When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (3 page)

Mom is a physician’s assistant. She’s the sole breadwinner because she’s been a divorcee since I started college, so she can’t afford to skip out on work. I’m fortunate, though, that she’s been able to come up to help organize wedding details a few times since the news of the engagement.

“That’ll be nice,” Conner says. He turns off the shower and proceeds to towel dry. “What’d you two chat about?”

“Oh. The usual. Wedding this. Wedding that. She’s been a real help. You know, she may have found my wedding dress!”

Conner looks at me incredulously. “You still haven’t chosen one?”

“It’s not easy,” I whine. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with picking out the
perfect
ensemble. You’ve got it easy.”

He makes a
psh
sound and rapidly rubs the towel over his head.

“You do!” I insist. “Just a tux. Or a simple suit. And the worst of it is you have to pick a tie. But that’s also my job, really. Coordinating colors, styles, patterns…” Then a thought occurs to me that I’ve yet to even consider, because, as I’ve said before, planning a wedding is a big deal, and it seems like no amount of magazines, or checklists, or planning notebooks can help you think of everything. “What do you think of bowties?”

Conner gives me a deadpan look, as expected. I tell him to hear me out, and he goes back to rubbing out the water from his hair.

“Claire,” he says finally. “I don’t know about a bowtie. I know we’re going kind of 1920s old school or whatever for the wedding theme, but a bowtie for me? For
Chad
?” He laughs loudly. “I don’t know, babe. Could look ridiculous.”

I decide to brush it off for now and move on to the next matter that’s been weighing on my mind rather heavily since I hugged Mom farewell at the airport.

“Something else we chatted about,” I start up. “The venue.”

“What about it? We’re still doing the Mansfield Mansion or whatever it’s called?”

“Chanfield Manor,” I correct. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Conner raises his eyebrows. “Changed your mind?”

On the contrary. Chanfield Manor is one thing I’m certain about for this wedding. That and the groom, of course, and my four bridesmaids and maid of honor, and the vintage theme. Everything else is a come-along-as-it-does kind of thing. Chanfield Manor is this brilliant mansion up in the picturesque hills of Queen Anne. It’s in the neighborhood where all the richie-rich folks live. It’s more than a hundred years old and sits perched up on a hill, overlooking the beautiful city and Elliot Bay. It’s so stunning! Almost the second our plane touched down on return from Paris I called up Chanfield Manor and booked the place. They asked for a date, and that was when the wedding date marathon began.

Conner and I spent a few months trying to pinpoint the ideal date for our wedding, and we finally agreed on the seventh of June. Imagine a fresh, summer wedding, not too warm, nor too chilly. Outdoors. Sunshine filling up our day, an unforgettable dusk reception. Maybe even a dusk ceremony, too. All outdoors…

Then somewhere between spending countless hours on handmade Save-the-Dates with the perfect June date stamped on them and the arguments with both sets of parents over summer vacation, school terms, and ideal times to take off from work, Conner and I moved the wedding date to sometime in July. Then another time in July. Then once more back to the seventh of June. Until we
finally
decided on the sixteenth of August.
No
going back.

When August the sixteenth was agreed upon (and I told Conner to tell his twin brothers, Daniel and George, that they’d better find a way to be back from their study abroad session no matter what), I took my latest copy of
Martha Stewart Weddings
and filled my Judy’s Arts and Crafts shopping cart with all new Save-the-Date products. The second time around with that craft project I had had a vision and knew how to improve the design, so that was sort of a blessing in disguise.

Those replacement Save-the-Date cards were hand-stamped with the most darling bird image, and that was when I became adamant that “vintage” and “bird” would somehow become the theme for every aspect of the wedding. Maybe birdcages as part of centerpieces? Embossed on various paper products? Oooh! Name the reception tables after birds? There’s an idea!

Then I have to ask, should I use the Latin name of the bird species, or go with the everyday-English name that people would know? Then again, I’m not sure many people would know (much less be too keen on) why their assigned table was called “Rough-faced Shag.” Then again, opting for the Latin sister “Phalacrocorax carunculatus” isn’t much better. People could misconstrue that and think “phallus” or something. No. No, I’m not sure
that
much bird innuendo should be used. I could talk to the planner about that when I meet with her on Wednesday. God. See what I mean? This wedding stuff is overwhelming!

“Claire?” Conner asks. He’s waving his hand in front of my face.

“Huh?”

“You were saying?” He pulls on a pair of jeans. “You were talking about the venue. And?”

“Oh! Yes.” I snap back to the conversation at hand. “So get this.” I take in a dramatic breath both for effect and because, in all honesty, this is some of the most upsetting wedding news with which I’ve had to contend. “Mom said that my dad really wants a church wedding.” Conner doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Dad told Mom that she needed to talk to me about our venue choice while she was here.” I pull Schnickerdoodle further up onto my lap. “Told her that she needed to tell me that it was a church wedding or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else…nothing. Mom said that since Dad’s paying for, well, pretty much the
entire
wedding, we should probably just appease him.” I roll my eyes.
 

“And what does your mom think of this?”

I lean back on my elbows and say, “She thinks it’s typical Dad. His usual BS for no reason.”

“I didn’t know your dad was so religious.” Conner looks at me with an inquisitive face.

“He’s not. That’s what makes it all so…so ridiculously absurd! I don’t know why he’s acting like this.”

Conner’s shaking his head in a small and discrete way, his hands crammed into his well-worn jeans’ pockets.

“She said Dad is adamant about it.
Adamant,
” I emphasize.

“And if we choose to stick with this Mansfield Manor?”

“Chanfield,” I correct. “If we stick with Chanfield for the ceremony then, yeah, he may not pay for the wedding.”

“All of it?” Conner looks like he’s beside himself.

“I don’t know.” I cave my shoulders, feeling as forlorn as I had been when Mom hastily delivered the bad news practically as she boarded the plane. “At least the venue portion, maybe…”

I’m not sure, but knowing my Dad, who is so unpredictable when it comes to petty things like this, he could pull the plug on the whole thing.

“Forget it then,” Conner says dismissively. “If all that stands in between your father paying for this wedding is a lousy venue, then who cares?”
 

I follow Conner into the kitchen, and Schnickerdoodle trails along happily. “Conner, it’s not a lousy venue. It’s a dream venue.”

“Dream venue or not,” he says, “this wedding’s already estimated at forty grand.” He pulls open the cupboards and rifles around, setting boxes and bags on the Formica countertop.

“Thirty-two,” I say softly.

“Thirty-two, forty, how about ten,” he says. He tears into a bag of snacks. “It’s all the same. Too. Much.” He tosses a handful of crunchy snacks back, and I can’t help but sneak a few for myself.

Normally I’m pretty careful with what I eat. I totally understand the concept of snacks, but healthy ones. Like
baked
Cheetos and chips, or reduced-sugar Oreos, or fat free chocolate pudding cups. And, if I must have a soda (and since diet tastes bad, and I’ve read that artificial sweeteners are the precursor to the modern day plague), only half a Coke is suitable. Halving it is like a diet soda, right? Half the calories is better than all of them.

“I say we just do as your dad wishes on this one,” Conner says with a full mouth.

I hand back the box. “But it’s my dream location for a wedding, Conner.” I can’t let this one go. Giving up the ideal June wedding date was one thing, but having to spend so much more time on new Save-the-Dates was another. Even trying on scores of dresses, none of which were ideal, and one that had left a few unsightly scratches on my arms, was not as bad as letting go of Chanfield Manor. Chanfield Manor is ours—it has to be!

“Claire,” Conner says. He pulls in close to me and tips up my chin with a salty finger. “Baby.” He smiles. “I love you, and I don’t care where I marry you.” He kisses me with even saltier lips. “As long as I marry you, I don’t care. At Chesterfield, at a church, in our living room—I just want you.”

I steal a few more snacks. “I love you, too. And I
also
just want to marry you.” I crunch. “But a church wedding? You do realize that all of that drapery I’ve been working on will be for nothing, don’t you?”

Conner shrugs, then jumps onto the couch, flipping on the television. “We can still use it at a church.”

“Conner,” I moan, “I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as I am.”
 

He continues flipping through the channels.
 

“You realize that when we’d finally set a date I booked that place, don’t you?” I say.

“You mean for the June date?” he asks, staring at the screen.

“Yeah, and then I had to change it to August.”

It had been a hassle to change it, but luckily the later date was still available, and our deposit could be transferred. The only hiccup, though, was that the time slot for the August date was narrow, and I had to take all that was available. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all I could manage. Since changing the date, yet again, was not in the cards, my hands were tied.

“Conner,” I repeat. He looks over at me. “I paid a deposit for this place, and I can’t get it back. What am I going to do?” I scratch my head.
 

“Maybe your dad isn’t being that serious. It’ll all work out…” Conner doesn’t say anything for a while now, and when I suggest that maybe I can finagle a way to use the venue for a reception only, he beams and agrees that that’s a splendid idea. He then returns his attention to the screen.

I groan and head back into the kitchen. “I don’t even want a church wedding,” I say more to myself than to my TV-focused fiancé.

“Neither do I,” he replies to my surprise.

“And it’s so dumb, you know?” I continue in this vein. “
My
dad, insisting on a
church
wedding. Mr. Mid-Life-Crisis who goes and cheats on my mom…suddenly finding God…or just putting on a front for his new girlfriend.” I start to return the boxes and bags to the cupboards. “I bet that’s it. He’s just showing off for her. Ugh! Can you believe this? Can you?”

Conner’s obviously tuned me out at this point. But I’m rambling to myself, anyhow. “My father. Sheesh!” I cry. “What is this all about? Oh, and, get this—my mom said that it has to be a
Lutheran
church. I mean, I know I grew up going to a Lutheran church and all. It shouldn’t be that bizarre a request.” I fill Schnickerdoodle’s water dish. “To bring it up all of a sudden, though, and to be so strict about it. Dad probably hasn’t been to a service in a decade or more.”

I pause for a moment, long enough to watch through the window the neighbor’s cat briskly leap into another neighbor’s yard. “And, he’s a serial dater!” I exclaim. “He’s always out with a different woman, and Mom says sometimes they’re even younger than me. Younger than
me!
So this whole church business…I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.”

I poke my head around the kitchen corner and catch Conner tapping on his cell phone. “Can you imagine?” I shriek.
 

Conner quickly looks in my direction, a look of “What were we talking about?” on his face.

“You playing that silly game of yours?” I swiftly ask, pointing to his cell phone. “Angry Birds or that word game?”

“Words with Friends,” he replies. His eyes unlock from mine and return, once again, to the screen. “It’s highly addicting.”

“Obviously. But honestly! Can you imagine?” I wag my head. “Younger than me!” I repeat my words, just as taken-aback. “Can you imagine your father dating someone under thirty? I mean, the girl can’t even legally rent a car without Daddy’s signature, and he’s dating that—that—infant!” I pause for a thought. “Maybe that’s why she’s with him.” I laugh a little. “I think it’s absurd, that’s all. My father being all holier-than-though and making me have a church wedding when he’s out schticking schoolgirls. It’s ridiculous.”

Conner tosses aside his cell phone and looks up at the other entertaining screen. “I can imagine it, babe.” He shoots me a knowing glance.

True. How could I forget? Conner’s father isn’t all that different from my own. After divorcing their wives in the name of mid-life crises and needing to “find themselves,” they’ve both taken up with younger—
much
younger—counterparts. Conner’s dad has actually tied the knot with one of the pubescent, fake-blonde bimbos—a well-off gym franchise owner in LA. The day my father decides to exchange vows with one of those floozies, it’ll be my end. But first, I’ve got wedding venue troubles.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” Conner says, relaxed. “We’ll figure it all out. Just talk to your mom again about it. Maybe even talk to your dad directly. Make absolute sure the Channingfield place is a no-go, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Chanfield, babe. Chanfield.”

***

Later that night, while Conner’s playing some loud and violent video game where, if I’m not mistaken, his character, who is packing heat, exited a strip club, hopped on the back of another dude’s chopper, and proceeded to break into a prison (seriously?), I’m relaxing in a bath filled with floral-scented bubbles. I’m as happy as a lark—oooh! There’s another bird I can use for the reception table cards! I have a mug of chamomile tea, my blonde, wild curls are pulled up into a bun high on the top of my head, and I’ve got my best friend, Sophie, on the cell phone. Oh the simple pleasures in life…