Chapter 25 Brooke #2
“Now, dear. The Quincy wedding, it’s only four weeks away.
You still have quite a bit of work ahead of you, and I think Mr. and Mrs. Quincy would appreciate my expertise on the day of, so I’ve rearranged my schedule to make myself available for the next month of prep and the entire wedding weekend. ”
I knew this was coming, so it shouldn’t surprise me.
If I hadn’t been so distracted lately, I might’ve been more prepared.
After all, the Quincys are one of the wealthiest and most influential couples of a certain generation in town.
Naturally, she wants to be there. Their social status isn’t something I care much about at all, but she does.
She cares a lot. Of course she has to be there herself to mingle with them and micromanage me.
Her hands-off approach had been too good to be true. Now we’re going to have a problem. Not only because I’m not sure I can look at Caleb without giving all my feelings away.
For the last couple of years, Mom’s managed business operations and slowly stepped back from planning weddings herself. She still plans a small handful each year, usually a couple her age on their third or fourth marriage. Or sometimes the child of a friend of a friend.
But one of the lead planners always works alongside her.
That took a lot of convincing on my part.
I played to her ego, told her that it wasn’t fair I got to learn so much from her.
The rest of the staff should get a chance to learn from the best. Meanwhile, I bribed the planners with promises of covering the weekends they wanted off.
Mom’s always been a talented wedding planner.
Now she’s a little too old school for most clients.
She still writes out her timelines in cursive—I’m not sure some of the interns can even read them—and makes photocopies to distribute.
She insists on calling vendors to confirm details, despite their preference for texts or emails. She even leaves voicemails. Long ones!
I might joke about being too old for the wedding industry grind, for the setting up, breaking down, standing on ladders, lifting heavy boxes.
But she really shouldn’t be doing most of that, even if all the work she’s had done suggests she’s younger.
All that aside, it isn’t the physical nature of the job that’s the issue.
It’s her unwillingness to adapt to change that puts the agency at risk.
The poor planner stuck with her is the one keeping the event on track.
Typing up a timeline and sending it out to all of the vendors.
Following up the phone calls with the emails and texts Mom refuses to send.
And day-of, well, anyone would think Mom’s a guest. She refuses to wear all black—an agency policy that doesn’t apply to her.
She dresses like a guest and mingles with them.
It’s networking, she told me once. Networking with a glass of champagne in one hand and a canapé in the other.
This behavior is exactly what I expect from her at Hannah and Preston’s wedding. That and critiquing my every move.
“Great,” I say, as cheerfully as I can manage. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”
“Now bring me up to speed.” She claps her hands quickly. “And tell me when your final walk-through is so I can be there.”
So, I do. Over coffee and almond croissants, I update her on the progress I’ve made, the work with Caleb, and the outstanding tasks. All so Mom can have all the information she needs to micromanage me all Labor Day weekend long.
On Tuesday afternoon, I pull up to Hannah’s home. The house is much more modest than I anticipated. I’ve seen bits and pieces on Instagram. It’s still a million-dollar home, but it’s on the more congested side of town. It was hardly the sprawling backcountry estate I conjured up in my head.
“Come in, come in.” Hannah waves me inside.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says as we hug.
I look around the stunning modern farmhouse-style home.
Very Instagram-worthy. Hats and jackets hang on pegs on the foyer wall.
Shoes and flip-flops are scattered on the floor next to tennis rackets and beach bags.
Following Hannah to the kitchen, I notice boxes stacked in the dining room (wedding gifts or PR packages) and a dirty plate and coffee mug in the living room. Influencers, they’re just like us!
“One month to go,” I say. Not to get right down to business, but also to get right down to business. It’s the height of wedding season, and for the first time in my career I’m overwhelmed. It’s not something I’m used to, and I don’t like it. “How are you feeling?”
She hesitates before answering, “I’m a little anxious if I’m being honest.” I’ve dealt with my fair share of stressed brides. Everyone has a moment, or three, of major stress during the planning, especially as the date looms closer and closer. Nothing I haven’t seen before.
“Logistics-wise, we’re in a great place,” I offer. “Tell me what you’re stressed about.” Showing my clients that I have control over everything usually eases most of their concerns.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head.
“I feel good about how it’s all coming together.
It’s, well, I just found out The New York Times is sending a reporter to cover the wedding.
We were planning to submit after the wedding, but one of the editors follows me and thought it’d make a great piece. ” She can barely contain her smile.
“They don’t usually do that,” I say. I should know. Mom has tried for years to get that kind of coverage. We’ve had weddings in the Times before, but couples submitting their story for a short writeup is entirely different from sending a reporter for a full piece.
“I know, I almost can’t believe it. It could be incredible for my brand, but it’s stressing me out a bit.”
It’s stressing me out, too. This could be what changes everything.
Mom seeing my work bring in this level of publicity might finally convince her that she’s leaving Spencer Soirees in good hands—great hands.
This wedding weekend needs to be better than perfect.
I discreetly brush my sweaty palms on my dress under the table.
Hannah can’t see even a hint of nerves from me.
“That’s so exciting, Hannah!”
“You and Caleb are going to kill it,” she says with a smile, clasping her hands together on the table. “But it’s a lot.”
“I get it,” I say, because I do. Mom’s going to be even more on top of me once she learns about this. “Let’s review things from start to finish and you’ll feel a lot better, I promise.”
It’s going to make me feel a whole lot better too.