“You can’t be worried about others, Maddy. This isyourday, and the only people who need to be happy are you and Myles.”
“Yes, I guess so… I just thought things would be different. I’m her only daughter. I thought she’d want to be more involved.”
Leaning forward, I place my hand on her knee and whisper, “I know it’s hard. But you can’t change her, and you’ll go crazy trying. You’re creating your new family now, and when you have kids one day, you’re going to be an amazing mother.”
Maddy nods quietly with glazed eyes. “I’m going to be a soccer mom. Hanging out with the other soccer moms while I cheer on my kids and hand out homemade baked goods to everyone around me.”
I chuckle heartily. “Sounds like a plan, though you suck at baking.”
“Yes, but you can bake for me. Do you think I need to drive a minivan to be a soccer mom? I’m not a minivan person. I don’t think it will go with my aesthetic.”
“Your aesthetic of being a mom?”
“No, like I want to be a proper mom but also hot. I don’t want to be picking up my kids in sweats with questionable hair that hasn’t been washed in God knows how long,” Maddy quips.
“Okay, you’re spiraling,” I inform her, taking a long sip of wine. “Let’s focus on getting you married. So, tell me what you have so far.”
Maddy pulls out her mood boards for the wedding. She’s always been a girly girl, experimenting with colors and different styles but also holding a feminine touch. It comes as no surprise most of the inspiration photos are wedding pictures with lavender and white—the flower arrangements, table settings, and even the bridesmaid gowns.
“Lavender it is,” I say with a small laugh. “You mentioned the reception is at the Grand Honey Lodge, and they’re catering?”
“Yes, Martha is the wedding coordinator at the Honey Lodge, so all that reception stuff will be taken care of.” Maddy inhales a deep breath, then releases it. “We need to sort out the dresses, hair, makeup, cars, photographer… What else am I forgetting? Georgina, Myles’s mother, is organizing the floral arrangements and—”
“The invitations? And what budget are we working with?”
Maddy rolls her eyes. “Georgina has the invitations sorted. She said they must be handwritten by a calligrapher. As for budget, Daddy Dearest is paying, so no limit, but Myles doesn’t want to go overboard. He wants to keep it simple and intimate. Also, no swans or doves. He has a fear of birds.”
I motion for her to take another deep breath. “Nothing that can fly and attack you, got it. If Georgina is handling the invitations, I assume she’ll keep tabs on any dietary requirements. Also, I can speak to the caterer to make sure we have backup meals in case anyone changes their mind or forgets to inform us.”
Across from me, Maddy stares at me with confusion. “Have you done this before?”
“Done what before?”
“Planned a wedding, duh.”
“No, but I watch a lot of TLC. And before you start, let’s not get into how much free time I have because there’s no man in my life.”
“Speaking of men…” Maddy begins, adding a mischievoussmile. “Myles has a friend, Ken, who is super hot and would totally look great with you.”
“You’re not setting me up. End of story,” I tell her firmly.
Maddy pouts like a spoiled child. “Fine, but when cats start coming to your door…”
I roll my eyes.
We spend the next hour making a to-do list for the wedding preparations, so it’s clear what Georgina has a handle on and what I can help Maddy with.
The ceremony itself will be held in the gardens at the Honey Lodge. There is a large gazebo next to the lake, which is covered, so even if it rains or snows, the guests will be sheltered. It’s absolutely stunning, which is why weddings are booked out in advance. But Maddy’s family owns the property the hotel is on, so it’s no surprise she was able to secure it.
My eyes dart up and down the list followed by a sudden wave of panic. I try to envision how I’ll get this all done and still manage the café. It would be unfair to leave everything up to Billie since she has several medical appointments to attend each week with her mom.
“Uh-oh,” Maddy says loudly, eyeing me dubiously. “You’re panicked.”
I gulp. “I’m fine.”
“Nope, you’ve got on your panicked face, which, by the way, is it also your sex face?”
“I don’t have a sex face!”