Page 3 of Entwined

I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I’m a little surprised when the doorbell rings.

But when I open the door and a beaming, dizzyingly hyper Whitley pounces — I’m not a bit taken aback — she’s actually late… if you take into consideration who it is I’m marrying.

The one-week deadline to pick a date for the wedding Dane had imposed on me expired two days ago. Call me crazy, he did, but I need more than a week to return and settle back in from vacation and coordinate availability with everyone we know, not to mention a venue… but, my Caveman says a week, that’s what he means.

And now, he’s sent in the big gun — “Whitley Poppins Planner” — to take over. If anyone can throw together a wedding fast enough to please the persnickety Mr. Caveman Kendrick yet still make it glamorous and full of all the over-the-top fixings… it’s Whitley.

“Hey Whit, come on in.” I give her a very wide berth, to avoid possible injury.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to ask to what you owe the pleasure?” Oh no, she’s using her “head voice.”

“Nope.” I shut the door and turn to her with a stoic expression. “I am gonna ask if you’d like a drink. I’m thinking wine. Copious amounts. And maybe a Xanax? I’m sure I’ve got one around here somewhere. Lemme lift the couch cushions and check.”

“Oh, hush,” she waves a flitting hand and giggles. “So, let’s get started. Want me to set up at the kitchen table?”

“Set up?” Okay, now she’s stumped me… because while her purse may be large, it’s the only thing she’s holding, and really, how much whatever requires “setting up” could she possibly have in there? Then again, the other Poppins pulled a damn coat rack outta her bag.

“My stuff, hello? Weddings don’t just plan themselves, Laney.” She rolls her eyes, clearly disappointed in my ignorance. “It’s out in the car, I’ll go grab it.”

“I’ll go hunt down that Xanax,” I call after her, already doing that walk/shimmy/skip thing of hers out the door.

Rather than the narcotic, which very unfortunately I don’t really have, I find my phone and try to text as fast as I know Whitley’s gonna be moving.

Me: All this time, I thought you enjoyed having sex with me. Why didn’t you say something sooner?

Dane: Love fucking you, gonna do so tonight. After Whitley leaves. Funny though.

Me: Nope. You’re cut off. As long as I have to deal with Whitley’s hysterics, you will deal with your right hand.

“Almost ready,” Whitley chirps, dropping off a load of stuff on the table. “One more trip, be right back.”

“Uh huh,” I mutter, staring at my phone.

Dane: We’ll see about that.

Me: We sure will. I’m not kidding, mister! You went too far.

Dane: I told you, one week. You were amply warned. Deal with it, and be nice.

Me: I’m always nice!

Dane: To WHO?

“Okay, I’m ready!” Whitley squeals, piercing my eardrums… and drawing my attention.

Me: Cut. Off.

“Me too,” I force on a smile, turn my phone on vibrate and slowly drag my feet toward “Party Central.”

Two hours later, two, and I’ve had enough. My jaw aches from all the damn grinning I’ve been doing and if Whitley claps, patty-cakes or whatever the hell it is she’s doing, one more time, I’ll be left no choice but to break her hands. Bless her heart of gold; I truly adore her and she’s amazing, giving of her time to plan my wedding for me, but damn do I have a headache.

“Whit, can we please take a break? Have a glass of wine? You know this isn’t my thing and, well, sweetie, I’m about to lose my shit.”

“You go ahead, have some wine, but I have to keep a clear head. Look on the bright side, do you realize how much we’ve gotten accomplished?”

“A lot?” I venture a guess as I sprint to the fridge, tempted to chug straight from the bottle.

“Yes, a lot!” She laughs, then clears her throat and begins to reel off her checklist… again.

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