“Speaking of wildly successful people we’re pretending are normal, how’s security for the comedian’s tour going?” I ask my sister and brother-in-law.
“It’s crazy how much different it is from Jaxon’s tour last year, but it’s been a lot of fun,” Carter replies.
“Far fewer stalkers,” my sister adds.
Carter nods. “But also a lot more protesters.”
I turn to face Kelsey. “So you let Carter deal with the protesters since he’s better at dealing with other people than you are?”
“I justchoosenot to deal with them. I’d be fantastic at it if I did.”
“Sure,” I reply. “And Becca’s the one on our team who’s client-facing because that’s whatI chose, not because we’re both worried I’d tell the client they’re being a complete dumbass.”
“Isabel,” my mother chides.
“I just call it how I see it,” I say. I also have a healthy dose of undiagnosed social anxiety, which means any meeting with a stranger sends me into a spiral for a solid twenty-four to forty-eight hours beforehand—but that’s beside the point. “Plus, Becca is the most likable person anyone has ever met, so it’s really just playing to our strengths. I make a mean spreadsheet.”
“Oh, have you started using macros like I suggested?” Kelsey asks, once again interested in the conversation.
“Not exactly,” I hedge. I know Icouldlearn macros, and it would maybe make things a bit easier, but for the work Becca and I do consulting companies on how to improve their operations, it’s not as necessary as Kelsey seems to think it is.
Last week, she and Bryn spent twenty minutes surrounding my desk, offering ideas about how to improve the spreadsheet on my screen—the one I’d already sent to our client. So, that was cool. A real confidence boost.
“Hey, everybody,” Bryn says as she and Jameson walk through the front door.
Thank goodness. Saved by the engaged couple—never thought I’d say that.
“Hey, B,” I say. “How’s wedding planning going?”
It’s a surefire way to change the subject.
I care a lot about my sister and her happiness, but we’re not that far into this engagement, and I’m already tired of hearing my mom discuss the pros and cons of various flowers. I suggested fake flowers, and I swear to God, my mom almost cried. There was a tear.
Mom then promptly asked me to go check on my dad—the dismissal was not subtle. The only benefit was that, as I headed downstairs to my dad’s man-cave, I could see the desperate pleading in Bryn’s eyes not to leave her alone with MOB-zilla.
No such luck.
And, if I have to hear about my unattached relationship status at a higher frequency now because of her life decisions, the least Bryn can do is suffer through our very well-meaning mother’s thoughts about her wedding.
“Great, actually,” Bryn says, surprising us all. “Tell them the plan, Jameo.”
“Oh shit,” I tease. “I think this is a test to make sure you were paying attention. Don’t mess up.”
Jameson flashes me a conspiratorial smile before saying, “Wedding in eight weeks at Wild Bluffs Country Club. Invitations go out at the end of this week. Jen and Ken, you have until then to get your guest list to Cathy. She’s going to be running point on coordinating with our wedding planner.”
Bryn adds, “We decided that instead of stressing ourselves out about everything, we’re just going to outsource it all.”
“Solid choice,” Kelsey says. “Wedding planning is the worst.”
“We barely had a month to plan your wedding,” my mom replies.
Kelsey takes a piece of cheese from the board in front of her. “And I was particularly glad it wasn’t longer. No one cares about centerpieces, but you have to have centerpieces, so someone has to decide what they will be, and turns out, that person is the bride. So suddenly, you care about something you don’t careabout. And don’t even get me started on charger plates. Why do those only exist when you start planning a wedding?”
“Exactly,” Bryn agrees. “So now it’s Cathy and the wedding planner’s job to care. I sent them ten vibe pictures from the internet, and they’re on their own from here.”
“And we gave some direction on the reception,” Jameson cuts in.
“Sure,” Bryn agrees. “We told them we want the full bar open and for them not to run out of your favorite whiskey.”
