Chapter 6
PIPER
Piper placed her keys on the hook by the door. The hook she'd installed after twelve separate instances of her roommate losing her keys. Then she let out an exhale that felt like it had been trapped in her lungs all day.
"I'm home," she called, toeing off her heels and lining them up perfectly on the shoe rack by her front door.
Each pair in its precise spot, organized by color, then heel height.
It was a small thing, but after a day of dealing with everything at her office, these little rituals of order kept her sane.
"Is that you making sensible shoe noises?" Shelby called from the living room, her voice carrying over the low murmur of the television. "Or did you go with glitter again today?"
Glitter. It'd been glitter ever since she slipped on Zach's key fob and got stuck in the damn gum.
She rounded the corner to find Shelby sprawled across their couch, surrounded by a nest of script pages, highlighters, and at least three empty mugs.
The faint aroma of Shelby's citrusy perfume and the essential oils she loved to diffuse mingled in the air.
As an aspiring screenwriter and part-time barista, Shelby was Piper's opposite in almost every way.
Where Piper preferred control, Shelby was chaotic, spontaneous, and perpetually running late.
Yet, somehow, they'd been roommates for three years and counting.
The apartment she shared with Shelby was like a visual manifestation of their personalities. Piper had added a pale wool rug, kept her bookshelf color-coded, and kept a tidy desk where each pen had its own cup.
Everything Shelby owned was a riot of color. She had canvases leaning against the wall, bins spilling art supplies, and a jungle of plants in various stages of survival.
Somehow, the arrangement worked for them both.
"I brought you a snack." Piper held up the smoothie she'd grabbed for Shelby on the way home.
"I hope there's wine in that cup. Because if 'snack' means pureed vegetables, I'm officially disowning you as a roommate." Shelby frowned.
"It's Tuesday," Piper replied, placing the cup on her side of the coffee table.
"Wine is for Thursdays and special occasions," Shelby groaned. "You and your schedule."
As different as they were, Shelby was the only person who truly understood Piper.
Piper grabbed the bag of actual potato chips she'd hidden in a pile of Shelby's laundry last week. She dug through the pile. She figured the chips would be a little reward for Shell if she folded something.
Shelby eyed her suspiciously and moved directly in the middle of the sofa, like it was her personal mission to blur all boundaries.
"Saving for a special occasion," Piper muttered, cracking open the bag with a loud pop and releasing the salty, savory scent of the chips. "Day from hell qualifies."
"Spill," Shelby demanded, grabbing a handful of chips and biting into one with a crisp crunch. "The D.I.C.K. guys giving you shit? Or the PR lady driving you up a wall?"
Shelby closed her eyes and practically moaned as she chewed on a chip.
"The Directors of Interment and Cremation Knowledge continues to go well." Though they were seriously going to have to workshop that acronym. "And Tess continues to be Tess."
Shelby lifted her eyebrows the slightest bit. "Then what's up with the too-attractive-for-his-own-good underwear designer helper?"
"It's not him. Zach's been great." Piper paused, searching for a suitably professional description that wouldn't reveal how distractingly attractive she found Zach. "I just feel like everything's complicated."
Shelby tilted her head to the side. "Complicated like 'he wants to change all the wedding plans' or complicated like 'you want to climb him like a tree'?"
"Shelby." Piper threw the decorative pillow at her roommate's head, a quiet thud as it missed its target.
"That's not a denial," Shelby sang, after she deftly dodged the pillow.
Piper busied herself adjusting the perfectly aligned stack of coasters on the coffee table. "He's just being so helpful and everything else is a mess."
"Oh hell, you really are totally into him." Shelby fist-pumped in the air. "Finally. It's been, what, two years since Dave the Douchebag?"
"Twenty-six months," Piper corrected automatically. "And I'm not 'into' anyone. I'm planning his sister's wedding, which makes any of my aesthetic appreciation or desired tree climbing completely inappropriate."
Anything Shelby was going to say got cut short by three sharp knocks at their door.
They exchanged glances.
Shelby raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"
"Absolutely not. Tuesday is takeout and trash TV night." Piper approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole, the cool metal circle pressed against her eye. "I haven't ordered food yet. Did you?"
Shelby shook her head.
On the other side of the threshold stood a small, silver-haired woman in an emerald green coat, carrying what appeared to be multiple Tupperware-style containers.
"Hello?" Piper called through the door. "Can I help you?"
"Open door. Arms full. Food getting cold," came the reply in a thick Russian accent, slightly muffled through the wood.
Oh no. No. No. Understanding dawned like a shovel upside the head.
Except, Zach's babushka didn't get back for three more days. Piper knew this because Zach had told her. They couldn't move forward with the stupid glitter situation until Babushka got back and…
Piper hesitated, but Shelby was already shouldering past her. "What kind of food?"
She swung the door open wide, the hinges squeaking slightly.
Zach's babushka bustled past without waiting for a proper invitation, bringing with her a wave of delicious aromas—garlic, roasted meat, and something warm and spicy that made Piper's mouth water instantly.
Piper sensed her evening plans were crumbling like a donut down the garbage disposal.
A Russian grandmother was now pushing their table from the wall to the center of the room.
"Too many stairs," the woman announced. "Building needs elevator. Not good for knees."
Shelby tossed Piper a confused glance.
"I am Nadzieja," the woman announced proudly, moving her containers onto the table.
The older woman paused her rummaging to fix Piper with an observant look. "You are Piper. The one planning my Anna's vedding."
"And you're Zach's grandmother."
The pyrotechnician and good listener.
"And Anna's grandmother. But yes. Zach is my grandson. You call me Babushka. Only people I don't like call me Nadzieja."
Piper shifted on her feet. "Um, I'm sorry, but how did you—"
"How did I know where you live? Tch." Babushka waved dismissively.
"I ask Anna who asks Drake who calls someone who tells him.
Not difficult." She paused, once more doing that watching-Piper-closely thing that made her feel like she was getting an x-ray with no lead apron.
"Zachary mentioned you. Said you are very organized. Very interesting voman."
Piper wasn't sure whether to be flattered or worried.
The old woman looked around the apartment, nodding approvingly at Shelby's chaotic piles. "Good. Balance."
"I like her," Shelby said, eyes bright with the kind of enthusiasm she generally reserved for characters she wanted to steal for her screenplays. Piper recognized that look. Babushka would probably end up immortalized in Shelby's next draft, quirks and all.
"You are smart girl. This is good." Babushka nodded approvingly, then reached out to pinch Piper's cheek. "Good to meet you."
Before Piper could respond, Babushka was rearranging the cushions on their couch.
"Sit," Babushka commanded, gesturing to the table. "Food first, then ve talk vedding."
"Oh, I don't—" Piper tried to protest.
"Food first," Babushka insisted, her tone not allowing for any argument. "Hungry people make bad decisions. Ve cannot plan a vedding vith bad decisions."
"She's not wrong." Shelby had zero problem sitting down and opening the Tupperware.
"Marriage is like this apartment," Babushka observed, gesturing around. "One neat, one messy. Secret is finding person whose mess fits vith your neat."
"We're not married," Piper clarified quickly. "Only roommates."
"Piper's allergic to marriage," Shelby supplied helpfully, serving herself a bowl of stew with absolute delight. "Her parents' divorce was like the Titanic hitting an iceberg made of lawyers. And then it happened a few more times."
"Shelby." Piper hissed.
Babushka merely nodded sagely. "Parents' bad example doesn't mean the institution is bad.
Just means they did vrong." She set a bowl in front of Piper with surprising gentleness.
"My husband, God rest soul, ve fight like cats for over fifty years.
Secret is you go to bed mad. Feel your feelings. Then get over it."
Piper shifted uncomfortably. "I'm really only the wedding planner, Ms. Dvornakov—"
"Vy do you call me 'Ms. Dvornakov' like I am a stranger at the grocery store? You don't like me?"
"Babushka," Piper amended. "I'm helping coordinate the wedding. I'm not really involved in the big-picture philosophy of marriage."
Babushka's eyes twinkled knowingly. "No such thing as 'just' vedding. You shape day that shapes lives." She settled herself into a chair, somehow making the IKEA furniture look like a throne.
That's how Piper found herself at her own dining table, watching in bewilderment as Babushka settled right in.
"This is amazing," Shelby mumbled through a full mouth. "Like, seriously, amazing."
Piper had to agree.
"Old family recipe. Secret ingredient." Babushka winked. "Now, ve discuss vedding. I have opinions."
Shelby caught Piper's eye across the table and mouthed, "She's amazing."
"Ve must have Russian traditions. Anna is sveet girl, but she knows nothing of proper celebration." Babushka leaned forward. "Drake is good boy, but American veddings? No proper customs."
"This wedding doesn't seem to be following any customs," Piper said carefully.
Babushka made a dismissive noise. "Young people don't know vhat makes good marriage foundation. That's vhy I help."
Funny, that sounded eerily like what Piper's mother had said around marriage number three. Turned out middle-aged people didn't know either.
"The thing is," Piper tried again, "my job is to create the wedding that Anna and Drake tell me to."
Along with their publicist, but she didn't need to mention that part.
"And they vant happy marriage, yes? This comes from proper ceremony." Babushka fixed Piper with a knowing look. "Your parents had American vedding?"
Piper blinked, caught off guard. "Yes, but—"
"And they are still married?"
The question landed like a stone in still water.
"No," Piper admitted quietly.
"Mmm." Babushka nodded, as if this confirmed everything. "No traditions."
Shelby's eyes darted between them, fascinated.
"My parents had a courthouse wedding and they're still disgustingly in love after thirty years," she offered.
"Exception," Babushka declared, the heavy scent of her rose perfume fighting it out with Shelby's citrus-scented diffuser. "Not rule."
Piper took a deep breath. "Babushka, while I appreciate your insights, we've already begun making plans that—"
"Plans change. Vedding is living thing." Babushka waved her hands expressively.
Piper opened her mouth to protest that she had schedules and processes and that surprise visits from relatives weren't part of her carefully sketched timeline, when somebody else knocked on their door.
"Popular night," Shelby observed, moving to answer it.
When she swung the door open, Zach stood in their doorway, slightly out of breath. "Piper. I need to warn you about—"
His eyes found Babushka at the table, seemingly rearranging the salt and pepper shakers to demonstrate her vision for the head table, the ceramic pieces making tiny clinks against the wooden surface.
His shoulders slumped. "Fuck. I'm too late."