Emma: Lights! Camera! Cupcakes! (7 page)

Mona pushed the call button, and a voice said, “Hello?”

Mona said, “Special delivery from The Special Day bridal salon!”

Then the voice said, “Hi! Come on up!” The white gates slowly began to swing open. Patricia looked back at me with wide, excited eyes, and I grinned like a maniac.

We started up the hill, and I held my breath until the mansion came into sight. After a curve or two in the driveway, we came to . . . a medium-size white house. It was very pretty, but honestly it didn't look all that different from my house.

“This must be the guest house,” I said knowledgably.

“Actually . . .,” Mona began.

The front door flew open, and Romaine was there waving, with buttery yellow light spilling out from behind her and illuminating the porch, where a white wooden swing hung from chains and some white wicker furniture was casually arranged around a coffee table.

Mona eased the van up the hill and into the parking area by the back door where a basketball net stood over the blacktop play area next to a garage. There was an old blue SUV parked there, with all kinds of hockey and lacrosse stickers plastered across the back. I recognized the logo from one of Sam's teams on one of the stickers. I craned my neck to see the rest of the house from out of the car's window.

“Wait, this is it?” I asked incredulously. “It isn't a mansion?”

“Well, it's a beautiful house!” declared Mona.

“A lovely family home,” agreed Patricia.

I tried to hide my disappointment. “Oh. I thought . . .”

Romaine came bounding over to the van in sneakers and work-out clothes. “Not what you were expecting, I bet, after that security gate!” She laughed. “This is where I grew up. My parents refuse to move! We had to get the gate because of the press. Sorry.”

“I wouldn't move either, darling,” said Mona smoothly. “It's divine. Just divine.”

Romaine giggled. “Yeah, with my brothers' and sisters' height chart on the kitchen's doorframe, and the front door scratched up from our puppy, who's now six, and bunk beds in the attic guest room . . .”

“It's home,” said Patricia definitively.

“And a beautiful home it is,” added Mona.

Romaine sighed, and for the first time I saw that she might be nervous or embarrassed to have us at her house, just like anyone would be. “It's true. For better or for worse.” Then she giggled again. “Listen to me, I'm already in wedding mode! Come on in!”

Mona, Patricia, and I unloaded the van and began ferrying the dresses, shoes, and accessories into Romaine's family room. Florence helped us, and it was done in no time flat. Mrs. Ford offered us
drinks and cookies, but we declined and got down to business. It was time to talk about the wedding.

“Now let me show you how this all will work,” began Mona as she gestured to the items for Mrs. Ford, Romaine, and Florence. “Everyone has a color, and it is all coded on this chart.” She handed a laminated sheet to Mrs. Ford. “Each person's shoes, dress, and any other accessories—like the veil, in your case, Romaine—are color coded with a sticker on the outside of their box or dress bag. See?” She gestured to Florence's dress, with its pale green sticker, then to a nearby shoe box, again with the pale green sticker, and finally to a clear plastic tub that held a hair clip and the green sticker on the outside. “The number of items per person are noted next to her name and color. For example, you can see Florence only has three items and here they all are.”

“Wow,” Romaine said breathlessly.

“This is so fabulous. Just amazing. I am very impressed,” said Mrs. Ford, looking up with a big smile. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you so much!” said Romaine.

Mona beamed proudly, and Patricia and I joined in.

Mona continued, “Now, the morning of the
wedding, I will be here at nine a.m. sharp and will help everyone into their dresses. I will be at your disposal for any last-minute alterations and Patricia will be here with our store's car, and she can dash anywhere we need to pick up anything. We will have extra stockings, no-slip pads for the shoes, hankies, stain remover—our usual emergency kit. Not that there will be any emergencies, of course! Just know we are prepared for anything.”

“Great,” said Romaine. “The wedding starts at twelve thirty, so they want us dressed for photos by eleven. Hair and makeup are coming at . . . ugh . . . seven thirty, so they can do everyone.”

“And, of course, the caterers will be crawling all over, setting things up, and the tent . . .,” added Mrs. Ford.

“And the cupcakes will be arriving!” Romaine said, smiling in my direction.

I smiled back, nodding, but I gulped nervously at the same time. Now that I was in the middle of it, I was feeling like maybe it hadn't been so smart to accept this big-league job, and all on my own, too. But it was too late to back out now. The wedding was only four days away! Oh boy. I felt nauseated all of a sudden. What had I gotten myself into?

I caught Mona's eye and saw her looking at me
with a concerned look on her face. Her brows were knitted together with worry. But then she quickly smoothed away the expression and looked happily and expectantly at Mrs. Ford.

Mrs. Ford said, “Why don't I show you around, so you have the lay of the land. That way you won't need me on Saturday morning, since I'll be running around like a chicken with my head cut off!”

We followed Mrs. Ford on a tour of the house. It was very pretty and very comfortable. It was larger than my house or those of my friends, and it had bigger rooms and was more “decorated,” but not over-the-top at all. The living room and family room had coordinated upholstery on the furniture, with pretty printed fabric and coordinating throw pillows. There was bright lighting everywhere, which created a nice homey feel. The kitchen had new appliances and was all crisp and white and clean. She showed us the backyard and the long sweep of grass where the tent was being put up tomorrow and the tree with the swing where Liam had proposed to Romaine. The garden had hot-pink peonies in bloom, and the pale purple lilacs along the back of the house perfumed the air with a gorgeous, sweet scent. I looked at the yard and thought it was the perfect spot to get married.

Romaine still shared a room with her sister upstairs, and they still had their awards from camp and cheerleading all around, plus a poster from her school play when Romaine was the star.
Eat your heart out,
Celebrity
magazine!
I wanted to yell. And
How do you like this, Olivia Allen?
But of course I didn't. I just stayed quiet as Mrs. Ford explained where the bridal party would be getting dressed (in Romaine's other sister's room) and where Romaine would be getting ready (in the master bedroom), and she and Mona discussed in what order and timing they should do it all.

“I can't believe this is all really happening!” Romaine said to me, girlish and sweet as the “adults” took care of the details. “I've been looking forward to it for so long. I can't believe I'll get to be Mrs. Liam Carey after this weekend! It's so amazing!”

“When does your fiancé get here?” I asked. I didn't want to pry, but I felt like I could reveal at least a small amount of my huge enthusiasm for the event.

Romaine sighed happily. “Tomorrow. We're going to sneak over to Green Lake for a private dinner at his friend's restaurant. Just the two of us! I hope we can pull it off.”

I winced, thinking of the reporter stalking little old me. “I hope so too. That would be a nice start to the weekend.”

“It's going to be so wild having his family here, and our closest friends, all together in one place—the people we love the most! This is why I wanted to do a backyard wedding, with a sit-down lunch. Having it here made the choices obvious because the numbers had to be small. That's why we're only having a hundred guests for the lunch.”

A hundred people still sounded like a lot to me. Especially if you were making cupcakes for all of them. “I totally get it,” I said. “It's going to be great. What are you serving for the meal?”

Romaine described a luncheon that included Liam's favorite (chicken curry with rice and chutney) and hers (filet of beef with horseradish cream sauce on the side); green salad; skinny green beans; roasted potatoes with shallots; amazing rolls and breads with a cheese platter; and the cupcakes (my cupcakes!), with small platters of handmade chocolates shipped in from her cousin's sweets store in Portland, Oregon.

“Yum! That sounds soooo delicious!” I said. My mouth was watering. “I think I'd like to have lunch in my backyard for my wedding too.”

Romaine nodded happily. “It's perfect. We might have a big blowout at some nightclub when we get back to LA, invite all the people we have to, let the press in. But this Saturday will just be for us.”

“Fun,” I said, and we smiled happily at each other.

“Now you understand why I need your silence,” she said.

“I always understood,” I replied. It was true.

“Thanks,” said Romaine. “I really appreciate it.”

And I knew she did. I just hadn't known how hard it would be to actually follow.

W
e were at the Fords' for about an hour and a half—Mona did a final fitting on Romaine's dress on the spot—and then it was time to go. We left everything neatly organized but out of the way, and Mona and Patricia promised they were on call until the event.

“See you Friday with the movie cupcakes,” said Romaine. “And I'll see you some time Saturday morning, right?” said Romaine.

“Yup! Can't wait!” I agreed.

Once we were safely in the van and out of the Fords' driveway, Mona looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, “Okay, tell the truth: What's up with the cupcakes for Saturday?”

“I . . . What . . . Wait . . .” I was speechless.

Mona grinned. “I knew it! I could tell by that funny look you got on your face when Romaine mentioned the cupcakes that something was up. Tell me everything.”

I figured it'd be okay to tell Mona and Patricia about the cupcakes since they already knew about the wedding. So I took a deep breath and explained to them as we drove back to my house about the ten dozen pastel-colored cupcakes Romaine expected for Saturday and how I'd have to bake, frost, and box them all on my own late on Friday night and on Saturday morning and how I couldn't tell any of my friends and I felt dishonest doing business as the Cupcake Club when it was just me and how we now had these premiere cupcakes to do too, and so on and so on. By the time I finished, we'd been sitting in my driveway for five minutes and my mom had come out to make sure everything was okay. I'd waved her back in and said I'd be right along.

At the end of the telling, I sighed, and so did Mona and Patricia.

“Well, that is complicated,” agreed Patricia.

“Let me think about this overnight. I bet we can come up with a plan to help you,” said Mona.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think I can do it, but it's just a lot. And I hate keeping secrets from my friends.
Also, I don't want to do a bad job, you know?”

“Running a business is very complicated; as much as I enjoy being on my own, it helps to have confidantes and coworkers to bounce things off. I can't imagine doing it alone. Listen, I'll call you in the morning. You're not alone. And thanks for your help tonight,” said Mona, sliding a white envelope from The Special Day to me.

“Mona! I didn't do anything! You can't pay me to take a tour of Romaine Ford's childhood home. I should be paying you!”

“Stop this silliness. I've never met anyone like you. You never want any of my money. Come on. Take it!” She flapped the envelope at me.

Patricia nodded. “Go on.”

I sighed heavily and took the envelope.

“That's my girl!” said Mona with a cackle. “Never forget you're a businesswoman! Don't sell yourself short!”

“Thanks. And thank you for taking me. It was a really fun night and a major privilege. I was proud to be there with you two.”

“We were proud to have you, darling!” said Mona, and then to Patricia, “Isn't she divine?”

“Just divine.” Patricia smiled, and I got out of the van.