August eighteenth: that’s the day Luc and I will get married. It’s the perfect date, and when I suggested it to Luc, he immediately agreed. It will hopefully be warm then because of summer, and on that day, it will be exactly a year since he and I met. When we agreed upon it, I immediately called my family in Canada to tell them the news. It was strange to inform them that I was getting married to a man they’d never met in person in a country they’ve never been to, but it also felt great to share it with them.
There’s another reason I suggested this date in August to Luc, which is the part I won’t tell him about: it’ll give me a couple of months to arrange a special something for our wedding. I only hope I can pull it off.
My plan will be set in motion today, starting with my business trip to Brussels. Luc doesn’t know that it isn’t entirely work-related. Initially, he talked about going with me, but I’m relieved to have talked him out of it. I did so by saying that it was bad timing because this is going to be a hectic trip, that I would have no time for him, and that I’d make it up to him soon. Luckily, he agreed, partially because his new job at a local cake shop makes it difficult for him to leave. It’s a good thing he went along with it, otherwise my plans might fail.
“Do you have to work tomorrow?” I ask him. It’s Saturday evening, we’re together in our rental apartment, and I’m leaving for Brussels tonight. I told Luc it’s because I have to prepare some things for a meeting on Monday, but honestly, it has nothing to do with that; it’s about wedding preparations. The fact that he didn’t even question it makes me feel a little guilty.
“Oui,” he responds. “Tomorrow, but not on Monday. What day do you come home again?”
“Thursday.”
“Merde, I have to work on Thursday. But I’ll see you after?”
“It’s not a problem. I won’t be home until late anyway; it’s a long drive.”
He gives me a long stare, searching me. Part of me worries that he can tell I’m not being entirely truthful.
“But it’s working out, right? With your job?”
I take a moment to think about it. Lately, I’ve been receiving some underhanded comments about how impractical it is that some managers live so far away, but I’m not worried about it. “Well, it’s not as ideal as Brussels, but it’s going alright.” That part is true. I’m making it work by scheduling more frequent online meetings and traveling when possible, and I think I’m doing okay. So far, no one has had a justified reason to be unhappy about it.
“And how’s it going with yours?” I ask Luc. He landed a part-time job as a cake baker quite fast, which impressed me. I gather he has precisely the kind of work experience the local cake shop was looking for, being able to both bake and help customers. Plus, I can only assume it helped that they were short-staffed and that Luc is young, passionate, and fit—precisely the kind of person a busy shop would want.
“I like it,” he replies, nodding and sounding sincere. “Strangely, I feel like I get more responsibilities there than at my dad’s shop.”
“That’s good,” I reply, smiling at him. “You’re doing really great.”
I’m happy for him and proud of him, and I wouldn’t want it any other way, but part of me—the soon-to-be husband who’s busy arranging a wedding—is a little concerned. The fact that Luc works at a cake shop might make things difficult. The wedding cake is, after all, what my plan is all about
Then, almost as if he sees right through me, he asks, “You sent out all the save the dates, right?”
I nod and lie. “I did. Every single one of them is in the mail.” That’s another thing I’m hiding from him because, in fact, I sent out all of them but one. I kept one very important save-the-date because I plan to deliver it in person. That’s half of what this trip is about.
“And we’re going with a sunflower theme for the wedding,oui?J’adore les tournesols.”
I smile. This is how our conversations are nowadays: half English, half French. Luc says in French the sentences he believes I should know. “I love sunflowers” is an example.
“Moi aussi,” I reply, which means “me too,” and he seems happy with that. Maybe someday we’ll switch to only French, but all in good time. Right now, this works for us.
“We’ll have to look for a company to do the flower arrangements,” he says. “Get suits tailored, find a venue, go shopping for wedding rings... We have so much to do,c’est fou.”
“Calm down, baby,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “We still have five months until the big date.”
“That’s nothing! Also, there’s the cake. We can get it from where I work, but...”
My insides clench. I need to prevent Luc from getting involved with the wedding cake. Hopefully, when I’m back next week, I’ll know more about what’s possible, but right now I need to keep it vague, so I cut him off mid-sentence.
“How about, when I’m away...” I stand up, keeping my hand on his shoulder as I give him a lingering kiss on the head. “You look at venues and flower companies and show me what you’ve found when I get back? I suspect you probably won’t be able to sleep otherwise anyway.”
Honestly, I don’t just suspect it; I’m sure of it. August eighteenth is still months away, and Luc is already stressing out.Who would have thought he’d turn into such a bridezilla? If you ask me, he’s the cutest bridezilla there is, though.
Luc confirms it in French, takes a deep breath to calm himself down, and after a while, he places his hand on mine. “Five days until you’re back, right?” he says in French. I nod, and he squeezes my hand. “I’ll try not to make big decisions until then.”
“You know I trust you’ll make the right ones, but maybe just try to hold off on deciding on rings, suits, and the cake until I return. Everything else, I can probably live with.”
He frowns at me. “So if I book a venue and order thousands of euros’ worth of flowers, you’ll accept it?”
“Actually, I’ve been told that the average price for wedding flowers is a couple of thousand anyway, so yes. And I know you have good style, Luc. What you get will be stunning, I just know it.” He lights up at my words, rewarding me with a grateful, beautiful smile. “But there are some things I want to have a say in,” I add, placing my hand under his chin and gently lifting it so he’s looking up at me. “Do you remember what those are?”
