Page 50 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘We’re amongst friends,babe,’ replied Venus, in a majestically bitchy sing-song tone.
‘You said the same thing about the whole microplastics debacle. My family put that law firm’s entire collective of kids through college.’
‘Theydidhave a lot of kids, didn’t they? You’d think lawyers would be too busy.’
Desmond – or what’s-his-name, which, who knew, maybe he preferred to go by – pressed on. ‘Anyway, I wanted to ask about the mouthwash burns situation. The reputation firm is on it, but that hashtag is moving really fast.’
‘Winston can be the fall guy,’ said Venus airily. ‘He owes usafter we covered up the whole … oh. Um.’ Remembering that Lily was in the room with her – or perhaps simply because she’d met her daily conversational quota with poor Desmond – she rang off. ‘Anyway. Back to more important things. Dinnerware!’
Setting a mental reminder to donate Venus’s generous gift of class-action-lawsuit-pending dental hygiene goods to Estelle, her frenemy from college who kept popping up on her social media feeds beingsuspiciouslysuccessful, and whose blinding smile was what Lily had always assumed was how Estelle hypnotised people into doing her bidding, Lily showed Venus over to the art deco cabinet that housed her curated assortment of crockery and silverware.
‘If there’s nothing here that works,’ she said, ‘we can always browse one of the vintage shops in the village.’
‘Hmm, there are some quaint pieces here,’ said Venus. ‘Is this one hand-thrown? I have this wonderful artist out of Puglia I work with sometimes. So sweet, so bucolic. She does all of my scarves, too. You might know her chocolate box collab with Zodiac? You should absolutely bring her on as a vendor. Imagine the bonbonnieres!’
Which reminded Lily: they hadn’t discussed wedding favours. She’d been thinking something like vintage Loteria matchboxes or personalised fragrances. But perhaps honey imported from the ends of the earth or hand-gathered meteor fragments would be more suited to Venus’s sensibility, which was somewhat hilariously disconnected from reality. Or a puppy for everyone. Or a tortoise, a really long-lived one that could see the happy couple through multiple generations of delighted matrimony.
She bit back a grin, imagining how Mort would respond to any of these suggestions. She could just see the furrow between his brows as he tried to make sense of why someone would need a hundred monogrammed baby pots of honey to take homewith them after a bland meal and three hours of dancing to an equally bland cover band. (Mort’s prior words, not hers – Lily did not do bland.)
There was something that delighted her in the way simple things baffled him so. He was crotchety and grumpy, yes, but it came from a place of deep compassion. You could see it in the way he was with Esmeralda. Or in how he was doing his utmost to help Gramps with the huge rickety house that clearly had poor Gramps bested. But that was life, wasn’t it. That was relationships. You were never done figuring it all out. You could only hope that you got a little bit better at it all, day by day.
(Not Mom, though. There was no hope there. But maybe Lily could one day break that particular family curse.)
‘Hmm, I’m liking the tortoise idea more and more,’ mused Venus, chugging a shot of ultra-water she’d pulled from her purse as a pre-tea palate cleanser. ‘Could we write a little note on their shells?’
Lily gulped. This wasn’t the way she’d expected things to go. She was learning the hard way that wedding planning was like the security area at the airport: not the place for jokes.
‘They do have a habit of escaping,’ offered Lily. This was, of course, a valid concern when you were choosing wedding favours, and why salt and pepper shakers or the classic sugared almonds tended to be the preferred option.
‘Oh, but I love that.’ Venus stooped to stroke Esmeralda, who’d wandered in looking for a second helping of tuna. She inspected the cat’s crystal collar ornament. ‘Don’t you think it’s the perfect metaphor for love? How it’s something we chase, slowly, inexorably, for our whole lives?’
Even Esmeralda seemed to cock her head at this analysis. Venus had clearly gone to the Hollywood School of Philosophy, the one where luminaries like Grimes and Jim Carrey lectured.
‘Sure, sure,’ agreed Lily, sipping her tea as calmly as possible. The customer was always right in matters of taste and bizarre pseudo-philosophical rantings. ‘We can talk about the tortoises. Um, are your guests experienced in working with small reptiles?’
Venus sipped her tea and made a face. ‘Are you sure this is organic? Hmm. I do know someone who’s big in the zoo space. Maybe we could throw in some care and feeding classes. And a terrarium. And a dedicated veterinarian.’
A rumbling overhead shook the building. Lily hurried to her cabinet of stemware, enveloping it in a giant hug lest the whole thing should come crashing down. Was this another switcheroo? Had Veronica finally checked her emails and returned to put the world back to rights? (Lily really hoped she was on the right track with this Veronica business because muttering a nightly incantation over some leftover birthday candles certainly hadn’t worked.)
‘Oh, that’s my helicopter,’ said Venus. ‘I asked Jim to pop up to that farm that does the fresh wasabi; I guess he’s done. So circling back to the dinnerware, I’m liking the mismatched vibe. Like this teacup. But not just, oh, some of these are different; more likeoh, every single plate is unique. But themed. But with no repeats. But holistic. Do you get my gist?’
Lily mentally added another???to her list. And a?!?!as well.
‘You’re a star, Lils. I’m amazed that Honour even shared your details instead of keeping you all to herself for her future wedding – she’s not even seeing anyone seriously at the moment, but you have to keep a good thing to yourself just in case. It’s the same with realtors. And lawyers. And plastic surgeons. Look, really, I’m super laissez-faire about the whole thing, assuming you run every decision past me for approval. Just not on Wednesdays, because that’s when I do medicinal micro-dosing, and my decision-making energy shifts in ways that I have toundo later. Just ask my PR rep.’ Venus finished her tea and set the cup back on the pink doily coaster, another fabulous farmers’ market find. ‘I bet you’ve never had a bride so laid-back, right?’
‘You’re amazing,’ said Lily kindly. (This was not a lie – Lily wasquiteamazed right now.)
Venus’s fox eyes narrowed. ‘Just as long as there are no surprises. I cannot abide a surprise. Especially on a day as big as this. Well, toodles!’
‘Toodles!’ said Lily brightly, even as her heart sank. Shehadto undo the switcheroo situation before Venus’s wedding, or she faced a potential reputational disaster that could end up covered inPeoplemagazine, or worse at every family dinner until Lily’s eventual demise.
Trader Joe’s seasoning summoning circle, here she came. Well, once she got back from plate shopping.
Death by Embarrassment
Mort
Mort always enjoyed a quiet browse of a vintage shop. They were such peaceful, still places, ones where every creaking footstep counted and items were picked up and replaced with care. He especially liked Then Again, which was run by the magnificently churlish Theo Giordano, who’d plonked himself and his ever-present vintageNew Yorkerissue behind the counter some forty years ago and had never left. Theo never asked you whether you were looking for something in particular, or whether you needed help, or if he could interest you in a twenty per cent off sale or a fundraiser for some obscure charity whose name was so depressing that you simply had to buy an armload’s worth of flavoured popcorn or consign your soul to hell.
