My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,136
“Here’s the arrangement.” I hold my hands out wide around the purple monstrosity in a ta-da move.
Vi whistles. “It’s perfect. Great work, Abs. Archie, load it up. We need to jet if we’re going to be on time for our meeting.”
He rolls his eyes at her. “Do you even know the address of where we’re going?” Not waiting for her to answer because it’s a rhetorical question, he snaps his fingers, “Of course you don’t. Because why?” He leans his head to the side, sticking his earring-covered ear Vi’s way.
She huffs. “Because you’re the King of Everything.”
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” He points a black-nailed finger at Vi, but then at me and Janey too.
“We didn’t do anything,” I balk.
“Mmmhmm. Not this time.” He picks up the arrangement as Vi requested and calls back over his shoulder, “For reals, you should hit the gym with Court and have your man work out with Ross and Kaede. Let him get to know them.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. “Thanks, Archie!”
“Kisses,” he says through the rolled down window, already behind the wheel to drive Vi to their appointment.
My phone rings next, and I hustle over to my work table to grab it. “Hey, Mom,” I answer.
“Abi, I just wanted to say thank you again for the flowers for the fundraiser luncheon. They were lovely. Several people said so, and I was quite proud to say they were your work.”
Mom’s the best. She really is. When I started SweetPea, I wouldn’t do the flowers for Dad’s office for a while. It felt too much like special privilege and I wanted to earn my way. But Mom had instead offered opportunities to show my creativity in a different way.
With her encouragement, I’d donated dozens of arrangements to every charitable event and gala for over a year, getting my name out there, not as an Andrews but as a floral designer. People had seen my work firsthand, and when they called on me for paying jobs, it’d felt like my marketing and exposure were paying off, not my name.
Today’s luncheon flowers, a dozen centerpieces Samantha delivered this morning, are a sign of that. I still donate arrangements here and there, but more often, my services are contracted for the galas and events, and I donate money to the fundraiser in support instead of my talents.
That’s what Dad taught me. Do what you love, do it well, and pay it forward.
“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate that,” I say with a flush of pride. The tinkling bell up front sounds , and though Samantha will take care of the customer, I tell Mom, “Oh, I have to go. I’ve got a bride coming in soon.”
“Of course, dear. Just wanted to say how proud I am of you. You and Lorenzo are still coming over to dinner this weekend, right?”
I nod, though she can’t see me. “Yes, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you too. ’Bye!”
The click gives me permission to laugh. For all the craziness of the one dinner we had with my parents, they seem particularly excited to have Lorenzo come back over.
At least they gave us a solid week of solitude to ‘honeymoon’ at home after our vows.
“Abi, your two o’clock is here,” Samantha says, fighting a smile.
I glance to the clock in surprise. No, I’m not wrong. It’s barely after one thirty. “She excited?” I ask Samantha quietly.
Samantha widens her eyes and holds up her finger and thumb a good inch apart, whispering, “Little bit.”
I smile and wash my hands to go greet our eager bride.
In the front, I hold out my hand to the blonde who’s sitting at our consultation table. She’s dressed impeccably, her hair and makeup flawless, but her heeled foot is bouncing like she needs to pee.
“Abi Andrews. Welcome to SweetPea Boutique,” I tell her.
She smiles and shakes my hand. “Sadie Mason, soon to be Sadie Yi.” I can see how happy it makes her just to say her future name, and her joy is infectious.
I sit down at the table. “Tell me about you and your fiancé, Miss Mason.”
She waves a hand at me. “Oh, you can call me Sadie. You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together. I was in Courtney’s class.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” I apologize, looking at her more closely. She doesn’t look the least bit familiar, though. Our school wasn’t humongous, but there were definitely kids in my own grade I didn’t know, so there’s bound to be a bunch