Every Girl Gets Confused (6 page)

“Houston, we have a problem,” she said.

“What sort of problem?”

“You're not going to believe it. Remember that bride with the pierced eyebrow and purple hair?”

“How could I forget her? Nothing we did was right.” I groaned as the memories flooded over me. “What about her?”

“She's taken her story to the media.”

“W-what?” Ack. “Madge, what is she saying?”

“She said that our shop is poorly run and that we owe her.”

“But she got her dress, and we even knocked five hundred dollars off the price,” Twiggy said. “Didn't we?”

Madge nodded. “We went above and beyond. She's nuts.”

“And she got the dress on time, in spite of the ten thousand changes she asked for along the way,” I added.

Madge crossed her arms. “I know. I remember it well.”

“So what's her beef?” Twiggy asked. “What does she really want?”

“A new dress. She's saying that the dress doesn't look like the original design.”

“But that's the point,” I argued. “She didn't want the original design. She started with the Loretta Lynn but wanted to add a zillion things to it. And she wanted the bodice altered completely. Dahlia did exactly what she asked.”

“Dahlia went above and beyond, just like she's doing now with all of the other orders.” Twiggy looked a bit like a mother hen. No doubt she'd take down any customer who messed with her friends in the studio. “I'm already worried about her. She's so overworked.”

“I know. I'm worried about her too.” In fact, I secretly wondered if Dahlia would make it through this crazy season. With so many orders to fill, she was already frazzled.

“Is that crazy bride really involving the media?” Twiggy asked. “If so, do we get to tell our side of the story?”

“Wait, media?” Brady's voice sounded from behind me. “Who's called the media?”

“A discontented customer.” Madge quickly filled him in, and my sweet guy started pacing the front of the shop. Well, as much as he could pace with a bum knee.

“We'll have to do some work to eradicate this.”

I put my hand up. “Here's my opinion—not that anyone asked for it. Whenever you have an unhappy customer, it does no good to tell your side. It just keeps the hype going. You respond, she kicks back. I say we do something wonderful for the community. Some sort of big event for brides-to-be. The media will come and watch and our reputation will be golden again.”

“When would we find time?” Brady looked concerned. “We're already flooded with work.”

“It doesn't have to be something big. Maybe we do an event where the first ten brides to show up on Black Friday get a free gown. Off the rack, I mean. Ready-made. Could we afford to give up ten gowns?”

He shrugged. “Might be okay, but we'd have to pull some of our more expensive gowns ahead of time and put them in the back room. In other words, limit the availability. It might work, though.”

“Sure it'll work. Except we'll have a mob scene outside and women will be fighting each other to get in.” Madge smacked herself on the forehead. “You see my point? It can't be the first ten in line. They'll be camping outside the night before. Maybe we do a drawing as they come in. Everyone wins . . . something. Some will win a gown, others a veil, that sort of thing. And like you said, Brady, we can limit our stock by only putting out what we can afford to give away.”

“Last season's dresses, for instance,” I suggested.

“Right.” Madge nodded and looked around the room as if doing inventory. “They're gorgeous but they're not selling, so why not give them up? And the same with some of the shoes we've had in stock for a while. And tiaras. If we open this up to the public and a lot of brides come away winners, people will be happy. And I have a feeling they'll buy a lot of other stuff if we do deep discounts. The goal here would be to get rid of all of the inventory from last season.”

I paused to think as she spoke the word “season.” Out with the old, in with the new. Kind of like so many areas of my life lately.

An idea developed. “Ooh, we can have a wedding reception. We can get cake decorators and other vendors to come.”

“Cake and punch? In the store?” Brady said. “No way.”

“We'll do it out front. Set up a tent. If we involve vendors, then it'll turn the whole thing into an extravaganza.” I snapped my fingers. “That's it! A Black Friday bridal extravaganza. What do you think?”

“What if it's cold?” Madge asked. “Should we still do it in a tent out front?”

“Sure! People won't care. They're crazy on Black Friday. They'll do anything to save a few bucks. And if we bring in vendors, then we're all patting one another on the back and helping the whole wedding community out. Right?”

Twiggy didn't look convinced. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It won't be so bad,” I said. “Just a matter of getting organized ahead of time and having the right things out on display.”

“And bringing in a tent, and contacting vendors, and . . .” Madge groaned.

I put my hand up. “That's why you have me. I'll arrange for all of that. I'll get an ad in the paper and update our website with the details.” Suddenly I could hardly wait. We'd host a real wedding extravaganza, right here at Cosmopolitan Bridal!

Wait—what was I thinking? I was already in wedding planning mode, helping Queenie. And then there was Brady's surgery on the 19th. He wouldn't be in any shape to help with the extravaganza just one week after the fact, would he?

With God's help, I'd get 'er done, as Queenie often said. And I'd do it for our customers, to prove once and for all that Cosmopolitan Bridal was the place to be, even when discontented customers aired their grievances.

On the other hand, planning a big event the day after Thanksgiving when I'd be in Fairfield with my family on Thanksgiving Day? I must be nuts.

Maybe we could set up the shop on Wednesday. Yes, that
would work. Set up the shop on Wednesday night, drive to Fairfield on Thursday, spend the day with family, sleep a few hours at my parents' place, drive back in the wee hours Friday morning in time to greet the vendors, help them get set up in the tent . . .

Whew! I was tired just thinking about it!

Oh well. I could do it. And when I did, I would prove myself to Nadia and the others. Not that I really needed to prove anything, but I'd make Cosmopolitan Bridal look good to the media and hopefully erase any negative image that crazy bride had caused.

As I detailed my plans for the extravaganza, Brady gave me an admiring look. “I told my mom you're the best thing that's ever happened to Cosmopolitan Bridal, Katie, and it's true.”

“Th-thank you, Brady.” I gazed up, up, up into his gorgeous blue eyes and smiled. Now, if only he would add, “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“
And
you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” His smile broadened with each word.

Whoa! Had the boy read my mind or what? I gave him a little wink and he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.

Madge cleared her throat and muttered, “No PDA,” but I barely heard her.

In that moment, wrapped in Brady's arms, I truly felt invincible. Empowered by his kisses, I could slay dragons, battle frustrated designers, sell a thousand bridal gowns.

Okay, maybe not a thousand. But we would bring in a crowd for Black Friday like Cosmopolitan Bridal had never seen before. And we would do it all with yours truly at the helm. If I could just get my knees to stop shaking long enough to put a plan in motion, anyway.

I had the best costars you could ever have, and I miss them so much. We had such a great time working together.

Doris Day

P
retty much everyone in my hometown of Fairfield revered Queenie, so it came as no surprise that they were pulling out all the stops for her big day. Her best friend, Bessie May, was planning a surprise lingerie shower. Like anything in Fairfield would stay a secret for long. Thankfully, I wasn't invited. And Ophelia, a lifelong friend of my grandmother's, had offered her services as cake baker and decorator. Every time I pictured the elderly Ophelia carrying a four-tiered cake,
I got the shivers, though I couldn't fault her for wanting to contribute. Prissy Moyer, one of Queenie's friends from the Methodist church, offered to make the punch—she claimed it was an old family recipe. Even Brother Krank, fellow Baptist church elder and director at the local retirement home, was in a charitable mood, offering his services as a deejay. Yes, my grandmother certainly had a lot of friends, and they were all in a celebratory frame of mind.

Most everyone, at least. The members of the Baptist church seemed a bit perplexed that Queenie had transferred her membership to First Presbyterian. Other than that, the whole town of Fairfield celebrated her good news. And with the ceremony coming up so quickly—two weeks before Christmas—we had a lot of planning to do, starting with the obvious: a bridal shower.

I'd thrown a few of those in my day, but never for a woman in her eighties. What did one buy an octogenarian bride? My mind reeled with possibilities as I made the drive from Dallas to Fairfield the first Saturday in November. To my right, Alva dozed in the passenger seat—not unusual on a long drive like this. Well, she dozed until the car's Bluetooth rang. I did my best not to wake her as I pushed the button on the steering wheel to answer, but it couldn't be helped.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Katie,” Alva said, half-asleep, then rolled her head toward the window.

“Is this Katie Fisher?” An unfamiliar female voice sounded from the other end of the line.

“It is. How may I help you?”

Alva stirred in her seat and her eyes popped open. “It would be a big help if you'd stop at the next gas station. My bladder's about to burst.” She let out an exaggerated groan.

Ack.

“My name is Carrie Sanders,” the woman on the phone said. “I live in San Antonio.”

“Ooh, San Antonio, home of the Spurs!” Alva seemed to come fully awake at this point. She lit into a lengthy dissertation about the team, then glanced my way and put her hand over her mouth. “Now, don't you go telling Brady I said all of that, all right? As far as he's concerned, my loyalty is to the Mavericks. And it is, naturally. But the Spurs are a great team too, and they tend to make the playoffs. A lot. So it's hard not to be a fan, if you know what I mean.”

I gave her a strained look in the hopes that she would remember the woman on the other end of the phone, then returned my gaze to the highway.

“Oh, I agree,” the woman said. “Though I have no particular loyalties either way. My family is really into basketball, though, so I can totally relate to the passion over a particular team.” She chuckled. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Oh, I'm just driving home to Fairfield, but I'm free to talk. I've got you on speaker, so we're good. Did you need to make an appointment?”

“Well, I just needed to change the time. I'm coming this Thursday to choose a gown. I talked to a lady named Madge just now and she referred me to you. She said you're in charge of the schedule?”

“Yes, that's right.” Except I didn't have access to my schedule while driving. “I'm sure we'll work it out.”
I hope.

“Honestly, I wouldn't mind getting something from a store here in San Antonio, but my dad wants me to have the dress of my dreams. He does well for himself, so he says money is no object.”

Wow. I couldn't imagine my father, a hardworking hardware store owner, ever using the words, “Money is no object.” My
gaze shifted to the rearview mirror. I caught a glimpse of my wedding gown—the dress I'd won in the contest—hanging in the backseat. Hauling it to Queenie's cedar closet still seemed a bit sad.

“Anyway, the reason I'm calling is because I wanted to give you a heads-up about my family before I get there. I tried to explain to Madge, but she seemed a little distracted.”

“Oh? Your family will be with you?” I asked.

“Yes, several of them.”

Alarm bells went off in my head. “How many are we talking?”

“Oh, six or seven. Maybe eight, if Nonna comes. But I wouldn't count on her. She doesn't like road trips anymore because she has an overactive bladder.”

“That reminds me . . .” Alva tapped me on the arm. “If you please. Next exit.”

I did my best not to sigh. “So, you're coming with the family. We'll be happy to meet everyone.”

“There's a little more to it than that. See, they're really, well . . .”

Alva tapped me again and whispered, “Pull off here, Katie,” as she gestured to the upcoming exit.

“I'm marrying the best guy in the world,” Carrie said. “His name is Jimmy. But it's safe to say his family and mine don't always get along. And I don't just mean about the big stuff. They can't seem to agree on anything.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.” I took the exit and pulled into a service station parking lot. I'd no sooner brought the car to a stop than Alva bounded out and headed to the ladies' room. I had to give it to her—she sure moved fast when motivated.

“Sorrier than you know.” Carrie's voice brought me back to the conversation. “Because they're all coming with me to pick out a dress and it's bound to be a fiasco. I wish I could've
gotten out of this—trust me, I do—but both families want to be involved. One big happy family. That's us. Only, we're not. Happy, I mean. We are big.” She sighed. “And what I said isn't 100 percent accurate. My parents are perfectly happy as long as his parents aren't around, and vice versa. To be honest, they can't stand one another. At all. And it can get a little explosive when we're all together, especially during the playoffs.”

“Playoffs?”

“Yeah. Trust me.”

Oh boy. We'd had this scenario before. Things rarely ended well with both families involved. But what could I do? I promised Carrie that we would do our best to make the experience fun, and she ended the call with a cheerful, “See you soon!”

A few minutes later Alva approached the car holding two sodas and two candy bars. She opened her door and grinned as she passed some of the goodies my way. “Figure I owed 'em my business since they loaned me their toilet.”

If that didn't make a girl feel like eating chocolate while drinking Diet Root Beer, nothing would. We sat in the parking lot a moment as we nibbled on the goodies.

Alva wiped a glob of chocolate off her lip and tossed the candy bar wrapper into the trash bag. “Not trying to be nosy, but who was that gal on the radio?”

“Radio?” I gave my aunt a curious look.

“Well, sure. Her voice was coming straight through the radio. Strangest thing . . . it was almost like she was talking to you. Never heard of a radio that worked like that before. But I suppose there's a lot of stuff I don't understand about technology these days.”

I bit back laughter as I said, “It's a Bluetooth.”

“Bluetooth?” She pulled down her visor and gazed into the little vanity mirror, her mouth wide open. She seemed to
be examining the inside of her mouth, then she glanced my way and shrugged. “Don't see anything on my teeth at all, Katie Sue. It was only on my lip. And it wasn't blue. It was chocolate.”

“No, I meant . . . oh, never mind.” I put the car in gear and headed back to the highway, determined to get this show back on the road.

“So, that gal on the radio talk show . . . she's part of a wedding story or something?”

“She's a bride-to-be and is getting her dress from our shop.”

“That's what it sounded like to me, but I couldn't be sure. Pretty good PR for Cosmopolitan, having a big radio star like that on board. And she's coming all the way from San Antonio?”

“Yes.” No point in explaining the rest.

“And bringing the family?”

“Yes, the whole family, and from what she said right before you left the car, they don't get along. At all.” I shook my head. “Might make good fodder for a TV show, but it's rarely fun in person, trust me. I've seen more brides lose it over family members, and vice versa. It's hard all the way around.”

“Then let's you and me make a pact.” Alva reached over and patted my hand. “We'll agree to demonstrate the opposite spirit.”

“What do you mean?”

“We won't be one of those families. When it comes to planning my sister's wedding, we're all in, 100 percent. And there won't be any squabbling.”

“That's sweet, Alva.”

My aunt's eyes flooded and her voice quivered. “I plan to keep my trap shut, no matter what she chooses. Even if she picks a hot pink minidress for the ceremony. She's the bride. It's all about her.”

Um, you were there when she
went with the light blue . . .
“She'll look lovely on her big day. No doubt about it.”

“Right. Beautiful golden-years bride.” Alva leaned back against the seat, her eyes fluttering closed. “I'm an old spinster. No wedding in sight for me. So don't worry, sweet girl. You'll never have to keep your trap shut on my account. If there's really such a thing as Prince Charming, he somehow missed his exit and met up with some other prettier, younger chick.”

The strangest feelings swept over me at her words. I wanted to respond with a lecture about how life was filled with possibilities no matter your age. I would use Queenie as an example. But before I could open my mouth, Alva was snoring loudly.

I thought about her words as I drove. She considered herself an old maid. Likely people around her did too. She was eighty-plus years old and had never married. But not everyone was meant to, right?

I pushed that thought out of my head and gave the wedding dress another glance in my rearview mirror. It seemed to mock me. I released a slow breath and tried to deal with the strange emotions stirring in me. I'd already worn that beautiful gown on the cover of a famous magazine. I would wear it for real one day as I walked down the aisle toward Brady. I would. In the meantime, I'd keep my spirits up by focusing on Queenie's big day.

The rest of the drive, Alva talked in her sleep about some of the strangest things I'd ever heard. My thoughts shifted back to the bride-to-be, Carrie Sanders. What would it be like to have two families dueling instead of cooperating? Awkward.

Then again, I understood awkward, didn't I? Hadn't my ex-boyfriend just called a few days back to tell me how much he missed me?

I refused to let my thoughts linger on Casey. Instead, I fo
cused my attention on the road. And on my schedule. With Brady's surgery coming up, I needed to put everything down on my calendar.

Suddenly the idea of Brady heading into surgery made my heart skip a beat. I couldn't see past the image of the man I loved undergoing something so painful.

The man I loved.

I did love him. I did. And in spite of the fact that he'd never come out and said the words, I prayed he loved me too.