12
Lia
I don’t see Owen again until the following week, at Sophie and Andy’s wedding rehearsal, and I have so much on my mind that he barely crosses it.
The happy couple managed to get an absolute steal on a wedding venue.
First of all, it’s in Beacon Hill, which is insane.
I really thought with their budget we were going to end up in like Leicester or Cochichuate or some other unpronounceable Massachusetts town.
But nope, they found a historic building right off the Boston Public Garden that’s absolutely gorgeous.
The exterior isn’t overly ornate, just a five-story red brick building with a beige awning, but on the very top level… there’s a library.
Three-story ceilings, dark wood, warm fabrics, and antique chandeliers.
Secluded balconies up high on either side of the room, and a large marble hearth along one wall—that’s where the ceremony will take place.
Guests will move into an adjoining room for a cocktail hour, then flow back into the main library for the reception and dinner.
Does everyone involved in the wedding actually know that’s what’s going to happen? Debatable. But that’s what today is for.
The rehearsal part of their rehearsal dinner is only attended by the essentials: the happy couple (Sophie and Andy), their officiant (Nolan), their best people (myself and Owen), and their parents (Andy’s mom, Sophie’s dad, Sophie’s mom, plus her boyfriend).
The dinner part of the rehearsal dinner will take place at a restaurant a few blocks away, and they’re expecting around fifty people for it. But in order to make our 7:00 reservation, we need to get this show on the road.
“Marsha,” I say to the venue liaison, “I’d love to get things started as soon as possible if that’s okay.”
Having spent most of their budget on the venue, Sophie and Andy didn’t exactly have the spare cash lying around for a wedding planner. Good thing they’re friends with me.
“Sure thing,” Marsha replies. “Is everyone here?”
“Yup. Do you mind if I go over some logistics for tomorrow before we do the run through?”
“Go for it.”
“Alright, hello everyone.” I project my voice enough to call attention to where I stand before the library fireplace.
Shelves of books frame me on either side, at least twenty feet high if not more.
It’s romantic and erudite and everything I could’ve dreamed for Sophie and Andy’s big day.
“I just wanted to make a few announcements as we head into tomorrow. The ceremony starts at 5:00, so plan to be here by 3:45 at the latest. Come wearing your clothes for the wedding, because photography starts at 4:00. I’ve also shared a hair and makeup appointment document in the group text, and anyone who’s getting hair and makeup done should arrive by 2:00, not by your specific appointment slot.
In case things are running ahead of time we don’t want to wait around for you.
I will bring light refreshments and mimosas for everyone, but definitely make sure to have a full lunch before arriving.
We’ll be able to store our stuff in the third-floor meeting hall, and the fourth-floor board room will be the bride’s dressing suite. Does anyone have questions?”
Six blank stares respond, plus one Sophie-grin and one Sophie’s-mom-grin, which is basically a mirror of Sophie’s.
“Okay, great. In that case, I’ll hand things over to Marsha to talk us through the ceremony.”
The rehearsal itself is easy. Pretty standard stuff.
We walk in, Nolan says things, blah blah blah, you may now kiss the bride, we walk out.
I did suggest to Sophie and Andy that someone pre-read Nolan’s speech before tomorrow, but they both said they trust him—Andy more reluctantly than Sophie—so I guess we’ll all be surprised.
From my position behind Sophie at the altar, I make note of the specter glowering over Andy’s shoulder.
God, Owen can be such a fucking downer. I guess that’s another thing for me to deal with today.
When Marsha dismisses us, and I check that our decorations and supplies are safely locked away in the board room, I catch our party as they walk out of the venue doors and start heading towards the restaurant.
The moms are chatting with each other, which is adorable, and I told Nolan that if he ever saw Sophie’s dad looking lonely or confused that he was his responsibility.
So, like the obedient dog he is, Nolan is happily chatting with Mr. Lindell.
Sophie and Andy are talking to Sophie’s mom’s boyfriend, which leaves Owen to me.
Good. I need to get that scowl off his face before Andy notices it.
“Hard day at the office?” I ask dryly of the man lingering behind the rest of the group. We fall into step, each footfall precise as I fight to keep my black stilettos from snagging in the Boston cobblestones between here and the restaurant.
“Something like that,” Owen replies, bluntly disinterested.
“Okay grumpy, what got your panties in a twist today?”
“Amelia, please, I’m not in the mood.”
“Maybe if you had a real job like I do you wouldn’t come home so depressed,” I say. “You know, they say in a few years we won’t even need lawyers? AI will do it all.”
The obvious rage-bait doesn't manage to ignite anything in him.
“Why don’t you tell me about your day,” Owen says instead, not quite a question.
I jolt at the pivot. “What?”
“Will you please tell me about your day?” he asks this time. “I’m exhausted and I don’t want to think about mine.”
He’s staring down at his feet as he walks. No spark, no insufferable cockiness. I’ve never seen him so… sad. Angry, yes. Annoyed, absolutely. But not sad. I’m not really sure why it bothers me so much.
I think about what Sophie would do in this situation.
She’s so good with things like this. She’d probably tell some stupid story that’s completely off-topic until the mood is light and we forget whatever we were talking about before.
But I’m not used to being the de-escalator.
I’m usually the escalator. So I blindly fish for the first topic that comes to mind.
“Well, I’m in talks for a sponsorship deal with a handbag brand from Italy.
They’re pretty low-end for Italian fashion, in case you couldn’t tell that from the fact they’re advertising on Instagram, but my audience will hear “Italy” and not know the difference.
And the brand is desperate for an American influencer who speaks the language, so I have a lot of negotiating power. ”
Apparently I’m worse at this than Sophie, because he doesn’t reply.
“Okay, really. What’s up with you tonight?”
He doesn’t reply, again.
“Hey.” I step in front of him, blocking his path.
He bumps into me then jerks back, finally meeting my eyes.
I ask, “What happened?”
“Just focus on the wedding. Don’t worry about it.”
“Too late. I’m worried.”
He steps around me, but I grab his arm and spin him back. We’re nearly to the restaurant now, so time is of the essence.
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me about whatever this is, but I can’t let you in there like this. Tonight has to be perfect for them, so if you’re not gonna talk about it because you want to, then I’m gonna force you to talk about it for Andy’s sake. Okay?”
He shocks me when he replies, “You know I don’t do this job because I like it, right?”
“Of course not, you do it for the money.” It’s a joke, and he knows it, but neither of us is laughing.
“Yes, I do. I do it for the money.”
“You… don’t seem happy about that.”
He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in a distinctly Andy gesture. It’s amazing how similar they are in their little instinctual tells.
Then, in a stormy attitude that’s also very Andy, he says, “I don’t really know you, Amelia.
I don’t know if you grew up with a lot of money or a little money or what.
But financial security is important. It can make or break your life—your entire life.
And lots of people don’t have a safety net, and then what? ”
“I know that, Owen. I’m literally going through it right now. Do you want me to stop teasing you about your job?”
“No it’s…” He shakes his head. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“Then make it.”
It’s 7:00 in the summer, which means we’re still in broad daylight on Beacon Street— tourists and teens and families rushing past. Horns honking and music blaring from a boombox down the block and a helicopter circling overhead.
It’s all the chaos I would expect from a downtown Boston summer.
But all of it fades to nothing when Owen decides to be honest with me.
“You know my dad left. When we were kids. And when he did our family was fucked. There were a lot of hard years, and a lot of years of my mom working overtime to provide for us and she still barely kept the house. I just want to make sure that if she ever needs anything, or if Andy ever needs anything, they can have it. And sometimes when I’m with them, everything is so…
awkward. We’re so fucking awkward. And it feels like I’m doing all of this shit and throwing my life away for what?
They don’t want anything from me. They barely know how to talk to me. So what am I even doing?”
It’s a shockingly personal confession, and one I know Andy would have strong feelings about. I find that I want to help—want to make this better for him—but I don’t quite know how.
I go with, “Your mom and brother love you.”
“I know.”
“And they’re doing fine. You don’t have to worry about them. They’re not your responsibility.”
“Yes, they are.”
“No, they’re not,” I insist. “They’re adults. I know for a fact Andy doesn’t want you to feel responsible for him, and I may not know your mom very well but I’m sure she doesn’t either.”
“No,” he says. “You don’t know her very well.”
He tries to start walking again, the restaurant a mere twenty feet away, but that’s not going to work.