Agnes and the Hitman by Jennifer Crusie

horror.
    “Well, it’s too late to get another florist, everybody would understand that, and we can’t have it here,” she said, the voice of reason. “This place isn’t even painted.”
    You have lost your ever-lovin’ mind, Agnes thought.
    “We cannot use the country club’s flowers,” Evie said firmly. “But I do agree that Two Rivers is a little shabby for a wedding of this stature, so I think that moving it to—”
    Agnes said, trying to keep the panic from her voice, “Well, I think— “
    Maria stood up. “You know, I just love my grandpa’s big old house. It’s just ... the South, don’t you think?” She turned to look at it in all its scraped and scabby glory, Tara with leprosy, and turned back hastily. “And I do want a Southern wedding, in the fine old Keyes tradition. I do believe in tradition, don’t you, Mrs. Keyes?”
    Evie nodded, not buying anything yet.
    “But I do want a wedding that will make people sit up and take notice,” Maria said, looking at Brenda. “I want a wedding that says, Look at us, we have arrived, we belong. Right, Grandma Brenda?”
    Brenda looked up at her, and for a moment she looked hungry, even vulnerable. Agnes thought, She wonts to belong, she feels as alone as I do.
    Maria moved between Brenda and Evie. “That’s what I want my wedding to be, tradition and innovation, the best of both worlds, having it all!”
    The two older women looked at each other, united in confusion.
    Agnes frowned. It was a nice picture, Maria uniting the two fighting houses, but she was Lisa Livia’s kid, and her cake, her flowers, and her dress had just been canceled, and now Brenda and Evie were trying to hijack the whole damn thing to the fucking country club.
    Language, Agnes.
    To the gosh-darned country club.
    Agnes pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath, and said, “Well, I think that’s wonderful, but you can just forget the country—”
    “We’ll have it all,” Maria said, thrillingly. “My wedding in my grandpa’s house, which Agnes will get painted—”
    Agnes started at the steel in Maria’s voice and then nodded.
    “—and Taylor’s brilliant food, and Agnes’s wonderful cake, and Maisie Shuttle’s gorgeous flowers, which Grandma Brenda will get back for us—”
    Brenda flinched.
    “—and Evie’s cousin Wesley’s marvelous photographs, and Palmer’s fraternity brother’s uncle’s band, and it’s going to be so perfect, so traditional and yet new.”
    “Well, that’s very sweet, Maria,” Brenda said, “but—”
    Shut up, Brenda, Agnes thought, seeing the red light behind Maria’s eyes, so like the light in Lisa Livia’s before the carnage began.
    “And it will be all of that,” Maria said, her voice rising, “because it will all be tied together by our theme, the symbol of Palmer’s and my future.”
    “Theme?” Evie said, surprised.
    “Theme?” Brenda said, confused.
    “Oh, God,” Agnes said, bracing herself.
    Maria smiled at Palmer, out on the lawn, gazing at the grass.
    “Grass?” Agnes said, thinking, Green, I could fake green by Saturday.
    “Flamingos,” Maria said.
    “What the hell?” Brenda said, startled.
    “You’re joking, of course,” Evie said.
    “Pink,” Agnes said, thinking, Pink, I can fake pink by Saturday.
    Maria opened her bag and took out an eight-inch virulently pink plastic flamingo and slapped it on the table. “Isn’t it just hysterical? It’s a pen. Dina Delvecchio sent it to me when she found out that Palmer’s big successful golf course is called the Flamingo. See, the feet are like the holder, and you pull the pen out—”
    “Dina Delvecchio?” Evie said, grasping at straws since the flamingo was probably beyond comprehension.
    “Maria’s maid of honor,” Agnes said, staring at the flamingo pen. “Bless her heart” Goddammit, Brenda, you had to open your mouth, didn’t you?
    “—and we glue the place cards to the beaks,” Maria went on. “They’re only