Chapter 11 Charlotte
Charlotte
“You won’t believe what I found,” Josie says as she bust through the door of our apartment, her arms full of bags.
“First thing I want to know is where you found it,” I say without looking up from my laptop. “Thrift store? Yard sale? Oh, it’s Saturday. Flea market?”
“Better!” she beams as the door slams behind her. “It’s trash day in Brickman Heights!”
“Trash day on a Saturday?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of a neighborhood having trash picked up on Saturdays.”
“I don’t know. They’re rich. They’re weird. I went racooning, and I found this!” she says. I finish the sentence I am typing before looking over to see what she’s holding. “Is that a bust of Frida Kahlo?” I ask.
“In the flesh! Or…the bust. But yes! Can you believe someone was just going to throw this away?!” she asks.
“I can’t believe someone bought it in the first place,” I answer. I don’t have anything against Frida. But it doesn’t look a whole lot like her, which is probably why someone left it on the curb.
“Well, finders keepers,” she says, finding a spot in the apartment for it.
It’s been tight quarters here since Ben and I broke up and I moved in with Josie.
I don’t mind living here. If anything, I’m very grateful I had an immediate place to go.
Between my work desk and shelves and her thrift shopping habits, it’s a little cluttered.
“So how are you feeling?” she asks. “Hungry?”
“I just had a turkey wrap, but thank you,” I tell her as I click through the list of caterers available on the date of the wedding. Usually finding things on such short notice is difficult, if not impossible. Winter weddings aren’t the most popular, which has made it easier.
“So you don’t want to order Thai food? Because I really want some Singapore noodles,” she says.
“Is sifting through rich people’s trash before the garbage truck comes a lot of work?” I tease.
“Girl, you have no idea,” she sighs, plopping down on the couch with her phone. “But for real. If you’re hungry, I’m putting in an order.”
“I just ate,” I say.
“Yeah, but you’re preggers,” she says, and I stop, rolling my eyes at her.
“Can you not call me that?” I ask.
“Why?” she asks. “You are pregnant.”
“Yeah, but do we have to talk about it?” I whine.
“No, I suppose we don’t. But when you don’t fit in your favorite button-down shirt anymore and we have to find a place for a crib, we might have to bring it up again,” she says.
And with that, I close my laptop and shove it in my bag.
“And we will deal with that when we get there,” I say. “But for now, I need to deal with this wedding.”
“Ah yes,” she says as she scrolls through the menu on her phone. “So, what’s on the itinerary today?”
“I am meeting with the bride and groom to figure out the catering,” I tell her as I pack the rest of my things, chargers, notebooks, my Stanley full of water. “I found four places that have availability who will travel into the mountains.”
“Dinner and a show, I love it,” she smiles. “Ooh, spring rolls. Yes, please.”
I’m about to ask her what she means by that, but I decide against it. I’m sure it’s in reference to the fact that I am about to meet up with my ex and his fiancée to talk about shrimp cocktail and lamb chops. Ben’s fiancée doesn’t know I am his ex-girlfriend, so it’s always awkward.
I decide to leave Josie to her spring rolls and remind myself that she’s my best friend. It would be easier if it didn’t feel like my life was being lived for her entertainment.
* * *
“I’m not much of a seafood person,” Holly says as we sit at the wine bar Ben suggested.
I’m not surprised. He’s a big wine person, especially if it’s shipped in from somewhere far away or if he gets to travel far away to sip it.
Wine was one of our things. The difference is now he’s fronting the bill at a fancy vineyard wine bar while we talk about his wedding, and the only wine I can afford these days comes out of a box.
Oh, and to top it off, I can’t drink it because I’m pregnant.
“Kind of ironic since you’re from Alaska,” Ben says, smiling over at her.
“In a way, I think that might be why. The main dish at every Sunday dinner was the fresh catch of the day, and seafood was always available. I guess it kind of got old,” she says. I can understand that and smile at her.
“Well, that’s alright,” I say. “No matter how hard we try, we landlocked states aren’t known for the freshest seafood. Unless it’s—”
“Hook and Reel on 7th and Mavis,” Ben and I say at the same time, and my eyes flash up to his. Then we both look away.
Oh boy.
“Ben talks about that place all the time,” Holly tells me as if she’s the one teaching me something about him. “Unfortunately, it’s never been a date spot for us.”
Of course not. It was ours.
I’m happy not having to deal with shellfish allergies on the guest list anymore. The problem is, I now have to cross off two of the caterers from my list, and I only had four to begin with. My options are becoming limited.
“Okay, well, I’ve been doing some homework, and lucky for you two–” I start to say when the door to the small tasting room opens up and in walks Gavin.
“Hope I’m not too late,” he grins, pulling up a chair next to me and across from Ben and Holly.
He sits down next to me, sending a puff of his signature scent right to my nose.
The musk, cedar, and citrus blend is unique to him.
He’s wearing a dark gray Henley shirt, shoved up to his elbows to showcase the girth of his forearms. His fitted black jeans and a shit-eating grin complete his look.
“Gavin,” I say, willing my nipples to stay soft. But that doesn’t seem to be something I can control when I’m in his presence. I cross my legs under the table.
“At your service,” he says, reaching for the wine bottle in the middle of the table and a clean glass.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I figured since my dad is paying for the entire wedding, he should have a say in some of the planning,” Ben says.
Involved in the planning…!?
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I say with a tight smile, setting my glasses on the table.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Holly says, reaching across the table and clutching my hand in hers.
Great. She’s holding my hand. As if this situation is awkward enough, I’ve just realized that I’ve been naked with two out of three people here.
“It’s just that Benny and I thought about it, and we think the two of you would work together really well in picking the arrangements for the wedding! ”
“Really…” I say. “You and…Benny…thought that…”
“I mean, I have no opposition,” Gavin says, taking a swig of merlot.
Of course you don’t. You’re looking forward to the same show Josie is.
“Alright well, I guess there’s nothing left to do but talk catering,” I say with the least uncomfortable smile I can muster. “So if we cross off seafood, that leaves us with two really great–”
“You know,” Gavin cuts me off, crossing his forearms over his broad chest. “I was thinking barbecue.”
My jaw unhinges. “Barbecue? For a wedding?” I blink. He can’t be serious.
“Barbecue for a wedding…” Holly says slowly. Exactly. Thank God I’m not the only one who thinks that is the most obscure, unconventional idea. Then I hear her say, “I love it. Oh my God! Benny?! I love it!”
“Yeah?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Yeah!” she says and they both laugh and hug.
Gavin takes another sip of his wine, just about finishing the glass, and winks at me. Rule one broken.
“Okay…” I say, shuffling things around on the table to get everyone’s attention and hopefully bring them back down to a sensible reality. “Barbecue is…fine…and all, but…”
“But what?” Gavin asks. “You heard the girl; she loves it. And she is the bride.”
“Yes,” I say, practically through my teeth. “But I do have two caterers who have a lot of experience in creating professional, organized dining experiences, including everything from burrata to filet mignon to coq au vin…”
“I’m not sure my son is a coq au vin kind of guy,” Gavin says. “I think he’s more of a–”
Wings and ribs. He’s going to say freaking wings and ribs.
“Wings and ribs kind of guy.”
Sigh. Check please.
“I understand, but are you sure that’s the kind of food you want at a wedding?” I ask.
“Why not?” Ben asks. “It’s fucking delicious. And we could slow roast and smoke it all here the night before!”
“Yes, we can,” Gavin agrees with his signature grin.
“But the barbecue sauce,” I say.
“Yes,” Ben agrees, though not with what I am actually saying. “We need an array of sauces. Local! Charl–Charlotte. Can you hook us up with a bunch of local sauces? I want everything from sweet to ass-kicking!”
“Hell yeah,” Gavin says, and they high-five across the table. I direct my attention to Holly, hoping to re-routing this fiasco away from a full-blown hog roast, apple in its mouth and all.
“Holly. Sauce is messy. You’ll be wearing white,” I say.
“That’s true,” she nods, but it’s a thoughtful nod. A nonchalant nod. A three glasses of wine nod.
“You don’t have to wear white,” Ben says, and Holly’s eyes sparkle.
“That’s also true,” she says. “I could do teal. Or yellow! God, I love yellow.”
“Teal, white, yellow. It all stains,” I say.
“Oh my God, can we have potato salad?” she asks. “And deviled eggs!”
“I have a killer recipe for deviled eggs,” Gavin says, truly unscrewing the wheels from this already faulty vehicle as it is. “With bacon and jalapeno.”
“He’s not wrong,” Ben says, picking up an olive from the charcuterie board.
“No, I think this is perfect,” Holly says. “Charlotte, do you think you can find barbecue caterers?”
“I mean, I never really looked into–”
“I know a guy,” Gavin says.
Of course he does.
“Well then, it’s set,” Ben says.
“That was easy,” Holly says. “Piece of cake, right? See, I knew the two of you would be the dream team.”
God. How I wish this was a dream. Right now, it feels like a nightmare.
With that, Holly stands up. “Well, I think this calls for another bottle of wine.”
Gavin stands too. “I’ll come with you. When I said I would pay for everything, I meant everything.”
The two of them walk off, leaving me and Ben alone.
“You know,” he says, swirling the small amount of wine left in his glass. “If this is all too much for you, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“What do you mean? I’m having a great time,” I smile sarcastically. But Ben knows I’m lying because he offers a soft smile and I sigh. “Honestly? It’s so awkward. But I really do want this job. And if I’m being honest…” I pause because the words I am about to say aren’t easy. “I like her.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes on his wine. “She’s pretty great.”
“Yeah,” I say just as softly. Then I look up at him. “I am curious, though, about one thing.”
“Sure,” he says.
“How did you move on so quickly?” I ask. “I mean, I know we didn’t date for very long, and I know we weren’t right for each other, but I’m just kind of surprised.”
“I am too,” Ben says. “But I guess that’s the thing. I met her and I just…knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That she was it,” he answers. “You know?”
I nod. But I don’t really know. And I don’t have time to think about it before Gavin and Holly come back with another bottle.
I stand up and start packing up my things.
“Wait, you’re not leaving, are you?” Holly asks.
“Yeah, I bought the good stuff,” Gavin says with a smile.
“I have another appointment,” I say. “But I hope the three of you enjoy it.”
I say my quick goodbyes and make my way out to my car. Honestly, I can’t get there fast enough. But just as I set my things in the back of my Toyota and close the hatch, I stop.
Gavin is standing by my driver’s side door, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at me. Just staring.
“Forget something?” I ask.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you seem…upset,” he says.
“I’m not upset,” I shake my head, but refuse to look at him. It never does me any good when I look at him.
“Your tone and body language say differently.”
Okay. That’s enough to make me look at him without my nipples hardening. I’m too pissed off to get aroused.
“Excuse me? My tone?”
“Yeah. That one, right there.”
“This one right here is because someone walked in on my meeting with my clients and obtruded with my entire process!” I snap.
“Obtruded?” he asks.
“Yes. It’s a big word, I know,” I say.
“I know what it means,” he says, arching his eyebrows. “I just don’t think it’s the right word. The bride and groom seem very happy about my suggestions. And while you may be the hired planner, I am the one paying for the wedding, including your cut of the deal so–”
I cut him off by laughing. “Really. Wow. Wave your fat wallet around a little higher, will ya?”
“Listen,” he says, pulling his hands from his pockets and stepping forward. “They asked me to help you. I would think, with how stressed out you are about all of it, you’d graciously accept.”
“Emphasis on help,” I say. “Not take over.”
Gavin snorts at that. “Suggesting pulled pork instead of tuna tar tare at my son’s wedding isn’t exactly taking over,” he says defensively. “But if you want me to stay out of your way, fine.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want,” I snap.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Awesome.”
Great.