My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

I want to ask about the woman Claire originally hired to plan her wedding, someone I’ve worked with many times before and who is also much nicer than this new woman seems, judging by the scowls she’s flashing around.

But instead of voicing my thoughts out loud and making things awkward, I say, “Nice to meet you, Meredith,” extending my hand in greeting and smiling warmly. “Looking forward to working together.”

“Hmm.” She hums through pressed lips, examining my dirt-lined and chipped-polish nails. Meredith’s facial expression doesn’t budge as she slowly takes my hand and barely touches fingertips as though I’ll contaminate her with actual filth before letting go abruptly. “So you’re the flower girl Claire has been going on and on about? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tone of her voice sounds like it’s anything but, and calling me flower girl grates my nerves, but I keep the smile on my face as she taps her watch thoughtfully. “We do need to see the arrangements. That is, if you have them ready, Miss Andrews?”

She spits out my name as if it’s sour on her tongue. I can’t say that’s the first time that’s happened, but considering I don’t know her, it seems like an intense reaction.

I’ve played this game before, though. I laugh as though she’s told a ridiculous joke. “Oh, of course, I have everything ready. Are you up to speed on everything Beth and I discussed?” The implication that she’s not up to snuff is laced through the question just as bluntly as her insinuation.

Claire jumps in, defusing the polite dominance battle with her effervescent warmth. “Sorry for the ambush, but I didn’t want to share Beth’s story without her permission. You know how that is, I’m sure.” Her acknowledgement of who I am and my family’s recent drama in the media isn’t said to be mean or ugly but simply the truth. Meredith, however, seems to be fighting a smile, though I’m not sure her lips would truly lift even with utter bliss.

Cut back on the Botox, maybe?

“Is Beth okay?” I ask, concerned.

Claire looks around, checking for press, though we’re the only ones in the shop. She whispers so quietly that I mostly read her lips. “She’s pregnant and can’t travel. But everything’s staying the same as we planned. My media partner suggested Meredith to handle the actual event.” She gestures to Meredith, who’s looking at Claire congenially, well aware that she’s stepping in to save this wedding while simultaneously avoiding the fact that she’s padding her own resumé.

“Well, I suppose it’s good that you’re available,” I say sweetly to Meredith. She hears the barb as I intended. You must not be that good if you weren’t already booked and could step up last-minute.

“Let’s take a look at your work, shall we?” she clips out. I have no doubt that whatever magical floral design I’ve created, she’ll find fault with it.

It’s been only a few minutes, but I’m having a visceral reaction to Meredith, something she seems to return tenfold. I’m not for everyone, I’m aware of that, but I’m simply not sure what I could’ve already done to warrant her reaction to me. She, on the other hand, seems pretentious and catty, cold, and snooty.

Janey appears at my elbow, and I smell the lovely bouquet before I see it. Claire focuses on it immediately and gasps out, “Oh, my God, it’s perfect! Exactly what we talked about—a taste of the islands, right here at home. Can I hold it?” She reaches trembling hands out, and Janey transfers the bouquet to her as though it’s a precious newborn baby.

Claire buries her nose in the roses, sniffing deeply. “Mmm. Perfect.” And then she looks at me, that happiness in her eyes and smile on her face that I live for. It’s the stamp of approval I was hoping for.

“I’m so glad you like it,” I say encouragingly.

“I love it,” Claire agrees, her eyes dropping back down to the flowers as though she can’t bear to not look at them.

Meredith taps a red nail to the screen of her tablet. “While certainly pretty, that’s only one bouquet. The contract calls for several arrangements. Are the rest ready? We are on a tight timeline.” That last bit is said to Claire, a reminder that they have somewhere to be other than my little flower shop.

“We’ve already made arrangements with Casa Del Mario,” I offer Claire and Meredith. “I don’t want them premade so that they’ll be perfectly fresh and ready. As for tonight’s, they’re already boxed and ready. I assure you, they’re each just as lovely.”

Claire shakes her head, her smile saying that’s not needed. “They’re gorgeous, Abi. Truly, thank you.” She’s slow to hand the bouquet back to Janey, who’s holding up a vase with a special vertical box to allow for transport without bruising the delicate petals. Once the flowers are out of her hands, she switches back into get-shit-done mode. “Meredith, do I have time to call Cole while we load up? We’re still working on our speeches for tonight.”