Chapter 4
Four
‘So, if I’m to understand correctly, that’s because someone from the venue rang you at five minutes past business hours and asked you what time you’d be delivering.’
‘That’s correct,’ the florist said shamelessly.
‘We won’t be paying that,’ Eva told him flatly.
‘Well, I’m afraid it’s not optional,’ he said with a horrid chuckle.
‘It is optional. You picking up the phone past business hours was also optional.’
The man paused. ‘I had to. What if it was an emergency?’
‘A florist emergency? What does that look like, exactly? Are you considered a first responder? Do you race to accident scenes and wave gladioli under people’s noses to revive them?’
‘You’re being sarcastic now,’ he sniped.
‘Yes, that’s right. That was a joke. And so was your charge. I understand the usual wedding grift; I just expect it to stay within the standard range. If it doesn’t, I’ll be placing my clients elsewhere. Clear?’
There was a pause. ‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ She hung up. She looked across the table at her aunt Sarah. ‘Sorry about that.’
Sarah finished chewing her mouthful of lasagna. ‘No, I loved it. A pleasure to watch you work.’
Eva smiled and sipped her red wine. ‘Appreciate the understanding.’
‘Is it always like that?’ Sarah asked, interested.
‘Like what?’
‘Yell-y?’
‘No,’ Eva said. ‘Well, actually, yes.’
‘That kind of business is very hard on the system, you know. You need to slow down. Calm down.’
‘I calm down, and weddings go to shit.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘If you say so. Speaking of weddings,’ Sarah said, leaning forward, ‘let’s talk about your love life! Any cute boys? Cute girls? Cute… other nice people?’
Eva sighed. That wasn’t a hard question. ‘Nope,’ she said with a popping P. Besides anything else, she was long out of her boys-and-girls era.
Sarah tutted. ‘And you, steeped in romance all the livelong day.’
Eva tried not to laugh. She didn’t see the romance of it. She wasn’t sure romance could be scheduled. Eva saw it more as an event to say, ‘Hey, look at me. Someone is willing to shackle themselves to me. So, I guess I’m OK.’
Obviously, that was an inside-voice sentiment.
‘I can’t believe a beautiful girl like you can’t meet anyone,’ Sarah said, prodding at a bit of salad.
That word again. Girl. Maybe reducing thirty-eight-year-old Eva to that made it easier for Sarah to avoid her own age.
‘I meet people all the time. That’s not the problem,’ Eva told her, twirling spaghetti around her fork.
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘I keep attracting people who want me to be like I am at work,’ Eva said, pausing her fork. ‘Dominant and assertive.’
‘I see,’ Sarah said thoughtfully, poking her bread with a fork. ‘And that’s not good?’
‘I just… want someone who lets me be off,’ she muttered, mostly to herself.
Sarah didn’t have much to say to that.
They ate in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of fork on plate.
‘What are you doing to unwind?’ Sarah asked her abruptly.
For a second, it was like Sarah had said a word in a different language. Just changed gears into Swahili or something.
‘Well, sometimes I watch documentaries about catfishers?’ Eva eventually offered.
Sarah sighed. ‘What a strange life you lead. Weddings in the day, love con artists at night.’
‘I don’t necessarily see the difference,’ Eva said with a smile.
But Sarah wasn’t amused. ‘My god, when did you get this cynical, Eva?’
Eva raised an eyebrow. ‘It was around the time I moved in with you. So, twelve?’
Sarah glanced down at her food. ‘Ah. Right.’ Then she looked her right in the eye. ‘You know, your organisational skills could have been turned in any direction. But you chose weddings. So, I’ve got to hope there’s still a romantic in there.’
Eva wanted to tell her aunt that weddings were bullshit, but that they were well-paid and plentiful bullshit, and that was the only reason she did what she did.
But she didn’t want to worry Sarah. She was the closest thing Eva had to a parent. She’d earned the right to be lied to like any other mum. ‘You never know, I guess,’ Eva told her.
Sarah smiled, assuaged. ‘You never do. Love could be just around the corner.’
‘I guess it could,’ Eva said.
What a crock. The closest she was ever getting to the altar was telling other people where to stand while quietly judging their outfits.