Ugh,like nightmare fuel, first, my go-to florist—I’m talking flora-scape architect genius—tells me she’s booked through January. Then, same with the deejay, who plays music from this century. Booked. When none of my photographers were available, I figured,this is the worst of it.I was forced to use Stefano’s referral, and call Elena, the travel photographer down the hall from him who it turns out, isn’t a made-up person, but a nice woman despite her husband’s self-help podcast recommendations.
Taking his help, I thought I might die of humiliation because it felt like such anI told you so.
At least, sending a list ofunproblematic podcasts felt mildly redeeming. Temporarily, because of course, Stefano thanked me and said he’s excited to listen, effectively stealing my joy.
But the real rotten cherry on top?
Three! Not one or two, butTHREEof my key dress designers couldn’t pull off a one-of-a-kind dream dress, ship it, and fit it in two months…
What is wrong with these people? Haven’t they ever heard of wedding magic?
Low-key, I was starting to think, that uptight man put some kind of curmudgeon hex jinx on this ceremony.
Good girl.
He called me agood girl? Why was that so sexy?
Why am I letting this man get under my skin?
Alas, I pulled out my fix-it kit, and voilà! With finesse and the utmost professionalism, I tackled the obstacles with my list of backup vendors.
And my list of IOUs to call in favors.
The Napa bridal boutique with almost every dress Morgan pinned in stock, had “a cancellation.”
The only dress appointment available for months, and they squeezed in Morgan in at eleven o’clock Thursday morning.
Immediately, I called the Sister Circle, begged them to rearrange their schedules, call in sick. Heck, fake a stomachache if necessary.
They needed to be there.
As the thrilled maid of honor and wedding planner, I offered to hand-deliver Morgan to the boutique. After they agreed and Morgan invited her mom and Victoria, I was set to mark my calendar when I realized Ace had a dentist appointment today.
This is my life.
A special blend of highs, lows, and pillow screams, before I play Tetris with my already crammed schedule.
Of course, all to the soundtrack ofCars, playing from the back seat where my little guy is excitedly chomping on mini carrots and enjoying this impromptu field trip.
“Less than three minutes until Auntie Mo comes flying down the steps to give you some sugar,” I say, peeking at him in the rearview mirror.
My heart leaps the way it does every time he Macaulay Culkin–style slaps his hands over his squishy cheeks.
Thank you, YouTube shorts, for that one.
There’s a quiet moment as I flip on my left indicator and slow at aSTOPsign, feeling grateful he’ll get to see me working.
As I accelerate through, making a right onto the vineyard’s gravelly lane, I call Morgan on Bluetooth.
“I’m here,” I say when she answers.
“Hey, can you come in for a couple minutes?” she asks. “We’ve got a full hour. I want to give you a list of the changes Dante and I made…”
I flit a glance at the time on the dash, mentally calculating drive time and lunch hour traffic.
“Can you email it to me?”
“Can you afford to pass up a potty break?” she quips, bypassing me for my baby. “Hey, my little Ace with flying colors.”
