Page 55 of Love…It's Complicated

I nod and sigh. I hate that she’s right. I hate that she’s sick.

“Feel better, okay? Did the doctor give you any medicine?”

“Antibiotics and a steroid for the nebulizer.”

“Call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re feeling.”

We exchange good-byes and hang up.

My hand is in my hair as I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do without an assistant.

I call Tara and ask for help.

“Sorry, babe. I have my niece’s sweet sixteen in New Jersey, remember?”

The answer is, no, I don’t remember, but I apologize and call the two other assistants we’ve used on events. They are both busy working other jobs. I call some friends, at least the few I know who might be useful. I get fierce apologies andwish I couldandif it were any other weekend. Finally, I panic-call Jillian, who is in Maine, for a funeral, and practically cry as I explain what’s going on.

“Shit. Samantha must be severely ill if she’s canceling like this,” she says on the other end of the phone. I can hear the house full of family members chattering in the background of their Kennebunkport estate.

“The girl sounded like she was three steps away from death. Tara is unavailable. Loriann, Dana, Jacqueline, Amaya, Nevaeh, Callista—”

“Callista is the least reliable person on the planet.”

“I was desperate. I even asked the woman who does my nails.”

“Man, you are overreaching for help on this one. Maybe there’s a flight that leaves in the next half hour? I could get there by—”

“Jillian, that’s insane. Don’t you dare!”

“You’ve clearly tried every other person you know. Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to run away from my family. My father has set me up with seven dates while I’m here.”

“That’s kinda sweet.”

“I’m here for my grandmother’s funeral, Melissa! My parents are certifiably insane. I’ll come home.”

“No. Don’t. Your mom is bonkers, but you were excited to see friends during your trip, and your uncle is sick. You should spend time with them. I can do this on my own. The florist will be there, and we have the furniture delivery drivers. I can give them a few bucks to help me move things. Of all the weddings you’re away for, it had to be this one. We do every event together.”

“Except this one. This sucks for you, and it’s a ton of work to do on your own.”

“Forget about me. You need to grieve with your family.”

“Keep me updated. Text if you’re having a nervous breakdown.”

“Sure. I’ll stop mid–panic attack and give you a cordial ring.”

“You got this.”

We hang up, and I start my immediate squirm around the room, making sure I have everything on my list. I grab my iPad, ensuring it’s fully charged, and grab a backup charger to place in my emergency kit. I count the props in the bins. I have the vendor contracts, specialty table numbers, and … I feel like I’m forgetting something.

My cell phone rings. I grab it out of my backpack and am surprised to see Will is calling.

“Hey.” My voice is clipped.

“Did I call at a bad time?”

“Kind of. I’m having a small meltdown at work. My assistant is dying, not literally, but enough to call out sick. Everyone I know is unavailable to fill her spot, so I’m scrambling.” I spin around and spot the closet in my office when a mental bulb goes off in my head. “My suitcase! That’s the thing I almost forgot.”

“You bring a suitcase to weddings?”

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