Not According to Plan

Chapter 1

Brooke

The side door of the chapel catches as I push on the thick wood panel.

Old churches—beautiful, but in desperate need of some love and a little elbow grease.

With one gentle shove, I manage to get the door open and not-so-gracefully let myself out.

Last-minute arrivals walk into the main doors as I make my way to the circular driveway in front of St. Thomas Catholic Church.

I check my watch, grab my favorite pen from my belt bag—it’s about time the fanny packs I’ve worn for years got a rebrand—and check off Bride and Bridesmaid Trolley Arrival on my timeline as the vintage trolley pulls up.

Almost go time.

A group of guests chat away on the church steps as if the wedding will begin at their convenience and not at the precise moment my timeline indicates.

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” I say with a sweet smile.

Please, I love it. “The bride is arriving; I wouldn’t want you to miss her big entrance inside. ”

In my six years of wedding planning, I’ve never once started a wedding late, and that is not about to change today. I keep my eye on the guests as they walk up the steps to the doors. An older gentleman in the group turns around, checking if I’m watching. I sure am, sir.

The trolley doors open behind me.

“How’s my favorite wedding planner?”

“Good morning, Ernie!” I turn on my heel, counting the minutes until shoe-change number three of the day, and smile at my favorite driver.

In addition to my meticulous planning, Ernie is one of the reasons for the wedding day punctuality.

He has a magical ability to sweetly convince bridesmaids to, well, hurry the fuck up and get on the trolley.

It’s why I recommend him to every single client.

That and his trolley is adorable with its red-paneled sides and large windows.

The wooden seats inside are reminiscent of days gone by.

“It’s a beautiful day for a wedding!” he shouts out the doors.

Ernie always says this. It could be a Category 3 hurricane and it’d still be a beautiful day for a wedding, according to Ernie.

He’s right, though. Whenever two people in love commit to one another surrounded by the people they love and who love them, it’s a beautiful day indeed.

But it’s too early in the day for me to get sappy. I’ll save that for later.

“It sure is,” I say, climbing onto the bus. “Good morning!” I project my voice over the trolley full of people. “Mom, Dad, ring bearer, and flower girl, why don’t you all hop off while I get these beautiful ladies in order?”

They oblige and I take in the chaos of the trolley. All at once, the bride and bridesmaids acknowledge my presence with a chorus of questions, like songbirds on a spring morning.

“Can we leave our bags on the trolley?”

“You’re sure the best man has the rings?”

“Did the cantor get the song change last night?”

“Why is it so damn hot in here?”

It’s music to my ears. The nervous energy. The anticipation. That wedding day magic I love so much.

“Ernie will keep everything safe and secure. Best man has the rings, I just checked. The cantor has the music and was rehearsing when I got here. She sounds beautiful. And it’s hot because it's a Saturday in June and vintage trolleys don’t have the best air conditioning,” I say with a smile.

“Let’s do this, ladies. Bridesmaids, off the trolley please.

Anna, you stay here until your dad comes back.

Don’t want anyone getting a sneak peek of you and your stunning dress! ”

The bridesmaids exit the trolley, and I line them up in the order that they’ll walk down the aisle.

They look gorgeous. The dresses all match in style.

A classic chiffon A-line with flutter sleeves.

Anna selected a few shades of blue for them to choose from and they all found one that works perfectly with their complexions.

Together they look like Nantucket hydrangeas in July.

“Now ladies, show me how you’re holding your bouquets.

” They do as they’re asked and look at me nervously.

As they should—they’re all elbows and awkward angles.

“Let’s fix this. Here’s the trick, it’s going to feel a little weird and unnatural, but it’s going to look a hell of a lot better walking down the aisle and in pictures.

” I point to the maid of honor’s bouquet. “May I borrow this?”

Bouquet in my hand, I look at the line of ladies and give them a grin.

“The secret is…bush to bush.” I’m met with puzzled faces in full glam.

“Like this.” I grip the bouquet in both hands and point the stems down toward…

well, my bush. It’s been a while since any grooming was necessary.

“Bush to bush,” I repeat. When it clicks, they all laugh and visibly relax. Works pretty much every time.

“Keep the stems pointed toward your bush on an angle.” I wink and hand the maid of honor her bouquet. “And don’t forget to do that during pictures later.”

I hop back on the trolley, leaving Maddie, my best friend and co-planner for the day, to finish instructing the bridesmaids. Did we go over everything last night at the rehearsal? Yes. Does every single group of bridesmaids forget what to do on the day? Also yes.

Anna’s a picture of pure perfection sitting on the long wooden bench at the back of the trolley, her ivory gown pooling around her.

It’s all-over lace with a plunge neckline and sleeves she can remove for the reception.

When we practiced removing the sleeves earlier, the lace reminded me of a different dress that I keep the memory of buried deep, but I put that out of my mind. It’s Anna’s day.

“You’re up, Anna. Ready?”

“Ready!” She’s positively glowing. Her hair is in a classically chic updo and her face is flawless, thanks in part to the talent of the hair and makeup team.

But it’s also because she’s about to marry the love of her life and with that comes a glow not even the most talented makeup artist can manufacture.

Anna’s been a dream client from the beginning. She contacted Spencer Soirees after I planned her brother’s wedding last spring, asking specifically for me—much to Spencer Soirees owner Judy Spencer’s chagrin.

Judy also happens to be my mom. You’d think she’d be proud of the success her only daughter, her protégé, is having, but even as she gets older, she’s not eager to take a step back.

More and more, brides want to hire someone in their own generation to plan their wedding.

Someone who understands them. Not someone who reminds them of their mom and is likely to side with the mother of the bride during inevitable wedding planning disagreements.

There is a twinge of jealousy in Mom’s tone every time she shares that we’ve received an inquiry requesting my availability, which has been happening a lot lately.

After ensuring the doors from the foyer to the chapel are closed, I escort Anna and her father into the church vestibule. Anna’s dad is already tearing up.

I love an emotional dad, but it’s going to be a long day if he doesn’t pull it together. “You’ve got this.” I give his shoulder a light squeeze. “I want you both to walk slower than feels natural, okay? Like you did last night. Deep breath in…and out.”

They take a few breaths.

“Alright, Anna,” I whisper in her ear so her dad can’t hear. “Tits up!”

Anna laughs and straightens her posture. Another line that works every time.

The music changes. The congregation stands. Maddie and I open the doors and send them on their way.

“Done and done.” I close the Spencer Soirees van door and look at my watch. It’s been a fifteen-hour day and I’m starting to feel it. My legs ache, there’s a dull throb in my head, and despite four shoe-changes, I can no longer feel my toes. Is it possible to be too old for this at twenty-nine?

“Nice work, boss,” Maddie says, leaning on the back bumper.

I roll my eyes in her direction. I hate when she calls me boss and she knows it.

We’re the same age, have the same years of experience under our belts, and are both lead planners at Spencer Soirees.

Maddie started a year after I did and, technically, she reported to me for a short time.

I’m pretty sure she bossed me around more than I ever did her, leading to a quick promotion and us being equals at work.

“Only fourteen more to go this season!” Maddie stifles a yawn. “Now, c’mon, tell me. What was your favorite part of this one?”

“One second,” I say. I can’t possibly debrief about the night until everything is checked off my timeline. “Load van: Check!”

“You’re ridiculous. It’s the end of the night, time to toss the timeline.”

As if. I never toss a timeline. The first thing I’ll do when I’m in the office on Tuesday is scan and upload a copy of the now-complete timeline to my computer.

I’ll save it within my FBI-level digital filing system to reference later as needed.

The hard copy will go into my fireproof filing cabinet. Toss it? Absolutely not.

“Okay…favorite part.” I sit next to Maddie on the bumper, giving my weary legs and feet a well-deserved break.

Moments of the evening run through my head like a highly curated TikTok edit.

The groom’s face when he saw Anna for the first time.

The flower girl running to her mom, one of the bridesmaids, and refusing to sit with her dad in the church pews.

The brother of the groom announcing the bridal party with quite possibly the best sports announcer voice I’ve ever heard, not that I watch a lot of sports.

Fine, any sports. I love all the usual moments.

The speeches, parent dances, even a garter toss can’t make me cringe…

that much. But it’s those one-of-a-kind moments that happen at a wedding that always stay with me.