Once and for All(80)

Maya sniffled, putting her hand to her mouth, as Bee and Lauren exchanged looks. But I was focused only on Ambrose, looking around the backyard with obvious, rising panic on his face.

“Go find a ladder,” I told him. “I’ve got this.”





CHAPTER


    23





MY MOTHER always said that a good wedding is eighty percent organization, fifteen percent guest behavior, and five percent luck. But really, no matter the size or type, you took all the luck you could get.

So far, we’d had some. Like the fact that Bee’s neighbor two doors down was a contractor who had several ladders, one of which he happily climbed, lights in hand, then draped them across the branches as I directed him. He also had six folding chairs in his garage, which we were able to add to the five that Bee found wrapped in spiderwebs behind her water heater, where they’d been left by the previous owner of the house. We still needed more, though, which was why it was especially fortunate the Bakers kept an ample supply in their own garage to set up, along with small tables, for impromptu food truck seating. One call to Jilly—sure enough, Kitty had an ear infection—and she’d offered to bring as many as we needed of each. When I told Ambrose, he exhaled such a big breath I thought he might collapse outright.

“Thank God,” he said. “If I had to hear Roger talking about blankets one more time I would have lost my mind.”

“She and Michael Salem are going to try to bring them by five at the latest. Ceremony is at six, right?”

“That’s the plan,” he said, unpacking another mason jar from the box at his feet. “It should be super-fast. Then we’ll immediately start receptioning.”

“Not exactly a word,” I pointed out, lending a hand with the jars. “What about food? Are you doing it right away, or waiting?”

“It’s all finger stuff that has to be heated,” he said. “So I figured we’d do it in waves. That’s why I put that one table down at the bottom of the stairs. We can run out the trays, plop them down, and let everyone have at them.”

Plop, like hurl, was a word I hadn’t heard much before in terms of planning. “You may get a mob scene, though, especially if people are hungry. Might be better to pass some, so they can’t all rush one spot.”

“Oh.” He stopped unpacking. “I didn’t think about that. We don’t have servers, though.”

“I can help with that,” I told him, picking out another jar. “And I’m sure we can enlist a couple of others. There’s a certain kind of wedding guest that likes a job. You just have to ID them.”

This, of course, was different from someone trying to wrest control of the event. There were types who just thrived on managing a guestbook or collecting bouquets from bridesmaids for the cake table, and William was great at spotting them within minutes of arrival. Without him there, I’d just have to trust my own instincts.

“Oh, I don’t want you to have to stick around,” Ambrose said now, as we finally emptied the box. A dozen jars for six tables: eighteen would be better, but it would do. “I’m sure you have plans tonight.”

Instantly, I felt embarrassed. Here I was inviting myself to the very wedding I’d been adamant only the day before I wanted no part of. Stupid, I thought, and wished for a second I’d ignored his text and just stayed home, maybe tried again to deal with that dress. Then, though, I looked in the wide window in front of us and saw Maya at the kitchen island, bent over the crowns she and Lauren were weaving from flowers picked in Bee’s garden. She was smiling as she said something, then covered her mouth and laughed.

“Not until later tonight,” I told him. “I mean, I don’t want to force myself on you. But if you need my help, you have it.”

Ambrose looked up at me. “I think it’s obvious that need is not even strong enough a word. Please stay.”

Now I smiled. “Okay. Now let’s talk tablecloths.”

It was a short conversation, as this detail, like many others, had been overlooked. “Oh, shit,” Lauren said, when we went inside to report this. “With the whole blanket debate those totally slipped my mind.”

“You don’t absolutely need them,” I pointed out. “It’s just the tables are kind of banged up.”

“So we need six tablecloths,” Ambrose said, looking around the kitchen as if they might suddenly materialize. That would be luck. “And probably some plates.”

“Probably?” I asked.

“We have lots of napkins!” he told me. “It’s finger food.”

“People will get a new napkin for every item they eat?” asked Roger, who unlike the tablecloths, had suddenly appeared. “That’s so bad for the earth.”

“Roger, it’s a napkin, not fracking,” Lauren told him, sounding more peeved than I thought was possible for her.

“It’s still wasteful. What we should do is give everyone one plate and one cup when they arrive, and they keep it until the end.”

“What?” Maya said.

“Oh, shit.” Ambrose sighed. “Cups.”

“We don’t have cups?” Lauren asked.

“I am not asking people to carry around their plate for three hours!” Maya said, her voice more adamant than I’d heard it all day.