When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (28 page)

“Conner,” I say, abruptly halting my pacing. I’m burning a hole in the floor.

“Yup?”

“Can you look here for a second?”

I know hearing me nag and bemoan the wedding planner troubles is not exactly a new activity, and I
know
it’s among Conner’s items of most-hated things, but I need to talk to someone. I tried to call Lara up to ask for her wise advice (she’s usually really great about this kind of stuff), but all I got was her voicemail.

To be honest, though, I want to talk to Conner about this. He should be involved in the wedding, too. If he can’t really plan it all that much, he can at least be privy to the information of what’s going done in Wedding Land,
especially
if it’s really messy stuff—like a wedding planner who is losing my confidence (and maybe even my parents’ money) as the days roll by.

Conner doesn’t budge. I fear he didn’t hear me, which means he might not have heard half of what I’ve just spilled. I suppose, if I judge his short and distant, single synonym
 
replies, he hasn’t really been listening all along, anyhow.

“Conner?” I whine loudly. “Please. Can we talk for a second?”

“Claire,” Conner says in an equally whining tone. He sets the opened magazine on his chest and, with a hand propped up under his head, looks over to me. “How many times have you griped about Melissa?”
 

I purse my lips, mentally trying to count the innumerable times.
 

“Exactly,” he says. “I don’t understand why you don’t just fire her.”

“Ugh.” I return to my pacing. “We’ve been
over
this, Conner. God, aren’t you listening to me? I can’t just dump her! I mean, I’d be left with all the work. And then there’s the matter of the nonrefundable deposit! I can’t do that to my dad. My
mom!
”

“You’ve got to trim the fat somewhere, babe,” he says, opening up his magazine once again. “And this woman has done
nothing
but cause you anguish. More work than you probably would have had without her.”

“She has helped in some ways,” I say. “And she’s not totally wretched. I just think…well…”

I haven’t told Conner the
real
and latest reason for my blowing up this evening over Melissa. I’d told him about her texting in the middle of our meeting, about the whole not coming with me to the boutique tomorrow, about how she seemed more interested in her spa vacation than our own wedding. I hadn’t told him yet that the major reason for my graying hair over Melissa Cresswell of MC Design and Coordination is because she’d told me that she had made taste-testing appointments for wedding cakes with three different bakers in town. This is after I’d told her countless times that Sophie and Katie’s Kitchen had it all handled.

“Can you believe that?” I say after sharing the news with Conner. “She actually
told
me at the meeting today, which, by the way, I was
so
miffed with her to begin with that she didn’t want to meet at Sophie’s place. I mean, seriously? How difficult would it be for her to move her ass one neighborhood away? Right?” I shake my head disconcertingly.

Conner has since closed his magazine and set it aside on the couch, his eyes set on me.

I stop pacing, right in front of the television, and say, “She actually
told
me that she
wants
—can you believe that?—
wants
me to choose from three of the bakers she has on her ‘Preferred Vendor List.’” I mock the last part with quotation fingers. “She was so…
final!
As if I have no choice!”

“Did you put your foot down?” Conner asks, looking just as peeved as I.

“You bet I did!” I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Told her that all of the food and the cake were taken care of. Period. No discussion.”

“And?”

“And she gave me the three business cards, told me to at least meet with them, and then…that was it!”

“That was it?”

“Yes!” I throw my hands up. “Said the appointments are all set and ready to go. It’d be
ruuude
not to go, she said. Told me I just need to show up! Ugh. Frickin’ A…”

Conner shakes his head slowly. “Claire, forget it.”

“Forget what?” I plunk helplessly down onto the floor. “You actually think I should
go
to these meetings? And…” I rapidly shake my head. “What is she doing making appointments like this? Does she own my daily planner or something? She’s just so…so…damn inconsistent! I’m going to blow a gasket over her, Conner. I mean it. I’m going to blow.”

Conner retrieves the magazine and says, “I think this is the tipping point, babe. Let her go.”

“So inconsistent,” I continue in this angered vein, not really paying much attention to Conner’s steady advice. “Sometimes it’s, ‘Make your own appointment, Claire.’ Other times it’s, ‘What works best for you?’ And today it’s, ‘Oh, I took the liberty of making the appointments for you.’ Three friggin’ appointments! For a baker I don’t even
need!
” I cover my face with my hands and groan loudly.

Schnickerdoodle appears in my lap and nudges at my hands. I take a peek at him and pull him close.

“I’ll say it once more, Claire baby. Fire her ass.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I think you’re right.” I look down at Schnickerdoodle. His happy, scruffy little face is looking up at me, he’s tilting his head side to side, telling me in his own doggie way, “I love you, Mom. But Dad’s right. Cut the lady loose!”

“Conner,” I say in a soft voice.

“Yup?” He looks engrossed in his magazine.

“Can
you
fire her?”

Chapter Eighteen

This time it’s for real. I totally knew the Vera Wang perfection that I tried on the first time around was the real deal. But now, as I’m standing on the same pedestal in the same bridal boutique where I first tried on the most perfect gown, wearing a gown that actually fits me and will soon be mine to take home, I’m in awe. Sheer awe. I can’t get enough of the special moment, as I stand up straight and proud and look at all possible angles of myself in Vera’s best!

“This is it,” I say to the girls, including Jenna, the boutique assistant. “It fits.” I carefully stroke the bodice of my gown. Did you hear that?
My
gown. “It fits in every way…” I look back at the girls, and I know I’m beaming. It feels so right and so perfect. Like the bride and groom, this dress and I are a match made in heaven.

“It definitely works better than the larger size,” Sophie points out. She takes a swift glance at her watch. I know she’s pressed for time. It’s a miracle I was able to steal her away from her new café. She’s now a full-time shop owner, and not only contending with the behind-the-scenes duties of a bakery, but also managing a very hopping café up front. It’s only been open a week now, but Sophie’s busier than any of us really could have imagined (and that’s saying a lot, because we all expected wonders). I had to plead and beg and grovel for Sophie to spare an hour on the busiest morning of the week to come be a part of the final wedding-dress-choosing moment.

“It’s perfect, right?” I ask Sophie, looking down at her as she picks up random sections of the flowing gown.

“Perfection,” Sophie says with a sigh. “You look like an angel.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’ve got to run?”

With a roll of her eyes, Sophie says, “You and I both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. But, I
do
have to run, dear.” She scrunches up her face apologetically.

“Who’s even covering for you?” Robin asks Sophie.

“Her mom,” Emily answers, “and Chad.” She smiles. “And me, eventually.”

“Gotta run!” Sophie says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Swing by later today if you have the time. And, seriously, Claire, you look like a dream in that gown.”

As Sophie whisks by and makes a dash for the door, I hear a faint barking sound, like that of a puppy.

I peer back over at the girls. Robin’s found a comfy spot on a large wingback, poring over bridal magazines. (Hmm, maybe she’s getting ideas!) Lara’s sitting on the edge of a loveseat, typing madly on her BlackBerry. (Probably work-related since she’s an executive now.) Emily’s fiddling with her camera and snapping random shots of me—for documentation. And Jackie is—

“Jack?” I ask, taken aback at the scene before me.

Jackie, sitting cross-legged on the plush carpeted floors, has both hands deep in her large, beige Gucci Joy Boston bag. It’s an oldie but a goodie of hers. I’ve told her that whenever she’s tired of it she can retire it to my hands.

“Jack?” I repeat, but she’s still playing around with something in the large handbag. “What are you doing?” I ask slowly.

“There,” Jackie says in a sweet voice. She looks up at me and is smiling. “What?”

“You’ve had that bag for years,” I point out. “It’s no longer fascinating. What’s inside it?”

Emily immediately pulls it open with one finger and out pops a small puppy head.

“Omigod!” I gush. I almost fly from the pedestal. I love puppies—almost as much as I love getting to try on
the
wedding dress.

“What the hell?” Emily asks, pulling the bag open wider. “It’s a dog!”

“How on earth are we just now seeing this?” I ask, totally flummoxed. “Has it been in there this whole time? And since when did you get a dog, Jack?”
 

“Oh,” Jenna, the boutique attendant, says in a shaky voice. She timidly walks up to Jackie. “There’s a strict no pets policy here. I’m sorry.”

Jackie says to never mind. “There’s nothing to get all huffy about. She’s, like, trained and all,” she says to Jenna. “She won’t leave this bag.”

Jackie busies herself with the depths of the bag again. Jenna still looks nervous, but apparently uneasy about getting into a disagreement with a friend of a customer who’s dropping quite the sum on a Vera Wang, she retreats in hesitation.

“She’s a
puppy!
” Robin exclaims. She tosses the magazines aside in lieu of getting a look at the fur ball. “She’s really all trained and everything?”

“Oh, no,” Jackie says. “She’s not a puppy. She’s full-grown. But trained, yeah.”

I’m surprised it’s actually full-grown. There’s no way! The dog could easily be held in one palm.

“Dammit,” Jackie mutters, rifling around the bag. The small dog is sitting there with ease, completely fine with Jackie’s poking about. “Bella’s getting into my cigarettes.” Jackie tousles the fur on top of the small dog’s head. “No, no, Bella,” she scolds in a very even-keeled voice.

“What is it?” Lara asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“It’s a Teacup Yorkie,” Jackie says. “Cute, huh?”

Cute? It’s the most precious little Teacup Yorkie (and the only one, actually) I’ve ever seen,

“Adorable!” Robin says. She makes a motion to retrieve the fragile-looking dog from the bag, but Jenna sidles up again.

“Uhh, please,” Jenna shakes out. “Really. Store policy and all.”

Jackie tucks Bella back into the bag and says, “A gift from Andrew.” She sets her pack of cigarettes in her lap and arranges the bag so Bella can’t leap out.

“Is it all right for her to be in there?” I ask. “I mean, that’s a handbag, Jack.”

“Yeah, Bella’s got her blankie in there and everything.” Jackie’s expression becomes deadpan. “She’s super tiny, anyhow. How much room could she need?”
 

I give a “that’s true” face, and Jackie says, “It’s only her temporary carrier until the new one I ordered comes in. Did you know Louis makes a to-die-for dog carrier?”

“What
doesn’t
Louis make?” Robin says dismissively.

“That’s an interesting gift-choice…” Lara says. “Did you even want a dog?”

Jackie laughs as I turn back to Jenna, just after I take one quick look at myself in the tri-fold mirror and let Emily snap another photograph. “The gown. I’ll take it,” I tell Jenna in a low voice, as Jackie proceeds to tell the story about how she became a dog owner.

“So it’s like some kind of ‘fill the void’ gift?” Emily asks, perplexed. “Are you that lonely, Jack, that you need a pooch?”

“Of course not!” Jackie cries. “Well…yeah… I guess I wouldn’t mind Andrew being home a little more, but a dog?” Jackie makes a long face. “Andrew said he’s been feeling really sorry about leaving me alone so often. So…apparently a dog is the fix-all.”

I’m about to ask if Jackie’s okay with that, when she says, “She’s really adorable, though, and so likable and sweet. I can’t just
not
keep her, ya know what I mean?” She pulls a stick of gum from her handbag and passes the pack around. “But honestly, how dense is Andrew?” She pops the piece into her mouth. “This gift just proves how
unaware
he is of my needs.”

“A dog’s a big responsibility,” Emily points out.

“Bella?” Jackie asks, aghast. “Something this small cannot
possibly
be a big responsibility.”

Robin titters and says, “That’s what some say about babies, and let me tell you that little Rose, even at her tiniest inside of me, was a
big
responsibility.”

“Well don’t think of getting rid of Bella before talking to me,” I tell Jackie. “I’ll take her before you ever think of taking her to the pound or something horrible.”

“I’ll keep her,” Jackie says in a high-pitched voice. She rubs Bella’s head.

Another attendant, whom I’m informed is the seamstress, arrives and is about to begin pinning when I tell her to wait. I can’t believe I forgot! My Jimmy Choos!

“Em?” I ask, turning quickly to her. She’s read my mind and has my sparkling heels in-hand.

“Aww,” the seamstress says. “Yes, of course.” She looks a little sheepish as I slip them on. “We don’t want your dress to be too short, now do we?” She snickers almost nervously, and I still can’t help but beam as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I’m so bridal!
Martha, you’re right,
I think to myself.

Jackie’s voice is singing on in the background—about not having “the first frickin’ clue about doggie care.” I try to tune it out for a second more, thinking,
Martha, you are completely right. Oh, this wedding gown…

“The one!” really does exist. And I’m wearing it!

***