He opened his eyes. “Like what?”
“What do you mean, like what? Tons of stuff. At David’s Bridal they were asking me all these questions. Like, what’s our color palette? And are you going to wear a suit or a tuxedo?”
Jeremiah snorted. “A tuxedo? On the beach? I probably won’t even wear shoes.”
“Well, yeah, I know, but you should probably figure out what you’re going to wear.”
“I don’t know. You tell me. I’ll wear whatever you and Taylor want me to wear. It’s your guys’s day, right?”
“Ha ha,” I said. “Very funny.” It wasn’t like I really cared what he wore. I just wanted him to figure it out and let me know so I could check it off my list.
Drumming his fingers on the table, he said, “I was thinking white shirts and khaki shorts. Nice and simple, like we said.”
“Okay.”
Jeremiah gulped his beer. “Hey, can we dance to ‘You Never Can Tell’ at the reception?”
“I don’t know that song,” I said.
“Sure you do. It’s from my favorite movie. Hint: we had the soundtrack on repeat in our frat house media room all semester.” When I still stared at him blankly, Jeremiah sang, “It was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well.”
“Oh, yeah.Pulp Fiction.”
“So can we?”
“Are you serious?”
“Come on, Bells. Be a sport. We can put it on YouTube. I bet we’ll get a shit ton of hits. It’ll be funny!”
I gave him a look. “Funny? You want our wedding to be funny?”
“Come on. You’re making all the decisions, and all Iwant is this one thing,” he said, pouting, and I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Either way, it pissed me off. Plus, I was still pissed he hadn’t made it in time to help me at Michaels.
The server came by with our food, and Jeremiah dug right in to his lobster roll.
“What other decisions have I made?” I asked him.
“You decided that the cake was going to be carrot,” he reminded me, mayonnaise dripping down his chin. “I like chocolate cake.”
“I don’t want to be the one making all the decisions! I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Then I’ll help more. Just tell me what to do. Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if the wedding was Tarantino themed?” he said.
“Yeah, what if,” I said sourly. I stabbed a scallop with my fork.
“You could be the Bride like inKill Bill.” He looked up from his plate. “Kidding, kidding. But this whole thing is still gonna be pretty chill, right? We said we just wanted it to be casual.”
“Yeah, but people still need to, like, eat.”
“Don’t worry about the food and stuff. My dad will hire somebody to take care of all that.”
I could feel irritation start to prickle beneath my skin like a heat rash. I let out a short breath. “It’s easy for you to say don’t worry. You’re not the one planning our wedding.”
Jeremiah put down his sandwich and sat up straight. “I told you I’d help. And like I said, my dad will take care of a lot of it.”
“I don’t want him to,” I said. “I want us to do it together. And joking about Quent Tarantino movies doesn’t really count as helping.”
“It’s Quentin,” Jeremiah corrected.
