Chapter 34
MANDY
Istared down at my phone—or what used to be my phone—covered in white buttercream frosting. The screen was completely dark, unresponsive to my frantic tapping. Frosting was crusted in the edges.
The groom was stomping around the kitchen, scaring the catering staff. Apparently, someone had given his mother fish instead of the steak and that meant a temper tantrum. He threw my phone in a bowl of frosting. My phone. Not his. Not the bride’s, mine.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the phone at his perfectly coiffed head. Instead, I took a deep breath and turned to face him with what I hoped was a calm, professional expression.
“I understand your concern,” I said through gritted teeth. “Let me speak with the chef and we’ll send out another plate.”
His bride appeared at his elbow, looking mortified. “Honey, can we please just eat? Your mom said it’s fine. “
“No!” He turned to her, his face flushed. “This is our wedding day. Everything needs to be perfect. Don’t you care about that?”
I watched her face crumple, tears forming in her eyes. That was it. I was done.
“Can I speak with you privately?” I said to the groom, my voice deadly calm.
He blinked at me, clearly surprised by my tone. “What?”
“Privately. Now.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I walked out of the kitchen, knowing he’d follow. The bride shot me a grateful look as I passed.
Once we were in the relative privacy of the service entrance, I turned on him.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I said, my voice low. “Your bride has spent months planning this day, and right now, she’s crying because you’re having a meltdown over a piece of fish. A perfectly cooked piece of fish I might add. Is that really how you want to start your marriage?”
His mouth opened and closed.
“Every single element of your wedding was perfect. The meals being served to your guests are delicious. Everyone has said so. But none of that matters if you make your bride miserable on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of her life.”
“My mom paid for the caterer,” he hissed.
“I understand. Let her take up the mistake with them. Go back in there. Eat your steak. Your mother probably already has her steak by now. Enjoy the rest of your night. Go back out there, apologize to her, tell her the food is perfect, and you’re going to enjoy your wedding. Do we understand each other?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
“Good. Now go.”
I watched him slink back to the reception hall, then looked down at my ruined phone. I tried pressing the power button one more time. Nothing.
I wanted to cry. I was supposed to call Briggs tonight. And now my phone was a paperweight.
I grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to wipe off the worst of it, but I knew it was hopeless. The rice trick might work for water damage, but frosting? No chance.
The rest of the wedding passed in a blur of stress and forced smiles. All I could think about was my dead phone and the conversation I was missing with Briggs.
By the time I finally made it home, it was nearly midnight. I was exhausted, frustrated, and on the verge of tears. I poured myself a generous glass of wine and collapsed onto my couch.
My laptop sat on the coffee table, mocking me. I could email him. It felt archaic, like I was some kind of cavewoman. But it was a step above sending him a fax. Or god forbid, a fucking letter. An email was better than nothing.
I pulled the laptop onto my knees and opened my email.
Subject: Phone Casualty
I’m so sorry I missed our call. My phone met an unfortunate end tonight involving an excessive amount of frosting and a groomzilla having a complete meltdown. Long story. The short version is that my phone is now more dessert than machine, and no amount of rice is going to bring it back to life.
I’m going to try to get a new phone tomorrow, but until then, I’m stuck communicating like it’s 1995. You’ve got mail!
I miss you. So much it hurts. I hate that we keep missing each other. I hate that we’re on opposite coasts. I hate that I can’t just call you right now and hear your voice.
I hope your day was better than mine. I hope you’re sleeping well. I hope you’re not as miserable as I am.
Talk soon.
I hit send before I could overthink it, then drained the rest of my wine. I poured another glass and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights spread below me.
Los Angeles. My home. But Briggs wasn’t here.
I took another sip of wine and let myself think the thought I’d been avoiding for days: what if I moved to New York?
It was crazy. Completely insane. I couldn’t just uproot my entire life for a man I’d known for less than a month.
A man I’d accidentally married while drunk.
A man who might not even feel the same way about me that I felt about him.
He was a Blackwell. The women he spent his time with were so much more everything. Prettier. Wealthier. More successful.
But the thought wouldn’t leave me alone.
What if I could make it work? What if I opened a second office in New York?
I had enough high-profile clients now that I could probably attract east coast clientele.
And with the Blackwell partnership, I’d have an automatic in with their crowd.
I could hire a staff to run the operations on the west coast.
It was possible. Difficult but possible. It would take some serious training and I would have to come back a couple times a month to make sure my high standards were being followed.
But could it work?
I finished my second glass of wine and decided I was too tired to make any life-altering decisions tonight. I needed sleep.
I fell into bed and immediately missed his presence. I loved snuggling up to him.
The next morning, I woke up without my alarm. I was so glad I didn’t need an alarm because my phone was my alarm.
I dragged myself out of bed and straight to my laptop, checking my email before I even made coffee.
There it was. A message from Briggs, sent at five in the morning his time.
Mandy,
I’m sorry about your phone. I’m even more sorry I wasn’t there to witness the tantrum. It sounds like it was quite the scene.
I miss you too. More than I know how to say. This whole being-apart thing is killing me. I hate that we can’t seem to sync up. I hate that I can’t just show up at your door and take you to dinner.
I’m trying to clear some room in my schedule to come visit you. I don’t know when yet, but soon. I promise.
Get some sleep. Get a new phone. And when you do, call me. Day or night, I don’t care. I just want to hear your voice.
He was trying to come visit. That was something. It wasn’t a solution to our geography problem, but it was something.
I forced myself through my morning routine. Shower, coffee, attempting to look like a functioning human being. Then I headed to the phone store, where a very cheerful sales associate helped me replace my frosting-murdered device.
With new phone in hand, it was off to my appointment with a new couple that was very nice. Very easygoing. They said they wanted small and elegant and unlike other couples that thought small meant two-hundred guests, they were keeping their guest list to under fifty.
I drove to the venue, trying to focus on work.
But my mind kept wandering back to Briggs.
To New York. To the impossible logistics of making this work.
I couldn’t wait to talk to him about it.
It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have via email or text.
When he made the trip out to LA, I would talk to him then.
The venue walkthrough was for their wedding scheduled for next spring. The couple was sweet and enthusiastic, pointing out all the details they loved about the space. I made notes and suggestions, falling into the familiar rhythm of my job.
But underneath it all, I was thinking about him. And what it would mean to go to bed with him every night and wake up with him every morning. Lazy Sundays. Dinners with his mom. Getting to hold sweet baby Bucky.
“Mandy?” the bride said. I realized I’d completely zoned out.
“Sorry, yes. You were saying?”
She gave me a concerned look. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about all the possibilities for your big day.”
The walkthrough took another hour, and by the time I got back to my car, I was exhausted. Not physically tired. Emotionally drained.
I had to make a change before my longing for my husband negatively impacted my work.