her that once the baby was born, she wouldn’t remember any of the mixed feelings she had about this.
When she’d gotten off the phone with him, she felt better than she had since the news had broken. (That was how she thought about it, like it was a news story that broke on television, of an awful event like a murder or the death of someone famous and beloved.) She met with Samuel alone, telling Cleo that the flowers needed to be picked immediately, promising that she would stick to her wishes for the white flowers. And she had. And now they were the loveliest part of the day—the hydrangea blooms that were tied to the chairs, the lovely textured bouquets, the potted plants.
Samuel had come to set up the backyard himself, which she knew he almost never did. He’d given her a hug and wished her luck, told Cleo that she looked beautiful (even though she was still in her robe). He arranged the pots up front, straightened the bows and blooms on the chairs, made sure that every detail was perfect.
She saw him talking to Claire outside, and for a moment Weezy hoped to God he wasn’t talking about her wedding, but before she could head out there, the caterer had another question and she was drawn back into the kitchen.
Even though this wedding was almost nothing compared to what they had been planning for Claire, Weezy still found herself totally swept away with it. Maybe it was because they had so little time, or maybe that’s how it always was with a wedding. They’d all been running around like chickens with no heads for weeks now, and the day of the wedding felt like a nightmare—the kind where you’re trying to pack to go on a trip, and all your clothes keep falling out of the suitcase, no matter what you do.
They’d all gotten up early, but there still didn’t seem to be enough time. Weezy had this fear that guests were going to start showing up and they were all going to be half-naked, running around the backyard barefoot. If anything was going to get done, Weezy was going to have to make it happen.
“Why don’t you two go get dressed?” she said to Claire and Martha. They were both bridesmaids, although they had both just picked their own dresses (white, of course) and didn’t really match. But when they came downstairs, they did both look very pretty. Even if Cleo did seem to be rubbing this white-themed wedding in everyone’s face (I’m pregnant, but I want everything to be virginal!), it actually all came together beautifully.
She kept sending Will on errands, or out to check on the setup of the bars outside. He was driving her sort of crazy, just standing there all ready for the day, like he couldn’t think of anything to do unless she told him. Weezy couldn’t help but snap at him, more than once, for just standing there, or for not being in the same room when she needed something from him. Honestly, sometimes men were no help.
The caterers had taken over the kitchen, and set up strange little ovens on the countertops to cook the food. You could barely move in there without running into someone or something.
Cleo had been very opinionated during the meeting with the caterer. She wanted wine and appetizers served as soon as the guests arrived, before the ceremony, so that when the two of them said their vows, people would be eating and drinking, just snacking away, like they were watching a TV show. Weezy tried to talk her out of it. “It’s just not how things are done,” she said. But Cleo’s mind was made up.
“I want it to feel like a party, like a celebration,” she said.
Weezy tried to give the caterer a look, to raise her eyebrows as if to say, I know this is a ridiculous request, do you believe this? But the caterer had just nodded.
“I love that idea,” she said. “Very fun and relaxed.”
They’d gone on to decide on “stations” of meat and sushi instead of a sit-down meal.
“I don’t want any seating arrangements,” Cleo had said. “I just want it so that people can eat whenever they feel like it, wherever they want.”
“I think that will confuse people,” Weezy said.
“That’s very in right now,” the caterer said. “People will catch on.” Weezy could only imagine what Sally Lemons would say about something like this. She was not