Last Call (Cocktail #5) by Alice Clayton

mother had come in for a weekend blitz of wedding details, the likes of which I’d not been the least bit prepared for. My mother, Simon, Mimi, and I, along with Jillian and Sophia for certain portions, had been shuttling across the bay and back again for two days of cake sampling, menu tastings, flower designing, dress fittings, and big band listening. The listening had been my favorite part, actually. The rest? For. The. Birds.
    How do people get married without losing their minds? Without losing their wallets? Without being convicted for assault by petticoat? I’d now been front and center for two weddings that I’d been directly involved with, first Jillian and then Mimi. And I’d thought from the outside, even as involved as I’d been, I’d be prepared for the onslaught of decisions and complications and the sheer terror of putting a foot wrong on our important day .
    I’d been blissfully ignorant. Not this time. I was full metal jacket in the middle of this tulle and lace torture extravaganza and it was going to drive me to the nuthouse. When my mother finally left to drive back home, leaving me in a house stacked with early wedding gifts, seating charts, and maps of the immediate areas surrounding both the church and the reception to help Mimi predict the traffic patterns on our important day, I’d closed the front door with a cheery wave and collapsed right there in the entryway. Simon found me there several minutes later when he handed me a cell phone.
    “Your mother,” he mouthed.
    “I turned my phone off!” I mouthed back.
    “That explains why she’s calling my phone, then, doesn’t it?”
    “Shit!” I whispered, then took the phone from him. “Hi, Mom, what’s up?” I said as he picked up my left ankle and dragged me into the living room. Luckily we’d just had the floor waxed and polished.
    Once I hung up the phone, I looked up at him from where he’d left me, just next to the couch where he sat, looking exhausted and more than a little confused.
    “She didn’t even make it onto the freeway before she thought of more seating chart issues,” I explained, handing him back his phone.
    “I got that. How can it be so hard to put all these people in the same room? Hi. You’re our loved ones. We’d like you to be here with us while we make things official and all that. You’re our favorite people in the entire world. We’re going to feed you roasted beef tenderloin with new baby potatoes dotted with a mushroom sauce made from mushrooms foraged in the hills above San Francisco. And you can’t forget about a dead cat long enough to enjoy the Atlantic prawns served over a bed of sautéed arugula accented with a garlic foam?”
    “We had to eighty-six the prawns, babe. Too many people have a shellfish allergy.”
    “But I loved the garlic foam!”
    “I know, babe.”
    “This is getting out of hand.” He sighed, coveringhis face. I crawled from the floor up onto his lap and pried his hands back.
    “I hear that. Want to elope?”
    “Tomorrow,” he said, looking at me to see if I was serious. When I shook my head, he sighed again. “It’s fine. It’ll be good. Then I get you all to myself on a beach in Spain for three weeks.”
    “You’re right about that. I’m so glad you were able to get that same house in Nerja. It’s the perfect place for a honeymoon. And it’s only a month away.”
    “A month. Only a month. Only a month,” he repeated like a mantra. “I thought I’d get some time to pack this weekend for my trip, but taste testing cakes took precedence.”
    “They were really good cakes; don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that part of it.”
    “They were good, but nothing’s as good as what you make for me. If I had my way, we’d be having your apple pie instead of wedding cake,” he said, his hands resting on my hips.
    “That’s sweet, babe. But the triple coconut with raspberry cream was pretty damn good.”
    “Agreed. Want to come help me pack?”
    I said yes,