“Sounds very important,” I flatter him. Maybe I can convince Henry to invest in the brewery after I run it by Urban.
“Oh, it is,” he assures me. “It’s not as cool as what you do, artistic shit,” he glances at my jeans and t-shirt, “but I like the suit and tie.” He places his beer on the bar. “Can I ask you a silly question?”
“I love silly questions,” I say.
“Would you want to be the best man at my wedding?”
Shocked isn’t the right word for what I am right now. I haven’t seen Henry in years. I don’t even give his Facebook posts a like. “You wouldn’t want one of your other friends?”
He shrugs. “Kiki, my fiancée, she’s more into the wedding stuff.” He rolls his eyes. “I just need to find someone. Anyone.”
If I say yes, that’s got to win me points toward an investment. “When is it?”
“A few weeks.”
I pick up my beer bottle, clanking it against his own bottle. “Count me in.”
“Thank God. If I had to listen to Kiki for one more second about how I needed to find somebody, I’d lose my mind.”
I’m feeling a little bad for Henry’s fiancée, but I laugh. “Sounds like wedded bliss.”
He raises a brow. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s great. You want to meet her?”
“Right now?” I scan the bar, looking for a woman next to Henry that I may have overlooked.
“She’s doing some wedding thing around the corner from here. We can drop in.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to crash someone’s wedding.”
Henry laughs. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Umm ok,” I set my beer down. “Let’s do it.”
After I settle the tab, we leave the bar and walk a few blocks to meet his soon-to-be wife. The warm sun reminds me why I loved living here as a kid. Palm trees sway in the wind as we walk down the sidewalk. I definitely didn’t leave Florida because of the beauty or heat. It’s a relaxed atmosphere so different from the hustle and bustle of Atlanta’s big city. Everyone moves at a slower pace down here, not in a rush to get anywhere or do anything.
Reminds me of my father.
“How did you meet her?” I ask, cutting off my pesky inner monologue again.
“Dog park.”
I stop walking. “Wait, you were at a dog park? Last I remember you hated dogs.”
He laughs. “Oh, I still do. But, Kiki loves them. She’s a pet groomer.”
“I thought you said she was a wedding planner.”
“Yeah, it’s something new she’s trying out. It’s a little crazy, if you ask me.”
I hate to say it, but I don’t think this new engagement is going to “take” either. But that’s not my business. My business is the brewery and possibly getting Henry’s firm to invest.
FOUR
Kiki
Never trust a dog bride...
“Let me get this straight. He ran over the trellis? And then kissed you?” Poppi questions, her green eyes boring into mine.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. It was absurd.”
“What did he look like?” Lola asks as we stand outside the Dog Spaw, gathered at the back of my work van.
It’s not important he looked like any woman’s fantasy, because today is the wedding and I’ve got to face reality. “Just a guy.” I point to the pile of wood in the back of my van to divert them away from the stranger subject. “He ruined this.”
“Well, how was the kiss?” Lola jokes, clearly not dropping the subject.
There’s no way I can tell her the kiss was stellar. Like a cataclysmic happenstance that felt as if my lips were struck by lightning. No, I can’t say those words, because then I’d look like a freak.
“It was ok,” I finally answer, not making eye contact.
“Just ok, huh? Was there tongue?”
A bit. “No,” I lie. “It wasn’t like that. He just kissed me, and then went on his way, after I yelled at him.”
“Wait,” Lola says. “Why did he kiss you? Did he say?”
And that’s the bazillion dollar question. Why would he kiss a stranger? No explanation, no nothing. And there will never be one. And good riddance. He was a nightmare. A gorgeous nightmare, but a nightmare nonetheless.
“No. He never said.” I point to the pile of sticks. “Anyone know how to rebuild a trellis?”
“What are we going to do?” Poppi asks. “The wedding is in less than a few hours. Don’t tell me I wore this putrid color for nothing.”
The thought that Georgia’s wedding could be canceled over a trellis, has me turning as green as the dress I’m wearing to match the wedding colors. We stare at the rubble as if it’s going to reconstruct itself.
“Maybe we can just weave those flowers through something else?” Lola suggests, earning back friend points from not dropping the kiss. “You have a lot of doggy gates.”
“Great idea. We could do something with that.” With lightning speed, I remove the flowers that weren’t damaged and slam the van doors closed.
If this doesn’t go well, it could be the first and last wedding to take place here.
We hustle into the back of the Dog Spaw shop where we grab some gates and come up with a plan. It’s a little iffy, but worth a try. Poppi and Lola get to work on the flower weaving as I check on the set up of the garden area. When I step outside into the grass behind the building, Dennis, our part-time employee, puts the last white chair in position for the guests.
Some of my anxiety fades when I see everything in place. The sun will be the perfect backdrop to this little outdoor wedding, creating smears of pinks and oranges across the sky. I walk down the aisle. How can Henry want an indoor wedding? Weddings that take place outside hold a certain type of enchantment. The warm air delicately breezing through the veil to give that stunning appeal to the bride. Blossoming flowers standing up straight to capture the sun’s rays for the best lighting on them.
“Think the weather will hold up?” I ask, moving to stand on the white wooden dais. I look up at the cloudless blue sky. “The news said a thirty percent chance of rain.”
“They say that every day.” Dennis rests a tan hand on the back of a chair. “It’s Florida. There’s always one thing you can count on...rain.”
“And me,” his wife, Marge says, walking up the aisle, holding a silver tray laden with bone-shaped dog cookies. “I made these. What do you think?”
“They’re great. Thank you.”
She smiles and slides them onto the green cloth covered table designated for gifts.
The corners of Dennis’ eyes wrinkle as he smiles at his wife. That’s the way I hope Henry looks at me. I try to envision Henry and I being retired like Marge and Dennis, gray-haired and taking a part-time job at the same place just to get out of the house—together. The vision never materializes. I can’t picture it. Why can’t I picture it? The only thing I can picture is me getting a job away from his chip eating.