Ivy made a face. “Sixth time’s the charm. He hasn’t proposed yet, but has promised her it’s coming. He’s in his early fifties, so Ms. Frankel thinks this is the big one and she won’t have another wedding for a bit.”
Elsie rolled her eyes.
“Plus, she says the guy’s inheriting billions. She really wants to blow it out with a big fancy wedding,” Ivy said. “The guest list is five hundred people, and she is requesting that we incorporate her beloved family of rescue corgis.”
“All fifteen of them?” Sophie asked.
“It’s about twenty now,” Ivy said, shutting her planner.
“You should just make your coffee-table book be completely about corgis in fancy outfits,” Brea suggested as Elsie put a platter of snacks on the table. “Everyone loves corgis.”
“Maybe for my next coffee-table book,” I said, grabbing a handful of the buttery salt-and-vinegar popcorn.
“How’s your salacious article coming along?” Ivy asked me, spearing a piece of tuna tartar.
“It’s not,” I said dejectedly. “I have no good ideas. I don’t want to write about the brides, because that might hurt our business. I tried to write an article about Gran and her sperm disposal business.”
“Um, what?” Sophie asked, her eyes bugging out.
I made a face. “You don’t want to know.”
“You could write a listicle,” Ivy suggested, “like the top ten weirdest wedding requests. I don’t think brides would mind.”
“Or,” Elsie suggested, “you could write about weird sexy food to serve at weddings that will make your great-aunt blush. I could make you some penis-shaped cucumber carvings.”
“Speaking of penis-shaped objects…you should write about Chris!” Amy said, clapping her hands.
“He’s not that interesting,” I said. “Besides, he would be pissed if I wrote about him. He’s already having a hard time with his parents and his ex.”
“You’re having heart-to-heart conversations with him?” Sophia asked, grabbing another handful of popcorn.
“It came up when we went to dinner last night.”
“Wait,” Elsie said. “You went on a date with him? I thought you didn’t even like him.”
“It was just dinner,” I said, feeling warm when I remembered how nice our evening had been.
“And dessert?” Brea teased.
I blushed, remembering what came after.
“Anyways,” I said, forcing myself not to think about how much fun it had been to be out with Chris.
“Ivy, I did want you to review the new pages of the coffee-table book. The publisher is thinking of formatting it as a guide marketed to brides that would come out annually. I was thinking maybe organizing it by seasons.”
My friends gathered around my tablet.
“Even if you don’t get this published,” Ivy said, “we could still just have a few hard copies of this made and have a nice e-book we could give to the brides to help focus their inspiration.”
“If we do that,” Brea said, “I’d rather have it organized by dresses, flowers, etcetera.”
“No,” Sophie said, “the brides need to see the whole package together. Most of them have a hard time visualizing.” She swiped to the next image.
“Well, shit!”
I inhaled a homemade pizza roll and grabbed for the tablet, trying not to choke to death.
“Speak of visualization,” Elsie said.
