Toss the Bride by Jennifer Manske Fenske

time making a dent.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Gwendolyn says, pacing back and forth in the overly floral-patterned bride’s room. Large vases of flowers crowd the antique dresser. “We have two hundred people arriving in less than two hours. We have the pastor, the wedding party, and the programs. Everything is perfect except for the fact that the church is decorated for the wrong wedding and my mother has a really big mean streak. I refuse to get married in that place.”
    â€œDo you want to have the wedding outside?” I ask. I don’t know why I think of it. It just comes to me. If she doesn’t like the way her mother took over the wedding, why not just get around it by moving outside? It’s hot out there, but it is nothing Atlanta people can’t handle. Plus, the ceremony is fairly short. Within no time, the guests will be in the air-conditioned beauty of the Fox Theatre.
    Gwen shuts her eyes and thinks for a moment. A lock of pink hair falls over her forehead. I hold my breath. I really want to be helpful.
    â€œI like it!” Gwendolyn says, her eyes opening wide. “But where? We have to use the parking we’ve reserved here at the church, and we can’t ask the guests to walk down to Piedmont Park. It’s too far, especially in the heat.”
    I think of the Midtown area. There are shops and bars and trendy eateries, but no secluded parks. Then I remember: The church has a little slice of manicured grounds near the main parking lot. It even has a fountain and clumps of begonias and impatiens. I tell Gwendolyn about it and she claps her hands. We decide the wedding party will walk down the outside main steps of the church and over to the impromptu wedding area. That way, she still gets an entrance. It will be sweet and dramatic.
    My next job is to find the pastor and let her know about the change of plans. Luckily, she’s in her study and agrees to it. I think the reverend is secretly rooting for the fashion designer/artist takeover of the wedding. I’ve heard this pastor has a tattoo, so I’m not surprised. She’s a rebel at heart.
    With the official stuff out of the way, I find Maurice and tell him what Gwen and I have worked out. He looks relieved and actually thanks me. This is a first. It turns out that Camille has gone back home to regroup, but she knows her time is running out. What can she do? She can’t stop people from coming at this point, and everything is paid for, so Gwen and Jake can get married if they want to.
    Maurice and I split up, he to make sure the little piece of park property is free of homeless sleepers, and me to make sure the programs are unboxed and that the musicians know the new plan. I find the flute player downstairs in the music hall and ask her to spread the word. She is tall and thin, in that languid musician way, and I think she gets it. You never can tell with those people. They always seem to be playing notes in their head.
    I make a dash upstairs to the bride’s room and happily see that Gwendolyn is getting hugs from her just-arrived bridal party. Jake is there, too, helping her into her dress. I think this is sweet. They are one of those couples who couldn’t care less about the “don’t see the bride” rule on the wedding day. It seems sad that Camille is not there to help her daughter, but that is her choice.
    Maurice makes one last check down at the Fox to make sure the reception has not been tainted by you-know-who. He says that everything looks perfect. Is Iris’s cake there, and is it pink? I ask. He assures me it is. My guess is that Camille was impressed with the cachet of having a cake from Cake Cake. After all, Iris is exclusive.
    By the time the guests arrive, the ushers have done a good job setting up chairs in a semicircle around the fountain. A lot of people will have to stand, but at least those who need a seat will have one. The programs flutter in the guests’ hands just