“Oh, Miri is no longer working with the wedding,” Pen says.
Dominique pauses. “Are you working with a new planner?”
“No,” Pen says, cheery and unfazed, “I downgraded our planning package to just include the day-of coordination.”
Dominique clears her throat. “Understood. Well, in our prior communication, Miri mentioned a chuppah, the aisle, a gift table, a photo booth, and a dance floor as areas that require floral attention.”
“Sounds right.” Pen nods. She squeezes my arm. Something about the Miri dismissal feels off. Why would Pen fire someone who was clearly doing such a good job? I remind myself that I don’t know enough to draw any conclusions.
“Well, we have an hour today,” Dominique continues, taking the Miri news in stride. “I’d love for you to browse and start thinking about what flowers you’re drawn to—type and color—and check out some of our example installations.”
Penelope gravitates toward a four-post structure opposite the main table.
“This is exactly what I’ve been dreaming about.” She points at the example chuppah.
“You’ve been dreaming about a chuppah?” Eitan asks.
Pen ignores him. “Aunt Lou! What do you think of a chuppah like this?” Penelope says ‘chuppah’ likehoo-puhand the sound grates on my soul.
“Baby, it’s pronounced chhh-uhppah,” Josh corrects her gently.
“That’s what I said!”
“You have to make thechsound.” Josh makes it, sounding like he’s clearing about a pound of phlegm from his throat.
“Oh no, I can’t make that sound.” Penelope pats his shoulder. “I’m pronouncing it right otherwise.” She turns back to the chuppah decked head to toe in flowers. “It’s more expensive, but it looks like a fairytale.”
I wander toward the color-coded buckets of flowers.
“Right, Ruby?” Pen’s gaze zeroes in on me and the rest of the group follows.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, suddenly in the spotlight. “It’s—something.” A bit gaudy for my taste, but I’ll find a groom before I voice my personal opinion on chuppah florals.
“Exactly. A fairytale.”
“It’s a bold choice.” Dominique nods. “A showstopper feature for the ceremony.”
“The ceremony that the rabbi said would last thirty minutes tops if he stretches it?” Josh asks, skeptical.
“The pictures will last a lifetime, baby.” Pen shoos away his doubt.
Her attention is caught by another installation, a kid in a candy store. It’s an eight-by-eight-foot checkered floor, and the ceiling is made up entirely of hydrangeas. “Ooooh, is this a dance-floor ceiling made of flowers?”
Dominique smiles. “Yes, that has been one of our most popular gilded activations for a long time, and recently brides have been loving the monofloral version.”
“Oh my God,love,” Pen gushes. “Can you imagine? The chuppah and the dance-floor ceiling matching? Iconic.”
$90,000 for one type of flower? As fancy asmonofloralmakes it sound, that seems a bit underwhelming.
“Aunt Lou, what do you think?”
Louise has plunked herself into her walker, staring off into space. “It’s all beautiful, hun. But isn’t it a bit excessive? Think about all the flowers that would go to waste.”
Pen watches Louise like she’s a toddler. “That just comes with the territory of the gilded package, doesn’t it?” Pen looks at Dominique.
“Well, we could do silk flowers,” Dominique offers, “to cut down on environmental impact.” Pen’s eyes widen with alarm. “Or switch to candles—another gorgeous option.”
“I wantrealflowers,” Pen whines. “It’s my wedding!”
