“You’re that chick with the parrot!” The fireman looked around nervously. “He’s not here, is he?”
“What about the grandmother?” another firefighter asked apprehensively as he unloaded his medical equipment and began checking the groomsman.
“What is happening?” an irate older woman demanded from the doorway, pushing through the firemen.
“This wedding is a disaster.” The mother of the bride waved a copy of our contract at me. “Nothing is right. The flowers are the wrong shade of purple, and the bride’s extensions aren’t staying in! She looks like a Cabbage Patch doll!”
“These are just pre-wedding jitters, ma’am,” I said. “We will look into it and have everything perfect for the ceremony.”
“You better, or I’ll sue your company,” she threatened.
“Yes, ma’am.” They always threatened to sue, until I reminded them that it would hold their pictures in legal purgatory, and that would mean no big Instagram reveal. Besides, it usually was just wedding jitters. Even the drunk groomsman didn’t faze me. I’d seen worse.
“And you all,” she pointed at the firemen, “sober him up. We have to have an even number of groomsmen and bridesmaids. I will not accept failure.”
The nearest fireman frowned.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “Some soda water and French fries ought to soak some of the booze up.”
“Actually, we need to take him in. His heartbeat is irregular, and he’s sweating.”
“He’s just drunk!” the mother of the bride shrieked. The firemen ignored her.
“You work for me,” she berated the firemen as they loaded the groaning groomsman onto a stretcher.
“I pay taxes. You work for me, and I demand that you take that boy off that stretcher this instant!”
She ran after the firemen as they carted the groaning man away while I went out to try to round up the groomsmen.
“Honestly, a dog would be useful if it could help me herd wedding parties.”
I didn’t see them by the vending machine, nor were they in the chapel or the reception hall. I did see Amy, who was nodding along as the bride screamed at her about the color of the flowers while Linneah looked on.
Her extensions do look a little…off.
“You!” the bride shrieked at me. “How is this happening? My wedding is ruined.”
Linneah gave me an angry look. “These flowers are not lilac. They are lavender! The bride wanted lilac-colored flowers. Honestly, what does she pay you people for?”
I nodded along.
“You’re absolutely right. I think we’re just going to have to paint them the correct color.”
The bridezilla blinked.
“Oh! Well yes,” she said, “you will.” She turned on her heel and marched off, Linneah sweeping after her.
“The old paint trick,” Amy said with a wan smile as she pulled out a brush and a little vial of water and pretended to paint the flowers.
The mother of the bride stomped in.
“You need to find a new groomsman,” she ordered me.
“I will talk to Ivy about procuring another,” I assured her.
Where was Ivy? Normally she was the one to play good cop on the paint-the-flowers trick.
And I still didn’t know where the groom or the groomsmen were.
