7. Chapter 7
The weekend arrived, and I had to ignore the sick, swelling feeling in my chest that told me I didn’t have time to help my sister pack when I had laundry, groceries, meal prep, checking emails, and support tickets. Saturdays and Sundays were slotted for catching up on work and tending to all the other tasks that ensured I could survive as a functioning adult.
But I didn’t know when I’d have a chance to see my Floridian of a sister, and I looked forward to catching up with my mom, too. So consequences be damned.
Hailey barely got the door to her apartment open before nearly knocking me down with a hug. I squealed and put a foot down like a kickstand to keep us upright.
Then, Hailey pulled back to give me a hard pinch on the arm.
“Ow!” I said, rubbing the area.
“That’s for letting my orchid die.” She moved aside to let me see a shriveled papery flower hanging limply from a woody stem.
“I’m sorry! I lost my sister to Florida. I wasn’t thinking about your houseplants. Look on the bright side. That thing is finally out of its misery.”
Hailey went for another pinch, but I dodged. “I brought boxes,” I offered, trying to extend an olive branch.
“Come on.” She led me past a maze of cardboard and a half-packed living room. “You can get started on my calligraphy collection.”
“You going to let the real expert pack up the supplies?” I asked with a smug smile.
“No. I just want to give you a task I think you can actually handle.” The words were mean, but they held no bite.
“Ouch,” I said, a hand dramatically flying to my chest.
Mom already sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling clothes out of Hailey’s dresser.
“Hi, sweetie!”
I squatted to hug her and got a dose of serotonin that comes with catching the scent of home. “Hey, Mom! How’s it going?”
“Same old, same old,” she answered. I noted the blots of paint on her shirt. Same old, indeed. “What about you?”
“Just work, work, and more work,” I said, eyeing Hailey’s desk to map out the best plan for organizing the area.
“Hailey says you agreed to be her business partner,” Mom said brightly.
“Did everyone know about your business but me?” I asked, not even trying to mask my hurt. I mean, geez, I was her sister. Her compadre. The one who brought her Mr. Goodbars when she was on her period. And watched horror movies every Halloween with her—even though I hated scary movies. In high school, we’d fawned over the same boys and avoided the same mean girls.
We’d made a preteen pact that we would be each other’s maids of honor—drawn up a contract on notebook paper. We were close, to say the least. But not close enough for her to tell me she was making a business out of my passion, apparently.
My mom sighed and put down the shorts she’d just folded. “Sweetie, I think Hailey just wanted you to really consider joining.”
“And I knew you wouldn’t unless it was established,” Hailey cut in, not nearly as gentle as Mom.
I made myself very busy then, lining the pens up and laying them in the zipper pouch. “You act like being careful is a deficit.”
“It can be,” Hailey muttered, snapping open a trash bag.
“It’s not,” Mom said. “Especially not after what happened to me—to us.”
And that did it. Hailey and I shared a look. Truce. Because any time Mom brought up the summer that had uprooted our life, we did whatever we could to keep her from feeling guilty.
My eyes fell on the hunter-green envelope I’d found in Hailey’s room weeks ago. The one that had been a window into Hailey’s secret life. Before, the envelope had been a startling revelation. Now, it was an easy way to change the subject.
“Hey,” I said, frisbeeing the invitation onto Hailey’s bare mattress. “You might want to mail this off soon.”
Hailey picked up the invitation, then her eyes widened as she realized what it was. “Oh shit! This is for Victoria’s shower. I mailed the others weeks ago.”
“Hopefully, Ms. Reagan Dawson can find a gift in time.”
Hailey rolled her eyes. “The shower is still a month away, and we live in the era of Amazon Prime. I think she’ll be fine.” Hailey went back to boxing her bookshelf. “Besides, you can hardly blame me for missing one; with 145, it’s bound to happen.”
I nearly dropped the stack of paper I’d been straightening. “You mean 145 guests. Total,” I supplied. But even that number seemed too high.
“No. Her guest list is 230 people.”
I gaped.
“What?” Hailey asked, seemingly annoyed at my stupor.
“You never told me I was taking over a freaking mega-wedding!”
“What did you expect?” Hailey went on, inspecting a book as she spoke. “She’s Victoria Atteridge.”
“Atteridge?” The room spun. I planted my hands on the desk, trying to ground myself. “As in—” No. There was no way.
“Yeah. Atteridge Hotels. Her guest list is actually pretty tame for her status.” Hailey’s voice sounded far away as the magnitude hit me. “You have access to my Gmail and all my client info. How is this the first time you’re realizing this?”
“Because,” I hissed, “you have all your clients listed by first names. I didn’t go diving in with background checks. I just assumed your clients were like . . . regular people.” I put my hand on my chest, sure a blotchy rash consumed the pale skin. “How in the heck did you get a deal with Victoria Atteridge?”
The Atteridge was a luxury hotel franchise with locations in the Woodlands, Houston, and Galveston. But I knew they had branches all over the world. I’d seen the towering hotels as a kid and always wanted to stay in one. We never had, and as an adult, I understood why, with their cheapest room at three hundred a night, their most expensive upwards of two thousand.
“Wow,” Hailey huffed. “You really have no faith in me.”
I scoffed. “You started calligraphy like three days ago, so excuse me for being in shock.”
“Look, I don’t know why you are making such a big deal out of this. I already addressed all the wedding and shower invites. The hardest part is done. You just have a few tasks left.”
“I’m making a big deal,” I said between my teeth, “because this client is practically royalty, and I don’t want to mess up any part of her big day.”
“Listen, before you go on a doom spiral, just go to that meeting with her. Feel out the situation.”
“Hailey—”
“Please. I know I have no right to put this on you, but this business has meant so much to me. I don’t want to see it tank yet. I just need you to finish this client, and then I’ll start opening my business to people in Florida.”
“You’re right. You don’t have a right to put this on me,” I said, feeling the full weight of her absence. She looked like I’d struck her. Those big blue eyes I’d always been jealous of seemed to get even bigger—puppy dog begging big. I sighed, relenting, of course, because I was always a huge softie when it came to her. “But I will at least go to the meeting.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” She paused her praise as something like doubt crept across her features. “But you know you have to pretend to be me. Right?”
“What? Why?” We hadn’t discussed this when I agreed to take the job.
“Because wouldn’t you be pissed if your calligrapher quit and sent in her little sister instead?”
I snorted. Hailey was only fourteen months older than me, and I’d had over a decade longer of practicing calligraphy. “Yeah. You’re right. She has no idea I’m the better calligrapher.”
“I want you to bottle up this confidence for the next time you have a panic attack over Victoria’s wedding.”
My mom, who usually left Hailey and me to work things out for ourselves, shook her head. She neatly placed a stack of clothes into a box and then turned to face us. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have Emily pretend to be you, Hailey.”
“Me either,” I said. “Besides, how would that even work? Haven’t you two already met?”
“No. I met with the first wedding planner, Darcy. But Darcy was replaced by Amanda.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Probably couldn’t hang.”
I swallowed. Great. Victoria is possibly a bridezilla with a penchant for firing the wedding staff. What could go wrong?
“So,” Hailey continued, “it shouldn’t be an issue.”
“What about social media? She could already know what you look like.”
“My accounts are private. I don’t accept requests from clients, not that she has sent a request anyway.”
“Yeah, but anyone can see your profile picture.”
“Which is?”
I thought about it. She hardly ever changed her profile picture. The one she had now for Facebook and Instagram had been taken years ago when she visited Enchanted Rock. The photo was of her back, arms outstretched as she looked at the landscape. Her red hair, the same color as mine, nearly glowed in the setting sun.
“The Enchanted Rock picture,” I answered.
“And faceless. I have no plans on changing it.”
“This . . . could work,” I mused.
“It could,” she said, smiling. “Oh, before I forget.” She nodded toward a box at the foot of her bed. “Take that home with you. It’s for a couple of her projects. There’s printouts of exactly what she wants. It’s very basic—should be no problem for a pro like you.”
“Oh good.” I rolled the packing tape loudly across a box. “So, I just have to . . . do all the work.”
“Oh my god!” I laughed at her exclamation. “I am done with all your complaining. You are totally killing the vibe Mom and I had before you got here.”
“I think Florida life has ruined you. Everything has to be a party now.”
“I was always like that,” Hailey said, dropping another book into the box before sticking her tongue out at me.
“Speaking of Florida, when are we going to meet Braxton?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I have a few words I’d like to exchange with the man who stole my sister.”
Hailey snorted. “I don’t know. He’s busy establishing his business in Key West. I’m sure you’ll be able to meet him soon.”
“What’s he like?” I asked.
“Hmm. Well . . . Let’s see. He’s sweet, loves shrimp po boys, and dreams of owning a jet ski. He’s really . . . sweet.”
Sweet.That didn’t seem like Hailey’s usual bad-boy type, but Hailey threw on a playlist of throwback boy band tunes before I could comment.
I finished packing the desk and decided to peek at the projects Hailey had waiting for me. The printouts lay on top of a pile of jean jackets, and under those was a large object wrapped with paper, which crinkled as I revealed a lantern with a weathered wood frame.
The first printout had a picture of a name scrawled across the back of a jean jacket, then it listed the names of Victoria’s bridesmaids. According to the email, the personalized jean jackets were to be gifts for Victoria’s gals.
It would be a flirty, fun project, which is why the somber message for the lantern took me by surprise: This lantern is lit in loving memory of Poppy.
What a beautiful tribute for a lost loved one. I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep Victoria as a client, but I could at least do this for her. Carefully, I rewrapped the lantern and closed the box, my fingers itching to complete the project.