"Great, Marcus. I need you to get me ten watermelons. Large ones."
Marcus blinks. "Yes, but... what do you need them for?"
"I don't have time to explain." The old me would have snapped 'None of your business, what are you waiting for?' but I hold back. "And I need you to drive to a garden center and get me a rose arbor—one of those metal archways. Video call me when you're there so I can see the options. I'll pay by credit card over the phone."
My family is staring at me open-mouthed. They've never seen me like this.
Marcus stands there for a beat too long. "I need them ASAP, Marcus. Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help."
He practically runs for the door.
I turn to Beth, one of Emma's friends. Her face is flushed; she clearly rushed to get here as quickly as she could. "And you're helping too?"
"Anything you want," she says.
"Perfect. I want you on the phone. You're my contact person here." I hand her my phone to input her number. "This kitchenis headquarters from now on, okay? Call every hairdresser and beautician within a fifty-mile radius. I need at least one stylist and one makeup artist here by noon. Can you make that happen?"
Beth winces. “I’m really not sure, I…”
"Yes, you can. Get on it." I turn to Emma. "Emma, the list?"
She hands me a crumpled piece of paper, and I scan it. "Music. Has the band confirmed?"
"No," Emma says in a thin voice. "I suspect they might have been booked for the wrong date too."
I pivot to Beth without missing a beat. "Beth, call them. Find out what's happening with the music and report back to me immediately."
Then I look at Blair, who's been watching this entire performance with a hint of amusement. "Sailor, you're with me today."
We head outside, and I rush toward the yard where the catering crew and Dad are standing around looking lost. The morning sun hits my sunglasses, and I'm grateful for the shield they provide. My head is still splitting, but adrenaline is starting to override the hangover.
"Morning, Dad," I say, then turn to address the catering crew. "Who's in charge here?"
A middle-aged man in a white chef's coat steps forward and raises a hand.
I gesture toward the tables, chairs, and boxes of glasses stacked near the barn. "You can set up the serving station in the barn. Dad, can you clear out part of the barn, please?"
Dad looks flustered but relieved that someone's taking charge. "Sure thing, sweetheart."
I pick up a long stick from the ground and walk toward the massive oak trees. "How many tables do you have?"
"Ten large round tables," the caterer replies.
"What's the diameter?"
"Eight feet each."
I start drawing circles in the dirt, spacing them strategically to create an elegant flow while maximizing the space under the natural canopy. "Put them here. Exactly here," I say, drawing the last circle. "Do you have everything you need from your end? Is anything missing?"
The caterer shifts from one foot to another, clearly intimidated. "Yes, everything's here from our side. But the lighting and centerpieces were supposed to be delivered by a third party."
I sigh and nod, my mind already three steps ahead. "Okay, lighting." I look up at the fairy lights still strung through the branches from last night's rehearsal dinner. They're beautiful but not nearly enough for a wedding.
"Dad," I call out, and he hurries over. "Can we buy torches somewhere around here?"
He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, Henderson's Hardware should have them."
"Can you get me thirty after you’ve cleared out space in the barn? Large ones. Call me if you're not sure about them." I walk away from where the tables will go, along the gravel driveway, and start drawing lines in the dirt with my stick. "I want them along here, two rows of fifteen, creating an entrance pathway."
