Chapter 4 #2
The ballroom was beautiful in a way that reassured her every time she saw it.
High windows, old wood floors, long mirrors with gilt edges, chandeliers that managed to be elegant instead of gaudy.
The first time she and Noah had walked in, he had leaned down and whispered, “This is where people in movies realize they love each other,” and she had booked the place emotionally before they even discussed deposits.
Today, though, the room was full of tape.
Blue tape for tables. Yellow for dance floor. Pink for buffet. Bethany had mapped everything onto the floor like a cheerful crime scene.
Ella loved it immediately.
“Oh,” she said, stepping into the room. “This helps.”
“I thought it would,” Lara said from behind her.
Bethany nodded. “Lara suggested the color coding.”
Ella looked down at the tape again.
It did help. Lara was so helpful. So, so helpful.
They walked the room. Bethany explained the flow.
Margaret asked whether older guests would have sufficient access to the restrooms without crossing the dance floor.
Noah asked where the bar would go and whether there should be two, which made Bethany smile like a woman looking at a favorite student.
Lara stood with the binder open, occasionally handing over numbers or clarifying a note.
Ella made decisions.
She chose the head table placement. She vetoed the champagne tower Margaret wanted “only as a visual moment.” She insisted the memory table go near the windows, where Noah’s father’s photograph would catch the afternoon light.
Noah squeezed her hand when she said that.
Margaret’s face softened. “That’s lovely, Ella.”
For a minute, everything felt centered again.
Then Bethany said, “And Lara, did you still want to discuss the alternate ceremony chair arrangement?”
Ella turned.
Lara’s eyes widened just slightly. “Only if Ella wants to. It was just an idea.”
“What idea?” Ella asked.
Bethany tapped her tablet. “Angled rows instead of straight, to make the aisle feel more intimate and improve sight lines. Lara mentioned you were worried the room might feel too formal.”
Ella had said that.
To Noah.
Maybe to Lara too. She could not remember. They had all been in the living room with the laptop open, talking about flowers and music and whether aisle runners were ridiculous. She might have said it then.
“Show me,” Ella said.
Bethany did.
The idea was good.
Better than straight rows, actually. Softer. More romantic. Guests would face slightly inward, toward the aisle, which would make the ceremony feel less like a lecture and more like a gathering.
Ella hated that she liked it so much.
“This is beautiful,” Margaret said.
Noah looked at Ella, not Lara. “What do you think?”
That helped.
Ella took another moment, because she wanted to answer from herself and not from the small prideful place that disliked being helped too well.
“I think it works,” she said.
Lara smiled down at the binder. Not triumphantly. Just pleased.
After the venue meeting, Margaret insisted on lunch. There was a restaurant nearby with good soup and cloth napkins, which were two of Margaret’s primary criteria for civilization. They sat at a table near the window: Margaret and Lara on one side, Ella and Noah on the other.
Again, reasonable.
Again, slightly not.
Margaret asked Ella about her dress fitting, the shower menu, whether her sister had found a flight, and if she had considered hiring someone for day-of coordination.
Ella answered all of it.
Then Margaret turned to Lara and said, “And you have that updated vendor deadline sheet, don’t you?”
Lara glanced at Ella first. “Ella has it too.”
“I know, but yours was so easy to read.”
Noah’s knee touched Ella’s under the table.
Maybe by accident. Maybe because he felt the same small sting on her behalf. She could not tell.
Ella smiled. “Lara saved us from my sticky-note disaster.”
Margaret patted her hand. “No shame in accepting help, dear. Weddings are too much for one person.”
Ella knew Margaret meant well. “I’m not one person,” Ella said lightly. “Noah’s right here.”
Noah lifted his water. “Allegedly useful.”
“Exactly,” Ella said, and his smile warmed her.
Lara said nothing. That was to her credit.
But later, when Margaret went to the restroom and Noah stepped outside to take a call, Lara leaned toward Ella and said quietly, “I’m sorry about that.”
Ella looked up from her salad. “About what?”
“Margaret. The deadline sheet. She can be…Margaret.”
Ella appreciated the acknowledgment more than she expected. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not, though. She does that thing where she thinks she’s praising one woman without realizing she’s comparing her to another.”
Ella blinked.
That was exactly it. So exactly it that Ella felt disarmed.
“Yes,” she said. “That.”
Lara’s expression gentled. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think your sticky-note kingdom needed saving. I think wedding planning is a scam designed to make smart women feel incompetent so they’ll pay three thousand dollars for someone to say, ‘Have you considered a timeline?’”
Ella laughed, the tightness in her chest loosening.
Lara smiled. “Also, Noah is more useful than he pretends. He just needs very specific tasks and occasional praise.”
“Like a rescue dog.”
“Exactly like a rescue dog.”
Noah returned at that moment and narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel I’ve been slandered?”
“Because you’re perceptive,” Ella said.
“Good. I was worried this was paranoia.”
Lara laughed, and this time Ella laughed with her easily.
On the drive home, Noah held Ella’s hand over the console.
Lara was quiet in the back seat, looking out the window.
Ella told herself she had been unfair. Lara had noticed the Margaret thing and named it kindly.
She had not pushed. She had not taken credit.
She had checked with Ella before offering ideas.
Maybe Carolina was right that Lara was comfortable.
But maybe Ella was also right that comfort was not the same as threat.
At home, Noah went into the office for another work call. Lara carried the binder to the dining table, then stopped.
“I’m going to put this on the sideboard,” she said. “And then I am not touching it unless invited, because I am learning boundaries like an emotionally literate adult.”
Ella laughed. “Thank you.”
“I’m also going upstairs to nap.”
Once Lara went upstairs, Ella stood in the dining room looking at the binder.
It had always been hers and Noah’s in theory.
Lately, it had become communal.
She ran her fingertips over the cover, then opened it to the deadline sheet. Lara’s handwriting. Lara’s clean lines. Lara’s little notes: Ask E about roses. N hates children’s choir. M wants coat check staffed. Chair angle option??? Verify with E.
Verify with E.
The knot in Ella’s chest loosened a little.
See, she thought. Lara was trying.
That evening, because the venue walk-through had gone well and because Noah looked at her in a way that made her want the house empty, Ella suggested dinner out.
“Just us,” she added quietly while Lara was upstairs.
Noah’s face changed immediately. “Yes.”
The speed of his answer helped too.
“Somewhere with no wedding talk,” Ella said.
“No wedding talk. No vendor talk. No chair angles.”
“No Lara talk,” she added, then felt mean.
Noah did not flinch. “No Lara talk.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I miss you.”
The honesty of it moved through her like warmth.
“I miss you too.”
They told Lara they were going out. Ella half expected awkwardness, but Lara only smiled from the couch, where she had her laptop open to apartment listings.
“Good,” she said. “Go. Be disgustingly engaged. I’ll eat leftovers and glare at rental scams.”
“Are you sure?” Ella asked.
Lara looked up. “Ella. Please go on a date with your fiancé in your own life. I will survive unsupervised.”
There was something so direct and self-aware about it that Ella felt affection rise again.
“Okay,” she said.
“Also, if either of you brings me back dessert, I will pretend to object and then eat all of it.”
Noah pointed at her. “That is exactly the kind of clear communication we value in this house.”
“Then value cheesecake.”
The date was almost perfect.
They went to a small Italian place downtown with low lighting and too many candles on the tables. Noah ordered the wine Ella liked without asking, then immediately looked alarmed.
“Was that okay? I don’t want to become a man who orders for you.”
Ella smiled. “You ordered wine, not my destiny.”
“Still.”
“It’s okay.”
He relaxed.
They did not talk about wedding planning for the first twenty minutes, which felt like an accomplishmentm.
They talked about work, the couple at the next table who seemed to be either breaking up or discussing a real estate investment, and whether Noah’s new associate was actually incompetent or just terrified of Noah’s resting bitch face.
“I don’t have a bitch face.”
“You have a face that says, ‘I am disappointed in your margins.’”
“My margins are private.”
“That’s worse.”
He laughed, and there he was. Hers again in the unguarded way she loved best. Not because Lara had taken him, but because the last week had crowded them. The relief of having him across a table, eyes on her, attention undivided, made Ella realize how hungry she had been for it.
Halfway through dinner, Noah reached across the table and took her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting things get crowded.”
Ella looked down at their joined hands. “You didn’t do it alone.”
“No, but Lara’s my friend. I should be checking in more.”
“You do check in.”
“Not enough.”
It was exactly what she had wanted him to say and therefore made her want to absolve him immediately.
She resisted by taking a sip of wine. “I don’t want to be ungenerous,” she said.
“You’re not.”
“I also don’t want to feel like I’m a guest in my own life.”
His expression shifted. Concern.
“That’s how it feels?”