Liar's Guide to True Love (13 page)

Thursday

The next morning I am sleeping in again, and am woken up by a text from Nick.

I can
not
do this two mornings in a row. I text back:

Nick’s reply:

I am disappointed that we can’t make morning coffee two days in a row, but he’s going to call right?

My cell rings. “It’s later,” Nick says. “Are you still at home?”

“Yeah, I had a late night.” I chuckle.

“Quite the party girl, aren’t you?” He pauses. “I had a lot of fun talking to you last night. Can I take you out for that porterhouse on Saturday?”

It always kills me to have to turn down dates during this time of year. And especially now, with him. “I would love to,” I say earnestly. “But I can’t. I have a wedding. You know, I’m a guest at a wedding.” Duh, of course I’m a guest. What else would he think?

“Yeah, it is that time of year, isn’t it?” I hope he doesn’t go into the anti-wedding spiel, and he doesn’t. “Are you going with anyone?”

“Oh, you know, I’m sure I’ll share a cab with a friend or two who is also going.”

Nick chuckles. “Good, so no date to be jealous of then.”

“Maybe we can have dinner on Sunday?”

“Sounds good. Then maybe I won’t dread the end of the weekend quite as much.”

By 10 a.m. I decide that I need to get ready for today’s appointments for this Saturday night’s wedding out on Long Island. I check my email—the attorney bride I met with the other day has decided on a December wedding. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for planning, but I’ve done it all in less. I get dressed in one of my go-to daytime LBDs—cap sleeve in a lightweight jersey fabric. I toss a light lime sweater in my Prada, and put on a chunky lime-agate necklace. I throw my hair into a ponytail and put on a touch of eye makeup in less than five minutes. Then I go out to pick up my Zip Car, and before long I’m grateful that there isn’t a whole lot of traffic on the eastbound Long Island Expressway.

It’s odd to be a New Yorker and behind the wheel of a car. Thankfully I actually have a driver’s license having grown up in the suburbs. Kate, for example, got as far as getting her learner’s permit when she was twenty, and then decided it wasn’t worth the hassle of actually learning to drive—“that’s what car services are for, darling.” I occasionally miss driving my own car, especially on days like this when I am not in a rush. It’s a beautiful day outside, and there is no traffic. Of course, I’ve also been stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Friday evenings when it seems like all of Manhattan is headed to East Hampton. And every time that happens I wonder why I didn’t take the Long Island Rail Road instead.

It still takes me a while to arrive at Oheka Castle, and I don’t look forward to having to come back out here tomorrow and Saturday for the rehearsal and actual wedding. But when the bride has second thoughts about the cake flavors, a-tasting I must go. Plus to act as the potential go-between for the bride and the pastry chef. I fully expect my brides to change their minds about things, even at the last minute. Sunflower/Calla Lily Bride’s situation is not at all uncommon. But this weekend’s bride has been indecisive about everything for the past twelve months that I’ve been working with her. And she was engaged for six months prior to that, before all the wedding planning became too stressful and she decided to hire me. The way Indecisive Bride gets to a decision still puzzles me after all this time. Even with all the breathtaking, picturesque areas that the Oheka estate has to offer, she signed the contract when the site director casually mentioned that a scene from an Ashton Kutcher movie had been shot here.

I spot the Bride and Groom in the garden and they wave me over when they see me. I take a guess that they got here early to determine which parts of this vast estate they are going to take photos in, and I am right. The one aspect of this wedding planning that the Groom has been engaged in was in choosing the photographer and developing the shot list. I was glad that at least one portion of the decision making went smoothly, and we were able to book a photographer months ago. Now I find out that the Bride is having second thoughts about where to do their formal portraits before the ceremony. I have planned about a dozen weddings here, and can point out some of the most picturesque spots as well as any guide who gave us a tour. I remind her that they have the entire day, since the reception is not until the evening. They can do shots in the gardens, in front of the castle,
and
inside on the grand staircase that she finds “sooo
Gone With the Wind
” (in a good way). She finds some reassurance at this, and is ready to head inside for (another) cake tasting.

It’s unusual for the cake to not be finalized this late. And it’s worse than I thought. Not only is she second-guessing the flavor choices (she had originally gone with classic vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream frosting throughout and suddenly wants something more “special.” She just doesn’t know what “special” flavor she wants), she has also changed her mind about the design.

Now, cake designs are no simple task at Oheka, particularly for a wedding this large. The Bride had previously chosen a five-tiered cake from their “Platinum” level of designs. It was to be decorated with individually hand-shaped fondant flowers, the majority of which have already been made. The color scheme was to be white on white, very classic and elegant. She is now thinking to have each layer of cake a different flavor,
and
a different color icing, now that she saw an episode of
Extreme Wedding Cakes
or something on the Food Network. (It is times like these when I wish Brides would pull the plug on reality wedding shows).

The staff at Oheka are real pros, and indulge my Indecisive Bride by bringing out a dozen combinations of wedding cake and filling flavors. Chocolate, mocha, lemon, raspberry, apricot, butter cream, and on and on. They pull out the photo books of wedding cakes past that show towering designs in filigree, gold leaf and every color imaginable. This is indulgent only because we have already done this twice before, and it is only two days until the wedding.

Thirty minutes later, I am sick of eating cake (the Bride insists on having my opinion on everything, though it doesn’t seem to help her arrive at a firm decision in any case). She has decided on the cake flavor (sticking with vanilla!), but has decided that each layer will have a different filling flavor. That is easy enough for the pastry staff to accommodate. However, we haven’t begun to (re)review the design options. The site manager informs us that there will be a charge for changing the design at this point, but this doesn’t at all faze the Indecisive Bride—it’s just a drop in the bucket really for a wedding for three hundred guests at a venue like Oheka. One thing that she has decided is that the white on white is too “stodgy,” too boring, so 1990s. I suggest that it is “timeless” and “classic” and that she won’t want to look back at the photos in a few years and have regrets for going with something too trendy. This argument usually works for many wedding details, but this Bride will not be deterred. For someone so indecisive, she also has a stubborn streak. Well, this is why they pay me.

Together we go through photo after photo of various cakes Oheka has done for past weddings, and they mention again how they can do something totally custom. Of course, it would be a rush now, so they may not be able to do something
too
elaborate. Some of these cakes take a week or longer to assemble from start to finish. The Indecisive Bride now has her eye on a cake that has asymmetrical layers, each one in a different Technicolor—magenta, aqua, lime green. Mind you,
none
of these colors is in any other part of the wedding. This was going to be a strictly white on white affair. I remind the Bride of this, and does she really want the
cake
of all things to be the item that stands out?

I leave her to ponder this, and to peruse the photos again while I excuse myself to check the call I missed. Emma has left a voicemail:

“Sorry I missed you the other day, Cass. I’ve been all over New Jersey looking for all the matching nursery décor. You’d think they would have everything at one store, wouldn’t you? Anyway, talk to you soon! Kisses!”

My phone rings as I’m deleting the message. It is my mother of course, since I have not heard from her yet today. She is slightly out of breath and sounding distant, and explains that she and Daddy are out for a power walk, and she’s using that “bluebell” that I got her for Christmas.

“It’s Blue
tooth
, Mom,” I tell her for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, well, I was calling to let you know [pant pant], I gave Shelley Harnet your phone number [pant pant]. Her daughter just got engaged—to a neurosurgeon—and I thought, well, gee, Cass could do their wedding [pant pant]. They’ll want something very traditional, you know, Cass, and not
too
fancy. So you won’t want to give them any ideas too, you know, over-the-top, like that couple who had belly dancers [pant pant].”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I customize the vendors I find according to whatever the couple wants.”

“Yes, well, you know, since these are friends of ours, you’ll want to make sure everything is
appropriate,
yes? [pant pant]” I hear her gulp some water and my father grumbles something about how come she can’t bring her own. Of course I know he is smiling while he says this, since he is more than happy to take care of my mother who has undoubtedly forced him on this walk.

“Mom, if they decide to hire me, I’ll make sure to give them the wedding they want. That’s my job.”

“Yes, well, I gave her your number. I’m sure she’ll pass it on. See how supportive I am of your event planning? Anything to give you some more business, sweetheart.”

I thank her for the referral and then ask her about Emma. Did I miss something, is she pregnant and I am the last to know? That wouldn’t surprise me, but don’t people normally decorate nurseries closer to when the baby will be born? “Oh no, dear,” my mother lowers her voice a bit, I suppose in case the neighbors will overhear. “They aren’t pregnant yet, but she’s trying this Positive Thinking technique that she saw on Dr. Phil, or Oprah, or one of those shows. She thinks that if she gets everything ready it will help her mental preparedness and then she’ll get pregnant.”

I have no firsthand experience. Or even close friends who have gone through this, so “Oh, okay then” is all I can say. After we hang up I get back to my bride, who I see is gesturing animatedly to a cake designer and site manager who nod politely while they look over to see if I am done with my phone call.

I decide to go to dinner with Kevin and his parents that night, partly because I didn’t have an excuse not to, partly because Suzanne wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t, and well, partly because I was just curious. To invite me was so out of character for Kevin, for what our relationship had been.

I meet them at Gramercy Tavern, and intentionally arrive a few minutes late to insure that I won’t be sitting with them alone without Kevin. Kevin and his dad rise out of their seats to greet me, and his mother smiles and says, “Ah, glad you could join us before we were done with our cocktails.” I paste on a smile and for a moment think it’s going to be an evening just like that weekend in Boston.

I almost fall out of my chair when Kevin responds to his mother. “When you run your own business like Cass does, it’s hard to get away sometimes.”

“Oh yes, dear,” she says to me, “do tell us about your little venture. You’re in wedding planning, are you?”

Again, I’m about to respond, when Kevin interjects. “It’s really quite extraordinary what Cass does, mother. She comes up with all the concepts, manages the vendors, and hand-holds couples and their families through it all. Plus she does all the back office work herself—the contracts, the accounting, all of it. Her business has skyrocketed in the past few years, just on family referrals alone, because she’s so good. And we all know how difficult family members can be.”

She looks from me to him and then back at me again. I scrape my jaw off the floor. “Kevin is quite complimentary, Mrs.—”

“Oh dear, call me Angela,” she says to me. “We’ve known each other so long now, haven’t we?” She turns to Kevin’s dad then. “Nathan, let’s order a bottle of wine, shall we?”

A couple of glasses of wine and appetizers later, I’m truly enjoying myself, hearing Kevin’s parents give an update on the accomplishments of his various cousins and family friends. It reminds me of my own family, and reminds me that everyone’s parents just want what’s best for them. His dad gives him a pat on the shoulder and a wink, “You’ve done just as well for yourself as anyone we know, kiddo. Don’t let your mother give you a hard time.”

Angela
offers a genuine smile, and I think that she really is an attractive woman. “And I’m glad you’re not dating those bimbos anymore, darling.”

“Mother…” Kevin says in a warning tone.

She turns to me with a stage whisper, and I do wonder how many cocktails she had before I arrived. “The last time we visited, we ran into this
paralegal
from his firm.” She looks at Kevin sternly and he is looking up at the ceiling. “She practically ran her hands down his pants.” Kevin is shaking his head and I can’t help but start laughing. “These young things these days, are so
vulgar
.” Kevin mouths to me, “That’s not what happened,” but his mother can’t be stopped now. “She was a bottled blonde, wearing underwear for a top.” She pauses. “Oh, but I shouldn’t be airing Kevy’s dirty laundry like this. I’m just so glad, Cassandra, that he’s started looking for class as well as beauty now.” She leans over and puts her hand over mine. I am speechless, naturally, but that’s okay, because she continues, as if recognizing the complete about-face that she’s done from our first (and last) meeting. “Kevin has the career, and now it’s time to get serious about family.”