A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Anne, Wedding Planner and Shrink

“W
e want to get married at the beach, and we’d like our dogs, Cutie Pie and Commodore, to be in the wedding, too,” said the excited bride. Rika Washington had hired Anne two weeks ago and called her every day since with a new question, concern or inspiration. Today was inspiration day.

The customer was always right, Anne reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help remembering some of the doggy disasters she’d seen over the years when brides included their pets. There’d been the irritable pooch who’d bitten the groom’s hand when he went to put the ring on his bride’s finger, and the happy mutt who’d done a mating dance with the leg of the bride’s father as he stood waiting to give his daughter away.

The worst one was Bismark, the German shepherd who ran away with the flower girl. The bride had thought it would be adorable to have Bismark tow a flower-bedecked wagon holding the flower girl down the aisle during her garden wedding at Seattle’s Washington Park Arboretum. Her father happily complied and got busy in his wood shop, producing an adorable little wagon.

Bismark seemed more than willing to do his part at the rehearsal the evening before. The day of the wedding, however, he spotted another dog at the far end of the park, and instead of walking sedately down the aisle with five-year-old Olivia, he took off at a gallop, the little girl clutching the wagon rails and screeching at the top of her lungs.

“No, Bismark!” yelled his mommy and took off after the dog, her veil flying behind her. Of course, the groom and the groomsmen went after the dog, too, who had a head start since he’d bolted before he’d barely begun to go down the aisle. Half the guests joined in the pursuit as Olivia and Bismark hurtled across the lush lawn, Bismark barking and Olivia screeching.

The wagon tipped, spilling Olivia onto the grass, flowers and all, but Bismark kept going. The owner of the other dog, a highly energetic mixed breed, pulled on his leash, keeping him tightly reined in, while the woman with him made shooing motions and yelled at Bismark to scram.

Bismark had no intention of scramming, and doggy mayhem broke out. After much growling and swearing and threatened lawsuits, not to mention a torn tuxedo, the groom got him and hauled him back.

Other than a grass-stained dress and a missing hair wreath, Olivia was none the worse for wear, but she was still shrieking even after her mother picked her up and carried her back.

The child was eventually calmed and the dog was, well, in the doghouse, on his leash and made to sit with the groom’s father. It didn’t seem to bother Bismark, though, because he spent the remainder of the wedding barking at the other dog, who’d long since departed.

Anne recounted the story of Bismark and Olivia and cautioned Rika that while animals could add a lot to a wedding, they could also be unpredictable.

Rika was unfazed. “Cutie Pie and Commodore will be well behaved. They’re basset hounds. They don’t have the energy to be bad.”

Anne’s family had owned a basset hound when she was growing up, and she knew exactly what the woman meant. “You’re probably right.”

“We’re going to get Commodore a tux and a boutonniere and Cutie Pie a little veil.”

Anne could see the wedding pictures now. They’d be cute...or ridiculous. Anne leaned toward ridiculous, but she wasn’t the one getting married.

“I’m so excited,” gushed the bride-to-be. “This is going to be a beautiful wedding.”

Every wedding was. Even ones that involved flower girls getting unexpected wild rides.

She’d just had time to share Rika’s latest idea with Kendra when her next client arrived for their lunch meeting.

Lisbeth Holmes appeared to be somewhere in her thirties. She worked as a buyer for Nordstrom, and with her cashmere sweater, black pencil skirt and expensive shoes (not to mention the high-end costume jewelry and that Coach purse), she looked like a walking advertisement for the store. She was a tall, svelte brunette, the kind of woman who would make a gunnysack look good. Put her in a bridal gown and she’d be breathtaking.

Her groom was six inches taller, with a football player’s build. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater (not cashmere). Maybe he worked for some company that wrote computer software or games and had a more casual work code. Or maybe he was an escaped Seattle Seahawk. But no. It turned out the future groom wrote murder mysteries for a living.

His name was Tad, and he and Lisbeth had been together for the past two years. He’d finally popped the question, and now Lisbeth was ready to start planning the wedding of her dreams. Judging by the modest diamond in her engagement ring, murder didn’t pay all that well. Anne hoped the woman wasn’t dreaming too big.

“We’re talking about February, Valentine’s Day,” Lisbeth said.

They’d have a terrible time getting a table when they went out to celebrate their anniversary, but at least they’d have no trouble remembering it.

“That sounds lovely,” Anne said. “What’s your vision for the wedding?”

Sometimes a bride-to-be would seem a little confused by this question. Not Lisbeth. “I want a traditional church wedding,” she said. “Red and white for my colors. And I’d like to have the reception somewhere with a pretty view.”

Anne nodded, taking notes as Lisbeth talked. And now, before they went any further, she had to ask. “What’s your budget?”

“I’ve been saving for this for the past two years,” Lisbeth said, beaming, and named a figure that pleasantly surprised Anne.

“She’s really good with money,” Tad bragged, helping himself to one of the tea sandwiches Kendra had set out on the desk. “Considering what I make, it’s a good thing.”

“You’ll make more,” Lisbeth assured him. “He’s going to be the next Stephen King,” she predicted.

“But I don’t write horror. And speaking of horror, my parents as well as Lisbeth’s are divorced, and we’ve got a lot of exes and steps, and some of them aren’t talking to one another. How do you work around that?”

“We’ll find a way,” Anne told him. She usually did, although sometimes it was a challenge.

She could see her sister, over at her desk, trying to hide a smirk and tried to forget the time she’d pulled aside an ornery grandma who hated her grandson’s bride and was making a ruckus. Anne had threatened to lock her in the church broom closet if she didn’t behave. Elder abuse, not one of her finer moments. The bride was grateful, though.

“Let’s talk a little more about the big picture,” Anne said, ignoring Kendra.

An hour later they’d made a good start. The bride had given Anne a clear idea of what she wanted. She’d also given her a check.

“When you have a chance, go to the website and download our timetable and checklist. You’ll find them both very helpful,” Anne said. “I’ll get some ideas together and email you a few helpful links.”

“Great,” said Lisbeth. She smiled at her future husband, and he grinned back and took her hand.

“Man, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” he said.

“It took both of us a while to decide,” she confided in Anne. “We don’t want to end up...”

“Like our parents,” he finished. “I don’t want to spend a bunch of money on a wedding just to end up in divorce court.”

“You’re not spending anything,” his bride said, her voice slightly condescending.

His cheeks flushed. “Well, I’m paying for the honeymoon.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can hardly wait to see where that’ll be. Tukwila probably.”

The flush deepened. “Hey, I’ve been saving, too.”

Oh, boy, here was a chink in the armor. Financial inequality could be a recipe for disaster. Anne hoped they’d also been saving for premarriage counseling.

“It’s okay,” said his bride. “Someday, when you’re really successful, you can take me to Italy.”

If they lasted long enough.

But what happened after the wedding wasn’t her responsibility. She couldn’t promise a couple a perfect marriage. Her job was to create the perfect wedding. And that she could do.

She was feeling happy about her calling in life until Laurel Browne walked into her office. And Laurel wasn’t smiling. Which meant that soon Anne wouldn’t be, either. Mothers of brides should be caged until after the wedding. Well, okay, not all of them, just some of them. Laurel in particular. Why was she here? She didn’t owe Anne money, and any question she or her daughter had at this point they could ask via phone or email.

Anne forced her lips to turn up at the corners. “Hi, Laurel. What brings you here?”
I wish I didn’t have to ask.

“My daughter has a new idea. She saw it online. Or read it in a book. Or something.”

“Oh, boy,” said Kendra under her breath.

“Sit down.” Anne took a seat behind her shabby-chic desk and motioned Laurel to one of the chintz chairs across from it.

“I think I’ve been more than reasonable,” Laurel began as she sank into the chair.

Compared to what?
Anne schooled her face into a supportive expression.

“But I draw the line at goldfish swimming in vases on the tables at the reception. What am I supposed to do with all those goldfish afterward? And what if one of them dies and...floats? That’ll be appetizing for our guests.”

“I do see your point,” said Anne. This happened sometimes. Brides spent too much time on Pinterest and pretty soon they wanted to incorporate every idea they saw into their weddings.

“Well, I put my foot down. I had to. But...” That was as far as Laurel got. Her face crumpled and her eyes were suddenly awash in tears. “We’re not speaking. My daughter and I are not speaking,” she repeated on a sob.

Oh, dear. Now Anne knew the real reason Laurel had come to the office. She didn’t need a wedding planner. She needed a shrink. Or just a sympathetic ear.

Anne reached across her desk and laid a comforting hand on Laurel’s arm. Kendra, thinking in practical terms, placed a box of tissues in front of Laurel and murmured, “I’ll get some coffee.” And with that she disappeared, leaving Laurel in Anne’s capable hands.

Capable as she was, seeing Laurel’s meltdown unnerved Anne. Her own mother-of-the-bride mantle was still new, with no rips or tears, but here was Laurel, living proof that anything, even something as small as a goldfish, could rip that mantle to shreds.

Everyone had mother-daughter disagreements, as she well knew. She and Laney certainly had when Laney was growing up. There’d even been a time when they weren’t speaking. The fact that it was short-lived hadn’t made it any less horrible.

Anne had said no to Laney staying out all night after her senior prom. Of course she’d been accused of being the meanest mother on the planet, the only mother unfeeling enough to ruin her daughter’s big night. Anne had insisted Laney come home after the post-prom cruise, threatening dire circumstances if she didn’t. Voices rose to the point that Anne was sure someone in the neighborhood was going to call the police. Anne had the last word. Literally, because then the stony silence fell.

It turned out that Laney’s life wasn’t ruined, but an entire week of Anne’s was when Laney stopped talking to her. Cam convinced her to cave and Laney to apologize and life finally settled back down. But now, listening to Laurel, Anne could still remember that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the irrational fear that she and her daughter would never speak again, all over a prom-night curfew.

Mother-daughter relationships were a complicated mixture of love, loyalty, irritation and resentment, and there was nothing like a wedding to stir that pot. Seeing Laurel sitting here in her office weeping gave Anne the uneasy feeling that she was looking at the Ghost of Wedding Future. No, she told herself. She and Laney might have had their differences over the years—what mother and daughter didn’t?—but she was no Laurel.

“We never fight,” Laurel was saying. “This is not like my daughter.” She looked at Anne with tear-drenched eyes and a trembling lower lip. “What should I do?”

Anne sighed. “Let her have the fish.”

Laurel dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Chelsea’s out of control, Anne. I can’t keep giving in to every crazy thing she wants.”

“Sure you can,” Anne said gently. “I know it all seems a little silly to you, but it’s something she really wants. And honestly, a few fish won’t cost much. We’ll handle it so you won’t have to worry about what to do with them after the reception.” Anne had a couple of friends with ponds. They’d love more goldfish.

Laurel blew her nose. “Fish, Anne. It was...the final straw.”

“I know,” Anne said. “But think of all the presents you’ve given your daughter over the years, all the birthday presents, the Christmas presents, graduation gifts.”

Laurel sniffed.

“This is the most important gift, maybe the last big one, you’ll give your daughter. You want it to be special, to be what she really wants.”

Laurel bit her lip and nodded.

Kendra returned bearing coffee in a ceramic cup with the company’s logo on it—two entwined hearts dusted with confetti. Laurel took it and stared into it as if contemplating whether to drink the coffee or try to drown herself in it. “You’re right, of course.” She frowned at the cup and set it on the desk. “This is all becoming so...stressful.”

“Don’t worry. We’re here to make it as easy as possible for you,” Anne said.

Now Laurel did something she hadn’t done since she’d first walked into Anne’s office with her daughter. She smiled at Anne. “Thank you. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I have a daughter, too,” Anne said, “and we’re planning her wedding right now.”

“Good luck with that,” Laurel said cynically. She sighed. “I just want Chelsea to be happy.”

“That’s what we all want for our children.”

“She doesn’t always know what’s best.”

“They don’t,” Anne agreed. “But they have to live their own lives, and after a certain point, all a mother can do is guide her daughter.”

Laurel nodded sadly.

“The fish will be lovely.”

“Yes, I suppose they will.” Laurel frowned. “What if they die?”

Worse things had happened at weddings. Anne decided to keep that bit of information to herself. “Trust me,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”