Chapter 33 #2
As soon as the meeting ends and Judy is tucked back in her office with the door closed, I grab my phone and dart for the door as calmly as I can manage. I hear the click of Maddie’s heels not far behind me.
“What the actual fuck was that, Brooke?” The door slams behind her and she runs down the stairs after me. “Because that made my fucking week. Did you see the look on her face? I thought she might slap you. Don’t worry, I would have gotten up and slapped her right back.”
I’m already halfway down the block from the office. “Maddie,” I turn around, interrupting her. “I love you, but I need a minute.”
“Got it!” She balls her hands into fists at her sides, as if that could contain her palpable energy.
I turn around and hands land on my shoulders, stopping me from bumping right into… “Jordan! What are you doing here?”
Her eyes move to Maddie. “This one texted me forty-five minutes ago.” She looks at her phone and reads: “‘SOS Brooke is having a nervous breakdown. Get downtown ASAP.’ So here I am.”
“Seriously?” I raise my brows at Maddie. “A nervous breakdown?”
“You basically gave Judy the professional equivalent of the middle finger in front of the entire staff. I think we’re in nervous breakdown territory.
Jordan, you should’ve seen her. Judy was all, ‘blah blah blah, we hate Foley’s…
’ and Brooke’s like, ‘um, don’t you talk shit about my boyfriend,’ and… ”
“Maddie!” Jordan and I both shout in unison.
“That is not what happened,” I tell Jordan.
“Don’t worry.” She shrugs. “I don’t believe a word she says most of the time.”
“Rude,” Maddie says, frowning.
“Wait.” I look at Maddie. “I thought you were mad at me about the whole Caleb thing.”
She waves a finger at me. “First of all, I wasn’t mad. I’m looking out for you. Second of all,” she says, waving two fingers at me. “We now share a common enemy, so all is forgiven.”
I can’t hold in my laugh. “You’re something else, Maddie.”
We walk toward Old Post Coffee. Maddie tells Jordan the real story of what happened in the meeting, and I zone them both out.
I’m going to throw up. What the hell did I do in there?
My whole life I’ve stood by and done what Mom told me to do or what I thought she’d want me to do.
I’ve always known she was a little harsh, that she parented me differently than my friends were parented.
She’s my mom so, until now, I’ve always defended her.
But I didn’t fully know who I was defending.
Or I did and I didn’t want to believe it.
How the hell am I going to get through this week?
She’s forced herself into every part of this wedding. Into every part of my life.
I take a deep breath. In. Out. I can do this. I’ll pretend things are fine. I’ll pretend the glass hasn’t been shattered. That the glitter isn’t everywhere. And I’ll deal with it after the Quincy wedding.
The Quincy property’s been completely transformed by the time I arrive for the walkthrough, with the signature Sperry Tent flags waving against a bright blue sky.
I refuse to look at the weather report until tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop me from saying a silent prayer to Mother Nature for Saturday’s weather to be even half as beautiful as it is right now.
Friday and Sunday too, while I’m at it. The wall-to-wall flooring inside the tent has been installed.
Forty tables and four hundred chairs are arranged around the black-and-white checkered dance floor.
Between Warehouse Rentals, Foley’s, and Spencer Soirees, there are about two dozen people completing various tasks.
This is the best part of it all. Seeing the pieces come together and fall right into place.
The energy and excitement of all the hard work finally paying off.
It’s like the penultimate episode of an HBO Max series.
This wedding is the season finale and everything feels a bit more relaxed. At least for us vendors.
I’d be enjoying this a lot more if I wasn’t waiting for Mom’s inevitable arrival. My eyes have been darting in all directions like a deranged owl for the last fifteen minutes. I’ve positioned myself on the far side of the tent by the water, giving me a view of the entire property.
I turn to the ocean to read an email on my phone. The glaring afternoon sun makes it difficult to see my screen. I feel a hand on the small of my back followed by a kiss on my bare shoulder.
“Caleb!” I turn from the water and swat his hand off my back. “There are people here! People with eyes!”
“Oh no, not eyes!” he jests.
“I mean it,” I say with a laugh. But I don’t.
I wish we weren’t hiding. If I’m still wishing and praying, I wish we could be back at my house, making an early dinner together.
And by that, I mean Caleb cooking and me providing moral support.
Drinking wine outside on the patio before heading into bed, or the couch, or the floor, or a surface we haven’t tackled yet.
It’s going to be a long four days. We’re both working around the clock until Monday—no time for ripping each other’s clothes off.
I hoped the morning we just spent together would make it easier to pretend all weekend.
But looking at Caleb, I was so wrong about that.
I’m so screwed once he puts on his chef coat.
“No one is paying attention to us.” He grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers and turning us to face the water so no one can see the small public display of affection.
I take back my earlier wish. I want a day at the beach with Caleb.
The real beach. I’m a proud Nutmegger, but this part of the Sound leaves a lot to be desired.
I want clear, blue waves and soft white sand. A cocktail in my hand. Caleb shirtless…
“Good afternoon, Caleb, Brooke.” Shit. Mom’s voice echoes behind me. Caleb drops my hand and quickly takes a step away from me. We both turn to face my mother.
“Hello, Judy,” Caleb says, giving her a cold hug and an air kiss on each cheek. How does he pretend everything is fine?
“Good afternoon, Mom…I’m sorry, Judy,” I say, tripping over my words like I’ve never addressed her by her given name before.
“You two seem to be getting along.” She looks me square in the eyes and purses her lips. “Bring me up to speed.”
“Of course, Judy.” Caleb offers his elbow, and Mom puts her hand through it. “Let me show you where my team will be working and I can answer any concerns you have. I’m sure there won’t be many, as Brooke has been meticulous in making sure we’re doing everything up to Spencer Soirees’ standards.”
“I sure hope she has,” she says.
Caleb turns his head and winks at me. Winks! I mouth thank you and watch him walk away in those goddamn ass-hugging jeans.
Judy’s occupied with a few of the groomsmen who have arrived in town early for the festivities. Scouting them as potential partners for me, no doubt. They seem nice enough. Polite and well-mannered. Dressed well with jobs at hedge funds or tech startups. Carbon copies of Kent.
“Hey.” Caleb comes up behind me. “Hannah and Preston want to introduce us to Kevin from the Times while Judy plays Mrs. Robinson.”
“Gross, Caleb,” I say. “That’s my mom!”
He smirks, showing off that damn dimple. I so badly want to kiss him right here in front of everyone. I’m tired of worrying about the fallout that will inevitably follow with my mom.
I want to skip ahead. I’ve pictured what a life together might look like a million different ways. Each scenario is different, but in all of them I’m happy.
Then I remember who my mother is and what she’s done.
What are we supposed to do? Sit down and enjoy Christmas dinner together?
Is Mom going to walk me down the aisle with Lynne and Paul sitting in the first row?
What if we have kids? Everything we do will be criticized.
Oh god, she’s going to ruin every birthday party.
Either by making it completely over the top or making it all about her. Probably both.
“Brooke?” Caleb says in a tone that suggests it’s not the first time he’s saying my name. I get out of my own head and find we’ve made it to the front of the house where Hannah and Preston are waiting with Kevin.
“I’m sorry.” I extend my hand to the well-dressed man in front of me. He’s wearing bright blue dress shorts and a white long-sleeve dress shirt. His ivory tortoiseshell glasses pop against his warm brown skin. “It’s nice to meet you, Kevin. I didn’t realize you were stopping by today.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he says with a smile. “My husband and I have a cottage in Litchfield. Thought I’d pop down to get the lay of the land and introduce myself before the day.”
“That’s great,” Caleb says. “Anything we can show you or help with?”
“Preston showed me around a bit. On Saturday, I’ll have a few questions for you both. Hannah’s been singing your praises.”
Hannah smiles at us. Kevin’s phone buzzes. “Ah, that’s my editor, great to meet you all. See you Saturday.” He waves and walks to his car.
“He seems nice,” I whisper to Caleb. “But it still makes me anxious.”
“Okay, so,” Hannah says to us with a sly smile.
“I was thinking since you’re both pretty much going to be here all day for the next few days, it makes no sense to be driving back and forth so much.
There’re still some renovations being done on the second floor of the carriage house, but the first floor is completely done, and I think you both should stay here tomorrow through Sunday. What do you think?”
What do I think? I think it’d be so nice to be on site twenty-four-seven.
I think my favorite thing in the world is waking up next to Caleb.
I think my mom can’t show up out of the blue like she does at my house.
I think Hannah is an angel sent from above to help me get through this weekend.
But I don’t say any of that because staying at my client’s parents’ carriage house with my boyfriend, who is also their caterer, must cross some kind of professional boundary.
“Hannah, it’s important that we maintain a level of professionalism this weekend,” I say, avoiding eye contact with Caleb. “Especially with the Times coming.”
Hannah pouts. “Well, that’s not fun.”
“You two can christen the new mattress,” Preston says with raised brows. Oh my god.
“Preston, please!” Hannah chides. “Technically the carriage house has three bedrooms. Only one on the first floor, though. But no one has to know that!”
“I’m with Hannah and Preston,” Caleb deadpans, moving to stand next to them so they all face me. Partners in crime. Hannah smiles like she’s already won.
I roll my eyes playfully at them. “Are you sure? We don’t want to put you or your parents out on your wedding weekend. There’s already so much going on.”
“Are you kidding me, Brooke? Having my wedding planner here all weekend—”
“Her motives are entirely selfish,” Preston adds.
Caleb looks at me expectantly.
“Okay, fine,” I say with a shrug. “If you insist!”
“Oh, I do. I absolutely insist!” She smiles, victorious. “Oh, I just love love!”
Love.
This constant swelling in my chest.
These butterflies in my stomach.
The all-consuming pull to him.
I tried so hard to make these feelings materialize for Kent. They never did. The night I bumped into Caleb in June, they began to simmer. Now they’re boiling over. We’ve moved so fast, and this wedding season has been so insanely busy that I haven’t stopped to think about it.
I love Caleb Foley.