Chapter 1 #2
“Oh, when the bride’s uncles sang that song...the rattling something and the flower girl started Irish step dancing.” I’m a sucker for a choreographed dance or surprise musical performance.
“Rattling something?!” Maddie rolls her eyes. “It’s The Rattlin’ Bog. You haven’t done enough Irish weddings.”
“And yours?” Maddie’s answer is always the first dance or the father of the bride’s speech.
Based on how tonight’s speech went, it’ll be the first dance.
Anna’s poor dad was blubbering through the entire thing, and no one could understand a word except apparently Anna, who nodded and cried along with him. “Let me guess.”
“The first dance,” Maddie blurts before I can get a word in.
“You’re so predictable,” I laugh, tapping her knee. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
My days off are so close I can taste it. But it’s impossible for me to enjoy my precious Sunday and Monday if I don’t complete my post-wedding routine. I’ve crafted it over the years to ensure my clients, the other vendors, and yours truly are all taken care of after a wedding.
With a slice of cake that I snuck from the venue next to me, I start with thank you emails to vendors.
That cannot wait until I’m in the office on Tuesday.
The vendors we work with are the best of the best and go above and beyond for our clients; they need to know how appreciated they are first thing tomorrow morning.
Or, if they’re like me and can’t wind down as soon as they get home, they’ll find out tonight.
I confirm that room service at the Four Seasons Lanai will deliver a bottle of champagne to the newlyweds’ suite at the precise time I request to ensure the perfect chilled temperature when they arrive Monday. I love it when the time difference works in my favor.
I have to post some of the content I captured throughout the night to the Spencer Soirees Instagram stories.
A grid post will have to wait until I get a sneak peek at the professional shots from the photographer.
I wait for those sneak peeks with as much anticipation as the newlyweds.
Maybe more, since I’m not busy consummating the marriage or tearing open cards to see how generous my guests were feeling.
My favorite photographers, like me, are also still up working.
Opening their laptops and quickly editing a few photos to share with their clients before they even wake up the next morning.
As I hit send on the last thank-you email, the sneak peeks arrive in my inbox. Perfect!
I always write myself an email with all my mental notes from the day to reference in the future.
All the details need to go somewhere while they’re still fresh in my head or I’ll never remember them.
What our team could do better or differently at future weddings.
Favorite moments or details to recommend to future clients.
If I don’t get it down now, each wedding will end up like the novels I read during the offseason: Once they’re over, the details are gone and I only remember the vibes.
With all that complete, I move on to my own post-wedding self-care routine, which includes foam rolling for fifteen minutes, a shower with my favorite eucalyptus shower steamer, evening skincare routine, two Aleve with a glass of water, brushing teeth, and a few pages of the romantasy novel that’s been sitting on my nightstand for weeks.
As usual, I only make it through two pages before falling asleep.
The buzzing of my phone rips me out of a luxuriously deep sleep. Ugh.
I have a wedding hangover. Not the fun kind that many of last night’s guests are having this morning.
And not the kind couples usually have after coming down from the high of the wedding and honeymoon.
After they’ve spent months, sometimes years, planning and think now what are we supposed to do with our time?
Beside screw each other until the newlywed bliss wears off, that is.
For a wedding planner, it’s much closer to a real hangover.
All that’s missing is the nausea and the anxiety of remembering what you said or did the night before.
And any of the fun that was had, too. The symptoms are an achy body (from being on your feet all day), a slight headache (from dehydration), brain fog (from using so much brain power), general fatigue (from working a near-16-hour day), and the need for a greasy brunch (from having no time to eat the day before).
My phone buzzes again. The clock on my nightstand reads 10:15 a.m., which means I got a solid eight hours of sleep.
My book is strewn on the floor next to my bed, open to an unknown page that I don’t remember reading.
Well, I tried. Reading will have to wait until wedding season ends. I look at the phone and answer anyway.
“Hi, Mom,” I say.
“Morning, my dear,” she says in the bright tone of a person who went to bed at a reasonable hour.
“How did everything go last night?” She already knows how it went. Like every other wedding, I kept her updated throughout the night, sending photos and real-time feedback from the clients and guests. And I sent her a recap text when I got home.
“You know it went perfectly,” I say.
“Never perfect, dear! It can always be better!” Here we go. “I’m sure there are a few things I would have done differently.”
“You know what I mean.” I’m not about to take that bait. “Why are you calling before noon on a Sunday anyway?”
“Can’t I call my favorite daughter—”
“Only daughter.” I remind her.
“Can’t I call you to check in?”
“You can, but you and I both know that’s not what you’re doing,” I say as lightheartedly as possible. Burying the twinge of pain in my chest that she never actually calls to check in.
“I know, I’m just the worst mother,” she says.
That’s exactly what I was trying to avoid. I can almost see the put-on pout she always makes when a guilt trip is coming. Should have kept my mouth shut.
“Sorry, Mom.” It’s easiest to apologize and move on. “I’m still pretty wiped from yesterday. I shouldn’t take that out on you.”
“That’s my girl.” Just like that, she’s fine. “I’ll let you enjoy today, but I need you to come into the office tomorrow at ten.”
“Tomorrow? As in Monday?” She may not respect many boundaries, but one she’s always adhered to is that time off after a wedding weekend is sacred. “What’s going on that can’t wait until Tuesday?”
“There’s an important meeting and I need you there. That’s all you need to know. Bye bye, love. Have fun tonight!”
“Wh—”
Click.
Tonight? The brain fog is real this morning. I open my calendar app. The Warehouse Party. How could I forget?
The Warehouse Party is the unofficial kickoff to the Charter Oaks wedding planning season.
It’s a night to see and be seen by everyone in the wedding industry in Fairfield County.
Mingle with seasoned industry professionals, network with friends and colleagues, and honestly, get wasted and party like we’re the guests for a change.
Warehouse Rentals, the top luxury rental and production company in the county, has held the party every year for as long as I can remember. Well before I joined the agency. They clear out the main floor of their warehouse and turn it into an epic event for wedding professionals only.
It’s always been my favorite night of the year. Except for the party five years ago. I’d like to erase that night from my memories
I drag myself out of my cushy bed and over to my closet to figure out a ‘90s theme outfit. How am I going to find the energy for this party? I’m looking forward to it, but I could’ve used another hour of sleep and the dull throb at my left temple is getting stronger.
I grab my medication from the clear organizer on my dresser appropriately labeled migraine meds.
I take my cocktail and promise myself I’ll hydrate better at next weekend’s wedding.