Once and for All(51)

“No,” my mom said flatly, as he hung up the phone. “No way she just canceled on us for this. I won’t accept it.”

“You know I usually am a big fan of denial,” he replied with a sigh, “but we probably need to call the photographer and reschedule. We can’t shoot wedding images without a bride.”

Just then, as if on cue, the front door chimed. When I looked over, a petite woman with close-cut black curls was entering, pulling a case behind her. A light setup was over her shoulder. “Morning,” she called out, totally oblivious to the mood of the room. “Where do you want me?”

My mom groaned, putting her head in her hands. This was dramatic for her, but I understood the frustration. Ever since Natalie Barrett Weddings had been chosen as a finalist for Local Business of the Year by Lakeview Monthly she’d been on edge, doing everything she could to better our chances of winning. This included, but was not limited to, eschewing the staff photographer the magazine had sent to get some quick candids in favor of a professional taking pictures of a real-life couple in our office. One of our upcoming brides, Marlo Wagner, had been all set up to come in with her fiancé that morning until the phone call a few minutes earlier. We’d had a lot of problems in the office, but lacking a bride and groom at the same time had never been one of them.

“I’ll call the magazine,” William said now, picking up the phone again. “Tell them we need another day.”

“Don’t bother,” my mom told him through her hands. “They already made it clear that if they don’t have these images by business close today they’re going with stock ones. Stock, William. Can you even imagine?”

“There has to be a solution to this,” he said, as the photographer started unpacking cameras and lenses from her case. “We don’t need a real bride and groom. Just two people to play the part.”

“No one wants to see us cutting a cake,” my mom said. “We’re too old and grizzled.”

“Speak for yourself. I got carded buying prosecco the other day,” he replied, somewhat haughtily. “And I wasn’t thinking about us.”

I was moving on to the next stack of programs when I became acutely aware of the fact that I was being watched. Sure enough, when I paused and glanced up, they were both looking right at me.

“No,” I said firmly. “No way.”

“She has a point,” my mom said, although she kept her eyes on me. “We’re not in the child bride business. However, if we just did body part shots—”

“What?” I asked, horrified.

“—it would easily work,” William finished, as if I hadn’t said anything. “Hands cutting a cake, hands holding a bouquet, shots from the back. Yes. I think it’s doable.”

“Do neither of you hear me saying no over here?” I said.

“I guess we don’t necessarily need a groom,” my mom told William, answering this question for me. “Although I did like the symmetry aspect of some of your ideas.”

“I’m not speaking to either of you,” I announced, going back to what I was doing. The door chimed again, cheerful, and I made a point of not looking up. The silence that followed, however, was familiar. As in a recent way.

“What?” I heard Ambrose say. He’d been out getting the first coffee order of the morning. “What is it?”

Now I had to speak up. “No,” I said loudly.

“Okay, okay,” Ambrose, assuming this was directed at him, said quickly. “Fine. I did eat one of these doughnuts I just got us without offering them around first.”

My mom and William were still studying him, much like hungry cats in cartoons eye plump birds whistling on a swing.

“Fine, it was two,” Ambrose added. “I’m sorry! I was hungry. Also—”

“This isn’t about doughnuts,” my mother told him. She looked at me again. “It’s about helping out when the company is in a serious bind.”

“Oh.” Ambrose exhaled. “Well, sure. What do you need?”

“See?” she said, pointing at him. “Now that’s loyalty.”

“I am not going to pretend to be engaged to Ambrose!” I said.

“Engaged?” He grinned at me. “Oh, this should be fun.”

This was not the word in my head when, half an hour later, I left the conference room with my nails still wet from a rush manicure from Liza, a nail tech from the nearby salon whom my mother coaxed over with a crisp fifty-dollar bill. Because this was supposed to be shots of a casual client meeting, I’d kept on the sundress I’d worn to work that day. As I walked toward Ambrose and the photographer, now set up in the reception area, I saw he had on a new, crisp shirt. Also, he was smiling at me in a way that made it clear he still thought this was hilarious.

“Now, I think first we’ll just do some shots of you flipping through the books of other weddings,” the photographer said, gesturing for me to sit down on one of the chaises. “Because we’re not doing faces, I’ll blur your profiles in editing, focusing more on your hands, together, on the pages.”

Ambrose patted the seat beside him. “Come on, honey. Time for our close-up.”

I looked at my mother, who held up ten fingers, symbolizing the hundred bucks I’d been promised for going through with this. It was not enough. Still, I sat down.