“How eloquent,” Brea said dryly.
“Are you sure he didn’t ask for anything else?” Liz prompted. “I don’t want him to think I don’t care about him.”
“He’ll like whatever you like,” I said automatically.
“Just tell me what he wants!” Liz begged. “I want him to be happy.”
I shrugged. Brea was quickly embroidering a bodice while we talked, the small silver needle whipping in and out of the fabric.
“I think he’d want a nacho cheese fountain,” I said, grasping for something a guy might want at his wedding that also wasn’t completely crass.
“A nacho cheese fountain!” Brea said in horror. “We cannot have that.”
“If that’s what Wes wants…” Liz said gamely.
“This is supposed to be your dream wedding!” Brea cried. “A cheese fountain is not going to photograph nicely.”
“It could be a fondue fountain,” Ivy said.
“It doesn’t have to be that serious,” I said, blowing out a breath. Brea looked as if she was about to explode. “You can just buy the industrial canned nacho cheese and tip it in there.”
“It’s going to smell!” Brea shouted.
She was so incensed that I couldn’t help but egg her on. “We could do two fountains, you know, make it symmetrical, one with extra-spicy cheese, one with mild. Then you could have chili, guacamole, and other toppings and have a full nacho station,” I added.
“You don’t have to have a nacho station if you don’t want to,” Brea assured Liz. “A nacho bar is too much.”
“You think Wes would like that?” Liz asked me.
“Not if it will make you unhappy,” I told her, trying to backtrack. Wes was going to kill me if I ruined Liz’s wedding. Then my mother would be next in line. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
“I want him to know I was thinking about him.” She was silent for a moment. “We should have a nacho station. In fact, let’s go all out! It can be a Wes appreciation station.”
“The wedding is about the bride,” Brea said.
“It’s about the happy couple, Brea,” I drawled, knowing that would annoy her.
“But the vision board…” Brea protested.
“We should have a whole array of sports-themed food—jerky, chicken nuggets—” Liz added.
“A barbeque sauce fountain,” I said, “and one with chipotle sauce.”
“You can’t have a chicken nugget dipping fountain at a high-society wedding,” Brea protested. “That’s…that’s…”
“Amazing?” I teased. “We should have a station that makes french fries. It would be a shame to waste all that dipping sauce.”
Liz’s hand rested on her stomach. “Now you’re making me hungry. I need chicken tenders! Gosh, I wish there was a Zaxby’s in New York. Their fried chicken is amazing.”
“There’s a pretty good place down the street. We can have them bring some here,” Ivy offered.
Liz hefted herself out of her chair. “I’ll go walk and order it. My new rule is that if I want something unhealthy, I make myself go retrieve it so I can at least get some exercise. Maybe you can come with me?” she said to Ivy. “We can talk about some of the wedding specifics.”
Brea hopped up.
“You don’t have to come,” Liz said craftily to Brea. “I know you have a lot of sewing you’re working on. We don’t want my dress to be delayed!”
Brea sat back down in her chair, back ramrod straight.
