“I am starting to think Meri should be hired as security,” I mentioned
Lucy glanced at me, eyes sharp. “Is James bothering you again?”
“Meri interrupted. She’s very good at diversions,” I remarked, grabbing my apron..
Lucy’s mouth twitched. “Meri security is underrated.”
The film crew wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to film. “Are you prepping for the rehearsal dinner?”
“Maybe,” I conceded.
One cameraman stopped too close to the counter and nearly brushed his equipment against a bowl of batter.
I gently slid the bowl away. “Careful. If you touch that, you are legally responsible for my emotional breakdown.”
The cameraman blinked, then shifted his feet. “Sorry.”
The afternoon blurred into motion.
Chairs were rearranged. Linens were measured and folded again because the bride had changed her mind. Mom attempted to create a flower hierarchy. Kitty tried to write a timeline and ended up with arrows pointing in every direction. William and Dex moved heavy things with the resigned competence of men who had accepted their fate. Meri continued to materialize whenever James appeared, once interrupting him mid-sentence with a question about parking logistics that didn't exist.
At one point, I watched Meri step directly into James’s path with a bright smile.
“James,” she said, “can you clarify something for me?”
He looked wary. “What?”
Meri flipped her clipboard as if it contained vital information. “If your film crew needs an electrical outlet, do they prefer to blow a fuse in the kitchen or the hallway?”
James stared at her. “Excuse me?”
Meri kept smiling. “We are just planning ahead.”
James backed away slowly, as if the clipboard was contagious.
Meri turned and winked at me.
I loved her.
By late afternoon, the chaos reached its peak.
The rehearsal dinner schedule conflicted with the florist’s delivery window. Someone discovered the aisle runner wasn't only too long, it was also the wrong shade of white. Kitty paced like a small storm. Lucy took over negotiations with the brisk competence of a woman who had decided panic was a waste of time. I stood near the staircase, trying not to laugh or cry.
Kitty hurried over, breathless. “The seating chart needs final approval and Mom and Lydia disagree on where to seat the groom’s aunt.”
Lydia blinked. “Which aunt?”
“The one who cries,” Kitty said.
We exchanged a look.
“Put her near the exit and a full box of tissues under her chair,” I said.
Kitty blinked, then looked impressed. “That’s brilliant.”
“It’s practical,” I said.
Kitty nodded rapidly and hurried off as if she had been handed the key to peace.
