“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I figured since my dad is paying for the entire wedding, he should have a say in some of the planning,” Ben says.
Involved in the planning…!?
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I say with a tight smile, setting my glasses on the table.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Holly says, reaching across the table and clutching my hand in hers. Great. She’s holding my hand. As if this situation is awkward enough, I’ve just realizedthat I’ve been naked with two out of three people here. “It’s just that Benny and I thought about it, and we think the two of you would work together really well in picking the arrangements for the wedding!”
“Really…” I say. “You and…Benny…thought that…”
“I mean, I have no opposition,” Gavin says, taking a swig of merlot.
Of course you don’t. You’re looking forward to the same show Josie is.
“Alright well, I guess there’s nothing left to do but talk catering,” I say with the least uncomfortable smile I can muster. “So if we cross off seafood, that leaves us with two really great–”
“You know,” Gavin cuts me off, crossing his forearms over his broad chest. “I was thinking barbecue.”
My jaw unhinges. “Barbecue? For a wedding?” I blink. He can’t be serious.
“Barbecue for a wedding…” Holly says slowly. Exactly. Thank God I’m not the only one who thinks that is the most obscure, unconventional idea. Then I hear her say, “I love it. Oh my God! Benny?! I love it!”
“Yeah?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Yeah!” she says and they both laugh and hug.
Gavin takes another sip of his wine, just about finishing the glass, and winks at me. Rule one broken.
“Okay…” I say, shuffling things around on the table to get everyone’s attention and hopefully bring them back down to a sensible reality. “Barbecue is…fine…and all, but…”
“But what?” Gavin asks. “You heard the girl; she loves it. And she is the bride.”
“Yes,” I say, practically through my teeth. “But I do have two caterers who have a lot of experience in creating professional,organizeddining experiences, including everything from burrata to filet mignon to coq au vin…”
“I’m not sure my son is a coq au vin kind of guy,” Gavin says. “I think he’s more of a–”
Wings and ribs. He’s going to say freaking wings and ribs.
“Wings and ribs kind of guy.”
Sigh. Check please.
“I understand, but are you sure that’s the kind of food you want at a wedding?” I ask.
“Why not?” Ben asks. “It’s fucking delicious. And we could slow roast and smoke it all here the night before!”
“Yes, we can,” Gavin agrees with his signature grin.
“But the barbecue sauce,” I say.
“Yes,” Ben agrees, though not with what I am actually saying. “We need an array of sauces. Local! Charl–Charlotte. Can you hook us up with a bunch of local sauces? I want everything from sweet to ass-kicking!”
“Hell yeah,” Gavin says, and they high-five across the table. I direct my attention to Holly, hoping to re-routing this fiasco away from a full-blown hog roast, apple in its mouth and all.
“Holly. Sauce is messy. You’ll be wearing white,” I say.
“That’s true,” she nods, but it’s a thoughtful nod. A nonchalant nod. A three glasses of wine nod.
