Page 1 of The Casella King

“Ido,” the groom says as the bride smiles from ear to ear. She stares into his eyes, like he’s the best thing to ever happen to her, and a shiver rolls down my spine.

You’d think the day-to-day norm of watching people get married, saying their sappy vows and promises would make me somewhat fall in love with love over time, but no.

Sadly, that won’t ever happen for me. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love organising beautiful wedding events where the bride and groom end up ecstatic with my work and efforts, but there’s just something about giving yourself completely to someone else that terrifies me.

I watch as the beautiful couple share their first kiss as man and wife, standing at the altar on a beautiful beach, the sunset creating a soft glow behind them. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, and I don’t dare move a muscle to see who it is because I already know. It could only be one person who texts me and calls me incessantly, until I answer or respond.

That would be the drunk, shitty excuse of a man—father. I ignore it until it stops, watching as the guests congratulate the happy couple.

“Oh, you’ve done such a fantastic job with this wedding, my dear, thank you so much for all of your efforts.” The old lady beside me flashes her best smile as she looks up at me through her thick glasses.

I think she’s the grandmother of the bride. Then there’s that feeling again, a fleeting happiness in my chest, a zing, a moment where I can feel proud that all the time I spent planning, calling suppliers, and negotiating was completely worth it.

I get paid to do this job, but at the same time, I love what I do. I love seeing beautiful memories being made for those who wish to embark on this journey together. It should be a special time for the couple, and it makes me feel purposeful when I help them achieve that.

“Thank you for your kind words, I truly appreciate them,” I tell the lovely old lady as I begin motioning to the guys to begin packing up the seats and the altar when the guests begin migrating over to the reception area behind us. My phone starts to buzz again, and I let out a sharp breath as I reach into my pocket to answer the call.

“I’m working.” My voice is stern.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, can you bring back a box of beer on your way home?”

The audacity.

“No,” I say as I walk away from the guys who’ve begun packing up.

“Why not? I did so much for you growing up, and you can’t do this for me?”

Such a fucking narcissist.

“Because I will not help you poison yourself. Now stop calling me.” I hang up before he has a chance to speak again and make my way to the reception area.

Everything looks like it’s in its rightful place.

Perfect.

I wave to the manager on duty tonight and ensure everything is running on track as per the timeline I gave him, and he nods, assuring me that everything will go smoothly. Call me pessimistic, but I’ve planned and done enough weddings to know something almostalwaysgoes wrong.

I’m proved right when I am called to the ladies’ room.

“No! I need to pee! Someone get this fucking dress off me!” I hear the bride yelling as I enter the room. I raise my hands and motion for her to breathe.

“Okay, let’s all take a breath,” I try to calm her. “What’s the issue?”

“The issue is the zipper on my stupid dress is caught, and I can’t get out of it!” There’s pure panic in her voice and in her eyes.

I’ve done a lot of weddings, and this has never once happened to the bride, so evenIam a little nervous as to how this will go. Her dress style won’t exactly allow her to lift it, so we’re going to have to figure out another way.

“This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to get you out of this dress so you can pee, then we’re going to get you back in.” I squeeze her hand as a sign of support as she turns around. I get a good look at the situation.

Okay, not bad, I can work with this.

The invisible zipper is indeed stuck between the fabric, so it’s going to be difficult to get it off, however, not impossible. The dress buttons are already undone, so I grab a pen from my pocket and poke a small hole in the zipper. Luckily the bride’s eyes are closed, probably wishing for all of this to be over.Slowly, I part the zipper and get her out of it. She didn’t even glance my way, just went straight to the cubicle. After a moment, small sobs echo through the restroom.

“Lila, it’s going to be okay.” I knock on her cubicle door. “I promise you, no one will even know.”

I give the dress to the bridesmaids and instruct them to comfort her whilst I figure out a solution to this mess. I think and think and think, but nothing comes to mind. Walking out the door, I see the staff walking around, getting the finishing touches done before the reception guests arrive. Then it comes to me like a lightbulb moment.

Safety pins.

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