17
Ama
JUNE
Mom stays for three weeks this time. She asks about my dating life only once a day, which is a new record for her. And she asks about Elliot only twice.
At the end of three weeks, she’s found a nice rental a few blocks over from me, and a week after that, she’s found a nice fiancé a few years older than me.
“He’s not her fiancé yet, but I’m sure it will only take her a few months,” I clarify to Mar over drinks. I signal for another martini. We just finished a very rough wedding—minister in a car accident, hungover bridesmaid, and a broken reception hall A/C—and are in need of alcohol.
Mar scrutinizes me over the top of her mezcal margarita. “Is this the youngest she’s gone for? Twenty-nine?” When I nod, she says, “Is that weird for you? Like … do you need therapy now?”
“If I didn’t need therapy before, I’d probably need it now, yes.”
Mar thinks it over. “Have you asked her why she does this?”
“Why she can’t just be alone? Or why she can’t just date a person without involving Kay Jewelers?”
“Both, I guess. I’m sure it’s the same answer.” Her phone dings, and she digs it out of her pocket. “Okay, Michael is free. Do you want to meet him?”
Michael is Mar’s new guy. I jerk my head enthusiastically. “Tell him to come here. I’ll beat it after half an hour or so.”
“You don’t have to. We can move to that booth.”
I shake my head. “No offense, but that sounds terrible. I definitely don’t want to be a third wheel on a Saturday night.”
Mar makes a face and texts Michael where we are. “So,” she says as she pockets her phone. “Are you meeting people? Do you need to get laid?”
They are two very different questions, and I parse through my brain’s reactions to both of them. “No, and yes, but not yes please.”
She stares into her drink and swirls the ice. “How long has it been?”
“Okay, one,” I say, taking my new martini from the bartender, “I’m terribly busy, and yes, that’s a valid excuse. And two, you know that I’ve been with guys since Elliot, so don’t act like I haven’t.”
“Two people. Both more than a year ago. Both of them you claim to have butchered.” I wince and she rolls her eyes. “Not like, their bodies, but the date.”
I nod, gulping half my drink. The first was a hookup and nothing more. I couldn’t come. And not for lack of trying. And the second—we had to stop in the middle because I was crying. I told him through tears that I didn’t know why and it was fine, he could keep going. But to his credit, apparently it was a turn-off.
“Yep, I butchered them into a thousand pieces.”
“Have you thought about … I dunno, dating?” She smiles brightly at me, like a toothpaste ad.
“You know I don’t do that,” I say quietly.
Mar snorts. “Allow me to condescend briefly, but Ama, you’re twenty-six. You don’t know what you don’t do.” When I frown into my glass, she says, “You did do that once.”
“And look where it got me,” I murmur.
I think back to the Gordon wedding. How I truly thought I could keep it casual. How it wasn’t until after he’d rocked my socks off on a couch in a back room that I realized I wanted to go home with him. How I’d said things I couldn’t take back.
And in the afterglow, he’d looked at me like no one else had ever in my life. Like he agreed. Like my words meant something to him, instead of just pleasurable mumbling. It made me question if it was just mumbling, or if I’d meant it.
It would have been simple if I could have just called it a great hookup and moved on. But it was wedding season by then. And I was seeing him every weekend, and every weekend my resolve dwindled from “Don’t do it again” to “Casual could work” to “Define casual.”
I’m determined to never let that happen again.
Mar is watching me, so I say, “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see someone. I can’t even think about guys right now with all the weddings I have. Which reminds me, I need you on January thirteenth.”
She pulls out her calendar. “Where’s the wedding?”
“The Four Seasons.”
“The hotel? Or Total Landscaping?”
I snort. “Don’t pretend I didn’t double-check ten times.”
“Is this a new one?” she asks, plugging the date into her phone. When I nod, she says, “Are you okay taking on more work?”
I wave my hand. “I’m fine.” But my leg bounces on my bar stool. I couldn’t say no to Ginny and Dustin. They’re so freaking cute. He was going to propose to her at the Disneyland castle, but got nervous and did it over a turkey leg in Adventureland by accident.
Michael arrives. When Mar jumps up to greet him, I see he’s at least 6′4″ with dark brown skin and many, many muscles—and oddly familiar?
“Ama!” he says.
I’m speechless as Mar looks between us.
“Mar, you’re dating … one of my ex-stepbrothers,” I say.
Michael laughs. Mar’s mouth opens, and I see her doing the incest math in her head, trying to figure out if this is weird.
“Um, Mar is also one of my ex-stepsiblings,” I clarify for Michael. He thinks it’s funny. Mar isn’t there yet. “He’s not related to either of us,” I tell Mar. “Chill.”
She wearily orders another drink, and we all catch up for a few hours. I feel like a proud matchmaker even though I did absolutely no work here.
When they head out, I say I’m going to stay for one more drink. I look around, checking out the one a.m. clientele at our favorite trendy bar. Some guys are my type, but none are interesting to me. The only one I’m considering going to talk to has long black hair and full lips, and when I realize what—or who—I see in him, I close my tab and go home alone.
Hazel is in town the next week. She’s done filming, but she’s called back every so often for pick-ups and postproduction magic, so while she’s here we’re going to knock out a few things. We’re four months out, so we’re really cutting it close on ordering invitations, but thankfully I have a few calligraphers who love me. I need to make sure Hazel’s friend the designer is on track too. I haven’t had my hand in the wedding dress/suit business aside from glancing at designs, but so far the bridal party is almost settled.
We meet at Weatherstone again, and Hazel is ripping a maple bar into bite-sized pieces as she says, “Okay, so two things. First, the bachelorette party.”
“Yep,” I say, opening my iPad notes. “Is there anything Chelsea needs help with?”
Chelsea is Hazel’s best friend, and the reason Jackie and she met in the first place. She’s going to be the MOH on Hazel’s side.
“We want you to come,” Jackie bursts out. “Please, please, please.”
I paint on a smile. “You two are so sweet.” I swallow. I have practice with this, but it’s hard when it’s Jackie and Hazel Renee.
“There’s a spot for you on the plane, all expenses paid,” Hazel says. “And I happen to know that you don’t have a wedding that weekend.” She winks at me over her coffee cup.
I grin down at my hands. They’re going to Vegas for three nights. The whole party is flying out of Sacramento so Hazel’s friends can see the city.
“You’re right. I don’t have a wedding—yet.” I look between both of them, my throat dry. “I just have a policy against it. I used to get invited to bridal showers and bachelorettes a lot, and it ended up making things too messy.” I think of Whitney taking me off weddings, brides texting me all day and all night, couples running ideas by me after we’d already nailed down themes and colors. Mess.
“Oh, come on,” Hazel moans around her donut. “You’re already breaking all the rules with us anyway. I mean, you’re making a reception hall from scratch. Let’s be messy together.” She laughs, and it sounds warm and inviting. Like happy memories.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, sipping my cold brew with regret.
I know I won’t be going. I’ll find some reason. It’s not professional, and it raises the question: are you working for them, or are you their friend? It’s not an easy answer.
“What’s the second thing?” I ask, changing the subject as fast as I can.
Jackie gestures to Hazel, and Hazel finishes chewing. “So I got approached by Fabulous Dream Weddings.”
“The show on TLC?” I ask. That show is almost as big as Say Yes to the Dress and Bridezillas. Whitney was almost on it once with one of her weddings, before scheduling issues arose.
“Yep. They want to send a crew out and film the whole thing! It would be a lot, I know, but I have to say, I think it would be amazing to get some exposure on you, on Elliot. On everyone in Sacramento working so hard on this.”
Hazel’s eyes sparkle at me, and I think quickly.
“Wow. I think the biggest thing is, what will they have control of?”
Hazel shakes her head with a frown. “Nothing.”
“Right, but those shows only work if something is going wrong, right? So will they have us stage things or try to create drama where there isn’t any?”
“That’s a good point, Hay,” Jackie whispers to her.
Hazel hums in understanding. “Let me chat with my agent and see if she can negotiate something. She’s really pushing for it. And Jackie and I think it’s a great idea!”
She places her hand on Jackie’s, and I see the moment Jackie fails to immediately smile in agreement before catching herself.
Hmm.
I think it over. It would be good coverage, for sure. My biggest hesitation is that there are some behind-the-scenes things going on that I’d rather not have a camera crew for. The expense and effort to clean up the space next door is extreme. I’m already running into roadblocks that I’m not sharing with these two, so to explain it on camera sounds like a nightmare.
“I’d like to talk to a producer before I agree to it,” I say. Jackie nods, but I can see Hazel stumble a bit before nodding too. I think she’s a bit surprised that I would object in the first place. Sorry, Hay. You hired me to be in control of this wedding.
I take them to meet a few of my calligraphy artists over the next few days, and we do a walk-through at the ballet studio one more time with my full renderings, showing where all the rental equipment and floral design will be. (Thankfully, the bats have been relocated.)
After talking with Hazel and her agent to get more information about what the film crew would need, I get on a call with Bea, the episode producer for Fabulous Dream Weddings, and talk it out with her. I want to make it clear that the week of the wedding is mine.
“I guess my biggest concern is the staging needed. I watch the show enough to know that storylines have to be crafted in order to make for good entertainment,” I say to Bea on Sunday night after a long wedding day with a rogue ringbearer—a pet German shepherd who ate the ring.
“Of course,” Bea says. Even as her voice soothes me, I can tell she’s doing ten different things while taking my call. “I think what we’re most interested in is the ‘dream’ aspect you’ve created here. From what Hazel and Jackie have said, it sounds like you have whipped up something truly special.”
She’s seducing me, and it’s working. “I appreciate that. I think what I need from you going into this is transparency, and also to know that the wedding takes precedence. There are four events I’m coordinating for that week alone, so I want to know that if I tell you ‘No crew’ or ‘We can’t refilm that,’ that it would be respected.”
“I hear you. I think we can make that happen.”
When we hang up, I know I’m biting off more than I can chew, but I can’t help myself. This would be huge. Even if TheKnot.com and People don’t come through with a highlighted article, this is still amazing exposure. I email Hazel and Jackie to let them know Fabulous Dream Weddings is on. I sign a contract and everything.
I hire Mar to officially be my second-in-command. I’ll be making less on this wedding because of it, but it will be worth it to have someone watching the film crews when I can’t. Of all my other ex-stepsiblings, Jake the drama nerd is the one who has actually tried to stay in touch. Our parents split up six weeks ago, but he’s emailed me twice since then to see if I need any assistants. I start hiring him weekly to train him for Hazel and Jackie’s. Sarah, who’s worked with me before, albeit reluctantly, almost turns me down before she finds out I’m paying more than last time.
Things are moving smoothly. The film crew arrives for establishing shots. With some hesitation, I agree to let them into the reception space so they can get a sense of the “before” in our before and after. I practice for my first “talking head” ten times with Mar, trying to get a sense of what I want to say about Jackie and Hazel. When Bea’s crew sits me down in the Rose Garden, the only place I stutter is when they ask me how the couple found me.
“Jackie’s boss—the senator—the senator found me. Sorry, maybe we shouldn’t say she’s a senator? Did Jackie disclose that she works for the government? Sorry.”
I fumble my way through.
Eventually they decide to stick with asking Jackie that question.
The bakery is happy to stage a cake tasting to pretend as if they haven’t already chosen their cake—a bourbon caramel and cardamom crumb brown butter cake, topped with almond Swiss meringue buttercream. (Yes, I did taste it, and yes, I did expire.) I go with them and reenact the entire experience, waiting for Jackie and Hazel to re-create the moment they disagreed about coconut or no coconut. Hazel turns to me just as she did three months ago and asks, “Ama, what do you think?”
I pretend to think about it and answer, “Coconut can be a turn-off for guests, but it’s your cake.”
We wrap filming, and I head to drinks with Mar. We drink a bit too much, because it’s all going well.
Better than I could have hoped.
The first thing I think of is that it’s odd that my phone is on at all since I put on Do Not Disturb from midnight to seven a.m.
The second thing I’m aware of is that Mar stayed the night and didn’t make it to the second bedroom. Her hair is in my mouth.
But the third thing—
“Hello, this is Ama,” I try to say, as if I’m the kind of person who is definitely awake by—I check the clock—7:02.
“Hey.”
The third thing is that hearing Elliot Bloom’s voice first thing in the morning is still my most favorite thing in the whole wide world.
I jolt up in bed.
“What’s wrong?”
Mar moans and rolls over next to me.
“I woke you?” he asks.
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought you went to the gym at six thirty.”
I sigh. “That was … three years ago, Elliot. I don’t even have that membership anymore.”
“I wouldn’t have called if I thought you were asleep—”
“Why are you calling?” I snap. Have I mentioned I’m not a morning person?
“The hurricane in the Caribbean last week,” he says. I narrow my eyes and try pinching my arm to make sure this isn’t a dream. “Have you heard about it?”
“Um, kinda?” I kick off the covers, and Mar asks who I’m talking to. I shush her. There’s a noticeable pause. Then:
“It will likely cause a supply shortage of most anthuriums.”
Finally all the pieces click together. I run a hand over my face. “How bad is it?”
“Unsalvageable.”
Mar sits up, holding her head. “Do you have eggs?” she says, voice thick and raspy from the alcohol.
“Stay here,” I whisper to her, then move out into the kitchen. “So, what does that mean?” I ask him. “Are you saying it’ll cost more money?”
He pauses again before replying sharply, “How much money do you think you have in the budget to undo a hurricane, Ama?”
I huff. “So no anthuriums. At all.”
“The only ones available are the pink and whites, the ones for Jackie’s bouquet. But Hazel would have to compromise.”
I rub my temple. I don’t like that option. Hazel and Jackie’s personal styles are so different. I just know she wouldn’t be happy with her flowers.
I start opening cupboards so I can make coffee. “I think we need to redesign,” I say to him.
Mar calls from down the hall, “Are you making coffee?”
I ignore her and listen to Elliot breathing. “Fine. Call me to schedule an appointment when you’re really awake.”
He hangs up. I squint at the phone, trying to figure out why he’s the mad one. Clearly he called me at seven a.m. expecting this.
Mar stumbles out in yesterday’s clothing. “Why … must you be so loud?”
I throw a K-Cup at her head.
The interesting thing about having a film crew invade your wedding prep is that they love bad news. So much so, that now we are headed to Blooming to make Elliot tell Hazel and Jackie the bad news in person.
I wish I took pleasure in torturing Elliot, because this is going to be delicious. As one of my vendors, he got the email about the film crew, and he already signed his waivers and returned them to the production team. But I don’t think he expected to actually be on camera. I told Bea that the florist meet was probably not going to be re-created and offered her other vendors instead. But now …
Now someone is coming at Elliot with a powder brush, claiming he’s “shiny.”
“Get the f*ck away from me,” he says, as politely as he possibly can.
I sigh, swaying on my feet a little. No time for donuts this morning. No time for coffee, no time for breakfast. We’re in panic mode, in a way. The cameras are elevating it a bit, but a full floral redesign at the three-and-a-half-month mark isn’t good. Especially when the floral design is as important as this was.
Bea checks in with me. “Hazel and Jackie are in the parking lot. My crew is holding them until we’re set. You didn’t give them any heads-up, right?”
“Nope,” I say. “I hope it’s dramatic enough for you.” I smile weakly and brace my hand on my stomach.
“I’m sure it will be. What’s the matter with you?”
I look up and there’s two of her. When they solidify, I wave my hand. “I just didn’t have breakfast.” I pointed Mar toward the eggs and stove, but I hurried to get ready and come here.
“Here.” She slips a bar out of her fanny pack. I see the word chocolate and I give her a thumbs-up.
I’m starting to wonder if daily donuts have ruined my blood sugar. Maybe I’ve been hyperglycemic this whole time, but I wouldn’t know because I’ve had one thousand grams of sugar every morning for the past ten years. (I do not know how many grams of sugar there actually are in donuts, nor do I care.)
My fingers shake, and I lean on the counter for a second to ground myself. Bea is announcing something to the crew, and I’m barely listening as I rip the wrapper open with my teeth.
A hand appears in front of my eyes, and suddenly, with a strong slap, the bar is on the ground. “What are you doing?”
I blink, my pounding pulse making up for low blood sugar momentarily. Elliot is standing in front of me, furious.
“Eating breakfast?” I try.
He bends to pick up the bar, and then shoves it in front of my eyes. “Chocolate and peanut butter bar,” he says.
Heat floods my neck and jaw. “Oh. Right.” I can’t meet his eyes as he slams the bar in the trash can.
“What is wrong with you? Didn’t sleep?” There’s a bite in his words, like it’s an insult or something.
“I haven’t eaten. I’m—I’m sorry.” I feel shame and mortification bubbling in me. I’m not even sure if my EpiPen is in my small bag here or my tote in the car.
Bea’s voice is close to me. “We good?” she says. “We’ll send the girls in?”
“No.” Elliot’s voice is harsh. “I need two minutes.” He steps away from me and to the front door. He yells at a random crew member, “And sit her down in that chair!”
I hear the bell above the door. Just before it closes fully, I think Jackie says, “Elliot! Where are you going?”
As someone sits me in a chair and offers me a water bottle, I look past the dahlias in the window and see Elliot crossing traffic, heading for Rite Aid.
I can’t look anyone in the eye. I’m ashamed that being hung-over might be contributing to all this, but it’s also ten a.m. and I am an adult woman who didn’t feed herself.
The speed with which Elliot returns has me concerned that he didn’t pay for his items, because I know how he feels about self-checkout. He drops a banana, a box of breakfast bars with no nuts, and a bottle of yellow Gatorade on the counter next to me. And I know what you’re thinking: he is clearly angry with me if he has bought yellow Gatorade and expects me to say thank you. But alas, yellow Gatorade is my favorite. And I hate that he saved me from eating peanut butter and remembered my favorite Gatorade, all in one day.
I start with half the banana, then move on to a bar, washing it down with half the Gatorade. When I’m finally conscious again (albeit quite bloated), I nod to Bea, allowing her to stop stalling.
There are two cameramen, one guy with a boom mic, and Bea crammed in here with me and Elliot. The guys take their positions, and Bea’s assistant, who’s outside with Hazel and Jackie, gives them the signal to come in.
I stand and smile, hiding my Rite Aid haul behind the counter and hoping I’m not as pale and sweaty as I feel.
Jackie and Hazel come in and say hi to Elliot, hug me, and Jackie whispers, “Are you okay?” I nod into her shoulder.
I know Elliot isn’t going to do well with the cameras here, so I take lead. “We have some bad news to chat about.” The guy with the boom mic steps closer to me, hanging the fuzzy cloud over my head. “Elliot has informed me that the anthuriums that we want and the amount of them we need are not possible.”
The camera on Jackie and Hazel picks up their perfect reaction to the news. Jackie sucks in a silent breath, eyes jumping to her fiancée. Hazel’s mouth turns down, her weight shifting to the side. It will make for great television.
“Okay,” Hazel says slowly. “Okay so … so we do less? Or …”
I gesture to Elliot, and he frowns at me. The boom mic swings over to him, and he visibly glares at it before speaking.
“We could move forward with the pink and white anthuriums. Those are the ones that were going to primarily be Jackie’s flower. But the burgundy ones? The green leafy ones? They’re both out.”
Hazel is fully in her element when she lets out a dramatic sigh and rubs her forehead. Jackie threads their fingers together and rubs Hazel’s side, looking around for a life raft. I clear my throat.
“It’s absolutely possible to redesign based on the pink and white anthuriums. But I don’t think it will be anything near what you want.”
I see Bea nod her head from behind the cameraman focused on me, and I feel like a true reality TV star.
“I think we need a redesign,” I continue. “I think we refocus on what we now know, and try to reshape how we feel about the floral arrangement.”
Hazel lifts her head, and there’s a childlike disappointment there. Like her Christmas has been canceled. She gestures for me to continue.
“Clearly we have already decided on the dance floor. I think it’s stunning, and it will be a real centerpiece for the reception. I think we’re good to move forward there.”
Jackie jerks her head in agreement, and Hazel bites her lip and nods.
I’m a bit thrown, actually. I haven’t said no to Hazel Renee yet. And even though I’ve done my best to treat her like any other client so far, it feels like this is quickly becoming too personal for me. Her disappointment and disdain for this meeting is showing, and I’m under a microscope to make it better.
“Elliot, can we move into the showroom and start talking through some ideas?”
He leads the way, and one of the cameramen quickly follows. There are cords and equipment everywhere, so it takes a moment to get set up in the back. We have to reenter and pretend it was all one shot.
Before we’re even ready to roll again, Elliot is pulling down vases and moving around the room. Bea quickly sends a camera to follow him, which he visibly hates.
Bea gives us the go-ahead to continue, and I take lead.
“So, what we wanted when we agreed on the floral design before was to properly serve both of you. Jackie is classic and elegant. Hazel is modern luxe with a lot of character. We settled on a rare flower in different shades to tie you both together, but maybe that’s not how we’ll land this time. We can open our minds.”
Jackie is hanging on my every word, and Hazel is—quite honestly—acting like a brat. I’m praying this is for the cameras’ benefit.
Elliot already has several varieties from the Stem Bar to play with, and just as I should have assumed, one cameraman is trained on only him. He’s fascinating, he’s handsome, and he’s actively doing something.
He looks up, pulling some pampas grass through his fingertips like feathers. “I’m going to start from a clean slate—mentally, creatively,” he says. “It’s a fall wedding. Fall weddings are wheaty and muted. In terms of classic design”—he gestures at Jackie—“there’s blush pink and pampas grass.”
He pulls together a muted pink flower with the pampas grass, creating a beautiful bouquet that speaks to Jackie’s style. I can even see it in her eyes that she would be perfectly happy with her flowers that way.
“What I also think of for fall is burgundies. Wine. Warm cozy colors,” he says. He pulls together the pampas grass with dark red dahlias. He adds a lemon leaf and ties it off with a fraying rope instead of a ribbon.
It’s close to Hazel, but it’s not quite there. He knows it. I’m opening my mouth to ease the tension when Hazel puts up her hands.
“I’m sorry. Can we stop rolling?” She looks at Bea with a firm expression. One of the cameramen tilts his camera to the floor. “I had no idea I was coming in here for an ambush, so I’m just a little shaken.”
My brows draw together. An ambush?
Bea steps forward. “Of course. You know, when working with reality TV, a lot of stuff isn’t staged. It’s real emotions coming forward. I’d love to continue on while we’re feeling raw, but I understand if not.”
“Hazel. Jackie,” I say. “We don’t have to make any decisions today or in front of cameras. We can do a reenactment like we did at the bakery.” I can see that Bea would like to persuade us to do it live, but I cut her off. “Elliot, while the cameras are off, do you have anything to add?”
He scratches his chin. “What’s happening is uncommon. It’s rare that I have this kind of problem with supply, but it’s an international shortage. What I can promise you is that this wedding will be beautiful. There’s already a killer design in place, and now it’s just trying to complement that.”
I show my agreement. Hazel is taking deep Zen breaths.
Hesitantly, Jackie says, “I would be more than happy with something like this.” She puts both of their sample bouquets together, showing off how good they look.
“But I won’t be,” Hazel says bluntly.
I see Jackie’s jaw snap shut, and Bea’s fingers itch to film this.
“There’s an arrangement I’ve been wanting to try for some time now,” Elliot says slowly, “but I haven’t found the right reason to play with it.”
He opens his phone and I see his thumbs flip to Instagram. “I don’t have any of the materials here at the shop,” he continues, “because they’re rare.” His eyes flicker to me, and I get it. He’s seducing her into this. Rare. The right reason. They’re buzzwords Hazel will latch onto.
He hands Hazel his phone, and I see the tension leave her brows as she swipes.
“Queen protea is the centerpiece. They’re elegant but impactful. And best of all, there won’t be any supply issues. We could even fill the dance floor with them with the budget we’ll save from not importing the anthuriums.”
Hazel shows Jackie the pictures, and I can see that Jackie is trying. It’s not quite her style. I look at the images of the eight-inch cup-like blooms that look more like shrubs than flowers, and I know Jackie sees the spiky leaves and the teeth-like centers.
“Would you do separate bouquets for them again?” I prompt Elliot.
He nods and takes his phone back, pulling up an arrangement that makes Jackie sigh in relief. It’s a bouquet of blush pink roses clustered around a white queen protea with eucalyptus leaves scattered throughout.
“I like this, babe,” she whispers to Hazel.
Hazel looks up at me, then to Bea and the cameras. “Okay. We can roll. Can we take that again, Elliot?” she says, like a true starlet.
