Page 25 of Save the Date
“I have to admit, it’s sort of overwhelming,” Marie went on. “I’ve never had to plan a wedding before. I eloped, you see. Anyway, I’d really hoped Brooke could join us this morning. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know where to begin. I was just talking to Vicki about that last week—we’re both on the literacy-council board, and she insisted that you would be the perfect person to help us.”
“Vicki has been very kind to me,” Cara said. “I’ve done weddings for several of her friends in town.”
“That’s what she said. In fact, I was at Torie Fanning’s wedding Saturday night. I thought everything was absolutely beautiful.”
“I’m glad,” Cara said. “Maybe we could start there. Was there anything in particular at Torie’s wedding that you liked—or even disliked?”
“Well… I loved all those hydrangeas. So old-fashioned. But Brooke is a very modern girl. I’m not sure she’d share my opinion.”
Cara flipped open the cover of her photo album. “These are photos of some of my weddings over the past few years. Most of these are in my portfolio on my website, so hopefully, you and Brooke could look through it and see if there are any flowers or styles or colors that speak to you.”
Marie nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. All I have to do is manage to get Brooke to slow down for an hour or so to think about the wedding.”
“What about her gown?” Cara asked. “It would be helpful if I had a photo of it—and also of her bridesmaids’ gowns.”
“Her gown.” Marie said it like a sigh. “She hasn’t bought one yet.”
“Really?” Cara raised one eyebrow. “Is she aware that it can take as long as three months to order a gown, get it delivered and fitted?”
“How well I know,” Marie said. “This daughter of mine—she can be unbelievably stubborn. She’s looked in magazines, shopped in Atlanta, tried on dozens and dozens of gowns, but so far she says the dress—the magic dress, she calls it—hasn’t grabbed her. I want to grabher—around the throat,” she said apologetically.
“Can she wear a dress off the rack?” Cara asked, which was a tactful way of asking if the MIA bride was a standard size.
“She’s a size six, so I don’t think it will be too hard to fit her,” Marie said. “But I’d feel so much better if she could just choose something… anything.”
Cara scribbled a note to herself on her notepad, then looked back at Marie. “Bridesmaids? How many?”
“One. Just one maid of honor. Harris’s sister Holly.”
“Does Holly have a dress? Do we know what color?”
Marie rolled her eyes. “Brown. For a July wedding. It seems all wrong to me. Does a brown dress sound as awful to you as it does to me?”
“Wellll…” Cara flipped a couple of pages of the photo album. “It depends on how brown the brown dress is. For instance, the right shade can be flattering—and brown is a wonderful foil for pale pink flowers.” She tapped a fingertip on a photo of a wedding she’d done the previous October. “See?”
Marie opened the gold clasp of her pocketbook, pulled out a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses, and peered down at the photo. “Oh. Hmm. But this was a fall wedding, wasn’t it? And the girl—the bridesmaid—she was a blond. Holly is a strawberry blond.”
“You’ve got a point there,” Cara said. “But can you talk Brooke and Holly out of a brown dress for a July wedding?”
“Probably not.”
“Then we’ll figure out a way to make it work.”
Marie smiled and closed the book. “Vicki was right. I do like you.” She bit her lip and looked out the window of the shop.
“But?” Cara asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s not up to me. Not completely.”
“Of course, I understand totally,” Cara said. “When do you think Brooke can make time to meet with me?”
“Not Brooke,” Marie said quietly. “Her father.”
10
Marie Trapnell was flipping the pages of the wedding photo album, avoiding Cara’s eyes.
“Gordon—my ex-husband—has been very clear that he wants to be completely involved in the planning of Brooke’s wedding.”
