Page 106 of Save the Date
“I never heard of such a thing,” the MOB said. “Anyway, we still need flowers for the church and the reception. Who’s going to do them?”
Heather’s eyes were pleading. Her mother was glaring at both of them.
“All right,” Cara relented. “I’ll do your bouquet and the church flowers, for two thousand dollars. But the altar flowers will also have to be carried over to your church parlor for the reception. You’ll need to deputize one of your bridesmaids or girlfriends to be in charge of that.”
“I’ll ask Jessica to do it,” Heather said.
“Two thousand is a really tight budget,” Cara warned. “I need you to understand that you won’t have exotic or imported flowers. We can do a lot with hydrangeas and carnations and glads and spray roses and local foliage. Do you have any friends with pretty gardens? We can use hosta leaves and ivy and ferns for greenery and that will save you a lot of money.”
“My sister is in a garden club,” Heather’s mom said. “She’ll let us cut whatever we need.”
“Wonderful,” Cara said. She stood up, as a signal that their meeting was over. “One more thing? The way this works is, you pay me half today, and the other half is due two weeks before the wedding.”
“A thousand dollars? Today?” The MOB clutched her pocketbook to her chest, as though Cara might make a lunge for it at any moment.
“Yes,” Cara said firmly. Some things were not negotiable.
“Mama?” Heather put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “We agreed, right? Two thousand for flowers.”
“But I thought we’d just look at pictures, and discuss,” the mother said.
Cara felt her patience wearing thin. In reality, her patience was flat gone. She gave the two women a bright smile. “You’re welcome to check around with other florists, but this is standard in our business. I really can’t give you any more of a consultation without receiving a deposit check. Today.”
Let them walk,Cara thought.I can’t afford this kind of charity.I might not even still be in business in August.
“Mama?” Heather was opening her own pocketbook, taking out her checkbook. She wrote the check, ripped it from the book, and handed it to Cara.
“Thank you,” Heather said fervently. “Thank you so much.”
***
Bert had been sitting at his side of the worktable, putting together hospital bouquets, listening throughout the consultation. When mother and daughter were gone, he slapped his scissors on the table.
“Looorrrrd,” he drawled. “When I looked out the window and saw those two pull up in that tired old Ford Fiesta I almost told them they’d come to the wrong place. What I don’t get is why you didn’t just tell them you can’t do a Bloom wedding for two thousand dollars. Why didn’t you just tell them to take their sad little selves out to Sam’s Club? They can get a whole lot of wilted chrysanthemums and daisies and carnations for two thousand dollars over there.”
“Cut it out, Bert,” Cara said sharply. “I can’t blame the girl for wanting something nice. Most girls dream about their wedding day their whole life. It’s not Heather’s fault all those magazines and websites love to feature fairytale weddings—but never explain what the price tags are.”
“You’re not doing her any favor indulging in her little fantasy world,” Bert said. “She’ll never find even a half-assed photographer or a caterer with the kind of piddly budget she’s talking about. She should just get her sourpuss mama to give her the money she’d spend on a tacky wedding and then elope. Spend the money on a trip to South of the Border, or a down payment on a double-wide.”
“Fun is fun, but now that’s just mean,” Cara said. “When did you get to be such a bitch?”
“And when did you get so high-minded and holier-than-thou?” he shot back. “Come on, Cara, lighten up, will you? We always used to have such fun around here, but lately, you’re so serious. Everything is so dire. Frankly, it’s depressing.”
Bert’s phone, which he’d placed on the worktable beside him, buzzed to signal an incoming text. He looked down, read it, then scrambled down off his high-backed stool. “I’m going to lunch.”
“You just got back from a coffee run that took thirty minutes,” Cara said. “And you came in thirty minutes late this morning. You’ve been pulling this same disappearing act all week. I warned you earlier, Bert. We’ve got Mary Payne’s ninetieth-birthday party tonight, and the bar association dinner at the Chatham Club tomorrow night, not to mention the phone orders we need to get done and delivered. I can’t get it all done by myself. And I shouldn’t have to.”
“Are you telling me I can’t take a lunch hour? That’s probably against the law, you know.”
“I’m telling you you’ve already taken a lunch hour,” she shot back. “If you’re really hungry, I’ll go upstairs and fix you a sandwich, or we can get a pizza delivered. But we both know that’s not the case. We both know that text you just got is a booty call from your new boyfriend.”
“Screw you!” Bert said angrily. “Just because you’ve got no life and live like a nun, doesn’t mean I have to.” He picked up his phone and walked deliberately toward the door.
“I mean it, Bert,” Cara said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “If you walk out that door now, you’re done. Don’t bother coming back.”
He had his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated, then strode back toward the worktable.
Relief flooded Cara’s body. She didn’t want this. But he’d pushed her right to the edge.
