Ready to Wed (9 page)

Chapter Ten

Get Ready to Wed
by Dakota Halifax

Keeping Your Cool

There are several tips to keeping your cool on your big day. The first, and most important in my book, is organization. A well-organized event, no matter how many unforeseen disasters occur, goes better than unplanned madness. If you can’t afford someone like me, divide the tasks up among your most trusted friends and family. Whatever happens, remember to keep it all in perspective, take deep breaths, and tackle one thing at a time.

Now, as for the actual heat: If you’re getting married in the middle of summer, make sure to ask about air-conditioning when you book the chapel or reception hall. Keep hydrated. Every bride likes a dramatic exit, but the ambulance is never a good way to go.

I’ve seen a lot of meltdowns over the years, but if you know what’s coming in advance, it can help avoid disaster. If your fianc
é
doesn’t understand the importance of place settings, cake toppers, or flowers, don’t blow up. Not all grooms get it, and some simply don’t know how to express exactly what they want. There are also some who don’t care about wedding details at all, which doesn’t mean they don’t care about you. Some have very strong ideas of what they want, and they might not match the image you’ve had in your head since you were a little girl. You can find a happy medium no matter what side of the spectrum you and your significant other land on, and there are people who will notice and appreciate all the planning and effort you put into the event. When your mother, your mother-in-law, one of your bridesmaids, or anyone else tries to take over, inhale a deep breath, count to ten, and then calmly remind them that it’s your wedding. Things don’t always work the way you want them to. Getting angry doesn’t fix it, so again, deep breaths and a little perspective about what—and who—is really important. You’re stressed, and that’s cool, but then you lose your temper and yell at the friends, family, and workers who are trying to make your big day awesome, and that’s not cool. Smile and remember that you’re getting married. And after that, there’s cake and presents. Oh, and happily ever after living with your groom, of course. That’s the whole point of the awesome day after all, isn’t it?

…

I think that Tess meant for me to read about taking deep breaths, compromising, and how getting angry didn’t fix anything, but my eyes kept focusing on the last few lines. Surely she’d forgotten that part of it—the part promising cake and presents and a freaking groom. I tossed the
Las Vegas Beacon
on Brendan’s coffee table, dropped my head in my hands, and tried the deep breathing thing.

The fact that I had to take anger management classes hit me all over again, making it seem like a weight had been placed on my shoulders. Lately I had been feeling angrier than usual, but really? I’d be in there with people who got into bar fights and such, and I hadn’t even gotten to throw a punch. Seemed unfair to say the least.

Cupid came over and dropped his head onto my lap as if he knew I needed him. After the whole apartment debacle, I’d found myself at Brendan’s door. Last night I’d been so comfortable, and while I’d still hesitated to let myself in, eventually I decided it was better than having a breakdown somewhere public enough that Phoebe would somehow find out and put it in print.

My phone rang and I glanced at the display. I answered when I saw it was Valentina, crossing my fingers that she wasn’t having another hair emergency. Then again, maybe focusing on solving someone else’s problems would make me feel better.

“Hey, I was hoping I could email you my engagement photos so you could help me pick which one I should go with.”

“I’d be happy to.” I pulled my laptop out of my bag. The wifi was secured with a password—should’ve known Brendan would be into security in every aspect of his life. The chime on my phone went off, letting me know I’d gotten her email. I tried to look at her photos, but I hated to give an opinion on them when I couldn’t see them on a bigger screen.

After a moment of going back and forth, I asked Valentina if I could call her back in a few minutes. Then I texted Brendan, explaining I was at his place to check on Cupid and was hoping to sneak in a little work but needed his wifi password. My phone chimed within a couple of seconds.

Brendan: I’m starting to think you’re a spy.

For the first time in hours, I actually smiled.

Me: Damn, my secret is out. Considering I can’t even break into your internet, I’m not a very good one, though. This leaves me no choice but to use my impressive physical strength. I know a hundred ways to kill a guy simply by looking at him, so we can do this the hard way or the easy way.

Brendan: I have no doubt that’s true. I know I should just give in now, what with the impressive strength and all, but I prefer a challenge.

Me: Of course you do. How about an exchange? Chinese food for the password, and I won’t have to kill you. Tonight, anyway. No promises after.

Brendan: Deal.

As soon as I logged on, I pulled up all the pictures and looked through every one. They were beautiful, and her hair was perfection, thanks to Raquel’s magic with the scissors and hair dye. There was only one thing missing, and I kept waiting for it to show up.

Beautiful scenery that contrasted with the couple’s outfits—check. Airbrushing that made them look flawless but not inhuman—check. Cute poses with hand-holding, intense gazing, and kissing—check. But a hollow hole opened up inside me, just like at Erika’s wedding. While I’d never admit to having favorite brides, of course I did. This was Valentina. Fun, easygoing, and super nice despite her social status Valentina. The girl I’d bonded over Thai food with on our very first appointment because we’d both played soccer in high school and could quote
Bend It Like Beckham
ad nauseum. It should be different with her. But as I stared at the images on my screen, I got the same feeling I’d get looking at a nice painting at a museum. Totally detached, no desire to squeal and think about how that couple was one step closer to committing their lives to each other.

I amped myself up for the call before dialing Valentina’s number and forced as much enthusiasm into my voice as I could. Regardless of my inability to get excited, my ability to see a picture and know if it’d work well with the invitations she’d picked was at least there. We chose one for the paper, one for the wedding invitations, and I suggested printing and framing a few to hang up at the reception.

When she wanted to talk about other wedding details, I told her I had another appointment to get to and that she should set up an office appointment for next week, hoping by then I’d be back to normal and be the wedding planner she deserved.

Once I hung up, sitting still become impossible—I could practically feel the to-do list on my phone glaring at me, reminding me how much I’d left incomplete for the day. All of the rest of the items were wedding-related, though.

I looked around the room. Compared to Stoner Boy’s apartment, the place was clean, but it could still use some straightening. Brendan wouldn’t be home for hours, the last place I wanted to go was my office, and if I headed to Jillian’s I’d only have the fact that I had no space of my own shoved in my face, along with another side of guilt over her having to deal with it and me. So I lined up Brendan’s remotes, took his mail to join the other pile on the counter, and put it all in a neat stack. Then I found a bowl for his fruit. Once I got started, I couldn’t stop myself.

Right now, cleaning up was the only thing I could control, so I was going to control the hell out of it.

…

I woke up to the sound of a key sliding into the door, and it took me a moment to realize I was on the couch at Brendan’s. It was the best rest I’d gotten in weeks, too—the cushions more embraced me than conspired to toss me off. Cupid lifted his head when Brendan came in, but then dropped it back onto the arm of the chair he’d claimed—they were already buds, but apparently not enough to interrupt his nap to greet him.

Brendan tugged his tie loose and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt as if a second longer might cut off his supply of oxygen, and glanced around. “Did you…clean my place?”

When I was in the middle of “being in control,” I wasn’t thinking that I might also be crossing a line. I slowly sat up. “I had a bad day, and then I just started organizing and scrubbing, and one thing led to another, and…”

Oh my gosh, I’m a total weirdo!
So many times, I’d marveled at Brendan, the kid I knew all grown up, but as he arched his eyebrows and rubbed his fingers across his stubbled jaw, all I could think about was that he was a hot guy I’d shown my crazy side to. I’d gone through his mail and cupboards and scrubbed his counters to a sheen you could see your reflection in. No doubt he was rethinking this whole arrangement and wondering where the girl he used to toss around a football with went.

“I’m sorry. This haze that blocks my common sense settles over me when I start organizing or cleaning—it’s a sickness, really. Most of the time I try to ease people into it, but I haven’t gotten my hands on any lemon cleaner in a while, and you had the good stuff under your sink.” My attempted joke didn’t come out quite like I wanted it to, especially since his eyes were now on mine and my throat went totally dry. “If you want your key back, I totally understand.”

“Are you kidding me?” Brendan stepped forward and skimmed his fingers over my shoulder. My lungs forgot how to work for a moment. “If you’re going to clean, I’m never letting you leave.”

The elephant-size panic sitting on my chest eased. “I ordered Chinese, as promised—I was too hungry to wait. But there’s a ton in the fridge, all clearly labeled so you don’t have to guess which one is which.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed my shoulder and I wasn’t sure if the flutter that went through my tummy was exactly friendship-esque, but I didn’t want to overanalyze and ruin the moment. He tossed his suit coat and tie on the arm of the couch, and I got a whiff of his cologne.
Man, he smells good.

On his way to the kitchen, Brendan reached down and petted Cupid. I heard the beeps from the microwave, and a couple of minutes later he came back in holding a steaming white-and-red box. “You even cleaned out the fridge.”

“Just did a little wiping down and rearranging,” I said, shrugging like it was no big deal. Seriously, what had gotten into me? It’d worked so well, had shut everything else out for a while. Enough I’d even taken a nap, something I hadn’t done in months.

Brendan sat on the couch and leaned back. “It must’ve been a really bad day. What happened?”

I sighed. “It all started with getting into a bit of a disagreement with a coworker at the paper. Everything just barreled downhill after that.”

“Define ‘bit,’” Brendan said around a chunk of Szechuan beef.

I hesitated to even say it out loud, wincing again at the stupidity of the situation. “While there was no physical violence, I did say I wanted to punch her, so now I have to take an anger management class.”

Brendan laughed, and I frowned at him.

“It’s not funny. Apparently she can print whatever she wants in her column, and I not only have to take it but also have to go learn how to control my anger—like I’m some kind of ticking time bomb!”

I could tell Brendan was trying not to laugh again.

I ran my fingers down the seam on my pants. “The stupid thing is, I do feel angry lately. Little things get to me more. It’s not like I need classes, or that I’d take a swing at someone, but…” I picked at a stray black thread. “Well, that’s not true, because not even an hour later, I was ready to hit a twenty-two-year-old stoner who made it clear he doesn’t want me as a roommate. What does it say about me that I’m in the same place as him? Or let’s be honest, that he’s got it more together than I do?” I picked at that damn thread again and again, even though it refused to break free. “My life’s a total mess.”

Brendan took my hand, curling his long fingers over the top of it.

It made me feel like a girl, the way I never wanted to when I was younger, but suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad thing now. But I refused to cry. “I don’t even
like
weddings anymore.” My voice shook—not a tear, though, let the record show. Then before I knew it, I’d laid out everything about meeting Grant, from standing on the beach on my wedding day, feeling completely off at my job now, to Grant having a kid and not knowing what to do about it.

Brendan wasn’t fighting a smile anymore—he actually looked like he was at a total loss, a sort of wide-eyed deer-in-crazy-bridezilla-headlights.

“I’m not that little girl you used to know anymore—the one who was tough and didn’t need anyone. I started falling in love so easily somewhere along the way. I’d never let the guy know I did, but I’d fall hard, and when things didn’t work out, I’d hide myself away and close myself off. Tell myself to never care about a guy again. But then I would, and the cycle would repeat. But with Grant I thought I’d found someone different—thought it was going to be okay this time. But here I am, acting crazy now that we’re not together, and I can’t decide if that means I’m supposed to give him another chance, or if I’ll never be me again, or what.”

Brendan’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times.

“See. Total mess.” I threw my head back, sank against the couch cushions, and wished for the power of invisibility. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t given up my apartment to move in with Grant. I could be having my breakdown alone, where no one would find out I wasn’t as tough as I appeared to be.

Brendan’s warm fingertips touched my face, wiping away liquid on my cheek, which meant I’d lost the battle to not cry. And that only made me want to cry more. “No, you’re not the girl you used to be,” he said, and I opened my eyes to see his face near mine. “You’ve built your own business, you’ve opened yourself up, and you’ve gotten hurt. But it’s better than not engaging, trust me. You think I didn’t see how much you hid, even back then? How you flinched every time anyone mentioned your mom? Or how you’d send me home before you cracked and showed any emotion, telling me you wanted to be alone?”