from the shop screaming, but instead I pull my shoulders back and stand tall, taking on my favorite pose of determined strength. I need to get home, and if bearing the brunt of some mother of the bride’s stress gets me there, then I can handle it. Surely a couple of anxious moms aren’t any tougher than my usual clients.
—
I should really stop makingsuch ridiculous declarations, I think as I gently pry the mother of the groom’s fingers from my forearm, where she is gripping so tight, I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow.
“The pocket fold on these napkins is all wrong!” She finally drops my arm, but only so she can grab a stack of neatly folded napkins, completely destroying the precious pleats.
“Ma’am, until about an hour ago, I had no idea what a pocket fold even was.” I back away from her slowly, so as not to startle her with my sudden movements. “Let me go find Kate, and I’m sure she can figure this out.”
“You rang?” Kate gently pushes me out of the way and within sixty seconds has the momzilla calmed down and even smiling. She ushers the mom out of the reception hall and instructs the servers to fix the mangled napkins. And she does it all with a smile on her face.
