“I’m all set,” I say with a smile. “The only hiccup would be if the power goes out in the next couple of hours but I rounded up a couple of headlamps for Junior and me to use, and we can use a lighter to start up the stove burners and the oven so long as we don't lose gas, we’ll be fine.”
“And if we lose gas?” Libby asks.
“Then we’ll be eating very fancy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
Libby nods and smiles. “Sounds perfect.”
Harrison, who’s been boarding up windows with the crew, comes walking in looking much happier than one would expect given the circumstances.
Libby grins up at him. “All set?”
“All set,” Harrison says, putting his arm around her.
I can't help but feel sorry for Libby. She's given up everything for Harrison and here she is on her wedding day without her grandparents who raised her or her best friend, none of whom could fly in because of the storm. But maybe I shouldn’t pity her. After all, she really looks incredibly happy. “Okay,” she says. “I guess we should get ready. We'll meet everyone here in the restaurant at 5 p.m. for the ceremony. Dinner will be at six.”
* * *
Junior and I spend the afternoon in a mad rush, trying to prepare everything while the power is still on. It’s a little weird since this ishiskitchen butI’mthe one in charge of tonight’s menu, so it’s hard to know exactly who’s in charge. He’s been a head chef here since I was in middle school, and from the way he acts, he hasn’t quite accepted the fact that I’ve grown up.
We’re doing a Carib-Asian meal that he’s not familiar with and he clearly doesn’t trust that I know what I’m doing because he’s asked me at least twelve times now if I’m sure about this. His lack of faith is doing a number on my confidence because I’m reallynotsure this meal will work out, having only made these dishes once before for Pierce. Not that I’m letting Junior know that. Outwardly, I’m like the ice woman—cool, collected, and confident. But inside, I’m pretty much a nervous wreck.
Honestly, the pressure at this moment is clinical-strength-antiperspirant stressful. I should have stuck with a tried and true lobster dinner, instead of going for a showy, unforgettable menu. If I mess this up, the only thing unforgettable will be what a crap chef I am.
Too late to change it now. The ceremony starts in less than an hour and we have a lot left to get done. There’s a total of twenty-four guests, including Darnell and Rosy, who brought Starsky and Hutch so that they can hunker down here at the resort until the storm passes. The dogs are running around the front of the restaurant at the moment, but will be shut up in a suite during the actual ceremony. I hope.
They arrived a few hours ago and Rosy's been in and out of the kitchen all afternoon, sampling food and sneaking treats out for her dogs. The rest of the time she spends barking orders at Harrison, Darnell, Will, Fidel, Nelson (Harrison’s best friend), and a few of the staff members who are all doing their best to turn the Brazilian steakhouse into a romantic chapel.
Libby and Harrison decided to have the wedding and reception here since it’s the only restaurant attached to the main building, and it’s a really cool space. It has a high wood-planked ceiling, white smooth stucco walls, tall potted plants sprinkled throughout, and rust-coloured tile flooring for a bit of a South American flair. Even if they didn’t do much other than move the chairs and tables around, it’s a lovely place for a wedding.
Fidel's wife, Winnie, who is currently very pregnant with their second child, is up in the Palatial Suite with Libby, helping with her hair and makeup. Their son, Harrison Junior, is having a nap in his stroller in the restaurant while Darnell waits impatiently for him to wake up so he can play with him.
“Emma, you should go get yourself ready. I can handle the rest of it,” Junior says, as he chops an onion.
Glancing at the clock, I see I've got about forty-five minutes to shower and get wedding ready. “Okay, thanks.” I quickly put the bowl of pineapple mango chutney I’ve made into the refrigerator and say a silent prayer that the power holds until after dinner.
I rush to the stairwell and take the four flights up to the Palatial Suite. When I walk through the door, I can't help but have a slight pang, remembering the last time I was in here. (Okay, not slight as much as a ginormous, knock-you-on-your-arse pang.) I can picture Pierce pacing the room while he dictated. I close my eyes to blink away the image and remind myself that today is about Libby and Harrison's happy ending, not mine. (Notthattype of happy ending, eww.)
It's been four months since I've seen Pierce, and every day that I'm busy is a day I’m grateful for because it allows me to stay distracted. On the plus side, I’ve gone from thinking about him a thousand times an hour to about a hundred times a day, which I would say is definite progress. Excruciatingly slow, horribly painful progress. But I knew what I was signing up for when I started the whole thing, so I might as well shut up about it.
Thirty minutes later, I'm sitting on a stool with a very pregnant belly in my face while Winnie applies my makeup. Libby, who’s all set to go, is sitting at the desk on the other side of the suite, probably writing thank you notes already, and looking elegant in her airy chiffon sleeveless gown. Her normally wild red hair is swept up in a twist and her tastefully applied makeup gives her a timeless look.
Her mum, Penny, is here as well, and for some reason, Jorge has joined the ladies for the pre-wedding prep. He’s standing in front of the mirror rubbing stinky beard oil into his long, brown beard to get it nice and…what? Oily?
Every time he looks at Libby, he gets all misty-eyed and says how proud he is of her, which seems a little weird for several reasons including, but not limited to, the fact that Libby’s only met him once before—on her first wedding day (and they only spent about five minutes together before the entire thing was called off), he’s six years younger than her, he’s sporting a plethora of tattoos including some lovely neck artwork, and Penny, who is his only connection to Libby, keeps insisting they’re ‘keeping it casual.’
Penny, meanwhile, is wearing the shortest mother-of-the-bride dress a person could get—it’s more of a long, floral, off-the-shoulder shirt than a dress, really. She’s got the legs to pull it off, but it’s still not quite the right look for her daughter’s wedding.
Winnie does some very fast contouring with one hand while she eats a pastry with the other. “This baby must be a girl,” she says. “I never had a sweet tooth like this with little Harrison.”
“I don’t know,” Penny says. “Look at how low you’re carrying her. Just a minute. Let me do the ring trick and we'll know for sure.” She removes a gold chain from around her neck and slides a ring from her pinky toe onto it. When she straightens up, she stops for a moment and gives Winnie a thoughtful look. “Oh, unless you don'twantto know, that is. There's a certain excitement in the unpredictable.”
Winnie grins. “Let’s do it.”
With Winnie and Penny busy scientifically determining the sex of her child, I get up and walk over to Libby to check on her. “How are you doing?” I asked quietly.
“Good,” Libby says, smiling up at me. “I think we've got everything under control. As long as we have the rings and a minister, that's all we need to get this done, isn't it?”
I stare at her for a moment, trying to determine whether or not she is really happy or if she's just pretending, but it's impossible to tell. “Are you really okay, Libby? I know this isn’t the beach wedding surrounded by your closest friends and family that you had planned.”
