Doctor Jingle Bells
Chapter 1 - Holly Snow
“ N o, we can’t put Sebastian’s uncle, Bough, next to my grandma, Carol. Last Christmas after a few too many glasses of eggnog, he slapped her on the ass and started singing, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You.’”
My pen hovers over the haphazardly drawn squares and I bite my tongue, not quite sure if it’s to keep from laughing or gagging.
Don’t get me wrong, Bridgett’s hoity-toity grandmother is beautiful, and her fiancé’s uncle isn’t hard on the eyes, but with their nearly thirty year age difference, envisioning them in some precarious position together isn’t something I want popping into my head.
Too late.
It doesn’t take long for my best friend to come to the same conclusion and her body shivers.
“Opposite sides of the room,” we say in unison.
I scribble their names on each end of the whiteboard in the empty boxes we’d originally reserved for those guests who are invited out of courtesy, but the bride and groom silently hope they don’t show. That’s not the case with Carol, of course. Bridgett loves her grandmother, and unlike me, she’s a social butterfly. So no matter where anyone sits, she'll make sure they’re included.
Lifting the board to get a better view, I glance over the filled and empty spaces. Six tables left. “Only forty-eight more guests to go.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh. “We’ve been at this for hours; can’t we take a break?”
With a quick glance at my watch, I think to myself... It's only been an hour . But she is the bride-to-be so I give her some leniency. “Sure, go ahead, if you’re sure there’s no other pairings like Uncle Bough and Grandma Carol, I can finish off the rest.”
Eyeing some of the names on the RSVP cards, she closes her eyes briefly and pours another glass of wine.
The decision to help my best friend plan her wedding wasn’t without a lot of consideration.
Money wasn’t a problem, she’s a New York fashion designer, who comes from a long line of it, and he’s none other than Dr. Bell, the heart surgeon.
It hadn’t mattered anyway because I’d offered to do it for free, but they insisted and we agreed on a fair price. The fact that Bridgett sprung this genius idea on me just a mere two months before the actual event is set to take place also wasn’t the reason for my hesitation, I can handle the pressure. What I did have a problem with—the date they picked.
My least favorite time of the year...
Christmas.
The lights. The music. The shopping. It’s a stark reminder of what happened three years ago when I was picking out a last-minute gift for my assistant, Darla. My fingers find the jagged scar just below my jawline, and I drag them the length of the puffed skin to where it ends at the base of my neck.
How one tiny mishap had the power to ruin one of the most magical times of the year is beyond me.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asks, her tone sympathetic. “I’m more than willing to call it all off and just elope somewhere amazing.”
Her words keep my mind from drifting further into the past, and I pull the collar of my shirt up. “You are not eloping,” I tell her, turning a hard stare in her direction. She looks away but not before I notice where her eyes are focused.
Normally I’d be wearing a mock collar or a fashion scarf to hide the ugliness, but Bridgett and I have been roommates since college. She’s seen me in tank tops and even just a bra, but tonight for some reason my worn, off-the-shoulder band shirt is doing nothing for my insecurities.
Relaxing into my seat, I look behind her at the light snow falling just outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of our fifth floor apartment. “I’m fine, planning weddings is what I do after all. Plus, focusing my time on making your wedding the most beautiful event I’ve ever planned will keep my mind off the past.” And could land me a job as the featured wedding designer at the luxury hotel on the beach, if I can get past my self-consciousness enough to meet my clients in person, rather than over the phone, that is.
“Good luck with that.”
I drag my eyes back to her and find she’s picked up a card, then another and turns them to show me. “I’m not sure the venue is big enough for separating my aunt, Mary, her ex-husband, Nicolas, and his wife, Candy.”
All I can do is shake my head and turn back to the seating chart.
After a few minutes of pen tapping, I decide to separate the divorced couple, ultimately placing them next to Grandma Carol and Uncle Bough respectively.
Cracking open another bottle of wine, she fills our glasses and we clink the crystal, celebrating a problem solved.
“Here’s to keeping the peace,” I mutter.
“Keeping the peace,” she retorts and after a beat, we both break into a fit of laughter.
Once we’ve caught our breath, the air is much lighter and we’re both feeling pretty good. She begins reading off names and I write them down, paying no attention to what family might fit best where, which isn’t like me.
Normally, everything has its place—including the guests. I do my research and make sure everyone at a table has something in common, if possible. If not then I’ll organize them by age. There are no divided tables for bride and groom at any of the receptions I plan. His family and friends and her family and friends are all intermingled together.
A wedding is not just a joining of the couple but also of those who make their lives whole. With those weddings however, there’s close to a year, sometimes two, of planning. Not the five minutes I have to plan this one.
When we’re down to the last five couples, the board begins to blur and my eyelids get heavy. Checking my watch, I notice it’s nearly 1:00 a.m.
Just as I’m about to tell Bridgett we can finish this off tomorrow, after we’ve had some time to sleep off the three glasses of wine, there’s a knock at the door.
She nearly tips her chair when standing abruptly, but no sooner than she makes it across the room, her tall, dark, and handsome has pushed his way inside and soon her arms are wrapped around his waist. She melts into him.
A perfect couple.
They are the reason I do what I do. That kind of love. While it may never find me, helping others celebrate their special day warms my snowy heart like nothing else can.
“Hi, Holly,” Sebastian says to me with a shrug as he’s being led by the hand toward Bridgett’s bedroom.
It’s obviously a nontraditional wedding.
I offer him a wave and a smile—“Hi, Sebastian”—before they disappear behind her door.
Am I jealous? Absolutely. Knowing I’ll be going to bed alone, with my ears full of cotton to block out the moans and groans funneling from the room two doors down the hall, is depressing. Sure, I have BOB and if I don’t pass out from the wine, he’ll be getting a workout, but it’s not the same as having a warm body wrapped around you.
Another reason this time of year sucks.
I’ve had a few boyfriends since the mishap, but it never went past making out. How could it? At some point clothes would have come off, and there would be questions about why I was still wearing a scarf. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered because once a naked woman is standing before them, men don’t care much about anything else.
But I do.
“It’s why you’re the wedding planner and not the bride,” I tell myself.
On a long sigh, I grab the last of the RSVPs and write their names in the only available squares left. It’s not perfect, but at least I feel like I’ve accomplished something. Just a small piece of everything still left to do.
Not bothering to clean up, I swipe my glass of wine off the table and head to my own room, quickening my steps as I pass by hers, ignoring the giggles coming from the other side of the door.
A DULL ACHE SWIRLS around in my head, and I squint my eyes when the sun shines through the crack between my black-out curtains, hitting me directly in the face. I roll over and drag the covers over my aching head. Just a few more hours of sleep is all I need.
When my cell rings, it’s like daggers stabbing into my ears. Blindly, I frantically tap the phone screen, hoping it will stop. It does and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Miss Snow? Is that you? This is Andre from the Bella Providence Hotel.”
“Uh huh...” I answer instinctively, though confused since I was sure I’d canceled whoever was interrupting my chance at revisiting my earlier dream.
“Ma’am, I’m calling to confirm our appointment for today at 11:00 a.m. to take the final walk-through of the grand ballroom at our facilities. We have another individual interested in the space on the same day, and we’d like to make sure you’re still interested before offering it for the other event.”
I sit straight up in the bed, grabbing my phone and putting it to my ear. “Someone else is interested in the grand ballroom on Christmas Day?” There’s no keeping the panic from my tone.
“We’re just as surprised as you, ma’am. Interestingly enough, it seems like Christmas is the new June for weddings here at The Bella Providence.” He chuckles, and it instantly grates on my nerves. None of this is fucking funny. Especially when the wine from last night seems to have settled in my head and stomach. It growls defiantly in response and not from hunger.
Bridgett and Sebastian picked this hotel and the date because he is one of the guest speakers at a medical conference at the same place, just a few days before their wedding. It’s a two birds, one stone situation and I can’t fuck this up by letting someone else take what’s hers. Both their schedules are limited, so scheduling any other day would be next to impossible, especially this year.
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I check the time. It’s 10:15. And although Eastport isn’t the largest city in Rhode Island, depending on the time of day, traffic can still be a nightmare. “I’ll be there at 11:00.”
“See you then,” he confirms, ending the call.
Scrambling off the bed, I stumble toward my dresser and rifle through clothes in my drawers. There’s no time for a shower so once I’m dressed, I head to the bathroom and brush my hair back, before twisting it around and fluffing out the messy bun. A quick pinch on each cheek brings some color to the surface and I throw on some mascara.
Running some toothpaste over my teeth, I rinse and spit, wiping off the excess on a hand towel before heading into the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.
After the first sip, I realize brushing my teeth before swallowing down the warm liquid wasn’t the best idea, and my stomach protests. It should be a crime pouring a perfectly good cup of coffee down the sink, but it’s better than it coming back up. Even thinking about it makes my empty stomach churn.
Some cool, crisp air is just what the doctor ordered. Grabbing my purse and keys off the hook next to the door, I glance back toward Bridgett’s room, wondering if I should drag her along then decide against it. If she and Sebastian are still in bed, I’ll not be the one to interrupt their morning in, or anything else that might be going on.