Page 15 of The Wedding Crush

I glance over to the white-clothed table fully dressed and brimming with a feast fit for a bride and her famished wedding planner. Then up to the clock above the fireplace.

The events director catches my eye and shoots me an understanding smile.

A small giggle bubbles in my throat.

That look, it’s one of sisterly and professional solidarity.

I swear she knows I’m secretly counting down until Nichelle’s appointment is over. It’s like she’s subliminally cheering me on.Girl, last appointment of the day. Get through this with a smile, and in a half hour, you’ll be at Morgan’s with your Sister Circle. Your mom is picking up Ace from daycare, so you’ll be free to sip Pinot, gush about the engagement, and NOT jump the gun on planning her wedding that probably won’t be for another year, but you can daydream…

Silver linings.

Come on, five o’clock.

Because clearly the events director is amazing at her job, intuitive as all get-out, and giving compliments is like showering others with free happiness confetti, I point to my blouse then her satin floral dress and pantomime a chef’s kiss.

Her expression softens with thanks.

Hmmm. Maybe I’ll skip the Pinot for Prosecco. Making it through this day feels like a celebration.

My mood lifts at the enticing prospect of relaxing with my girls.

Walking a little taller and lighter on my feet, I tuck my planner bible under my arm and slip my phone from my skirt pocket, prepared to knock out a few more email responses.

As soon as the screen illuminates, my heart stops.

Four missed calls from Mommy.

“Fudge.”

I pull in a lungful of air, determined not to get lost in the worst-case scenarios why she’s called so many times when she usually picks him up closer to six.

Breathe, then call her.

Forcing a smile, I clear my throat to get Nichelle’s attention. “Hey, I’ve got to make a quick call if you want to get started with the tasting before they begin cleanup,” I say encouragingly.

“Sure, yeah. No problem.”

She must register the slight worry etched between the lines on my face because she shoves her phone in her purse and steadies me with an intense stare.

Her eyebrows draw together. “Is everything okay? You seem upset.”

“No, yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my head, forcing a smile. “It’s just my mom. I missed her calls, and she’s picking up my son from daycare today,” I explain. “I’m sure I probably just forgot his PJs or toothbrush.”

Nichelle gives me one of those silentit’s always somethingsmiles before I tap Mommy’s contact and walk briskly back toward the private bridal suites.

“Hey, what did I forget?” I ask when she picks up.

“Ooh, honey, I hate to do this to you when it’s your girls’ night, but I’ve gone and caught myself a stomach flu. Lord, when I tell you it’s coming out both ways—”

“Please don’t.” Disgusted relief lifts my laugh. “Mommy, ew, just…TMI.”

“What?”

I’m still cringing and laughing as I close my eyes against the dueling Doctor Mom urge to rush over and fix her up and the hourly life calendar barreling to the front of my mind.

“Do you need me to bring you some ginger ale and saltines?”

“Chile, I’m on an every-fifteen-minute-water-sip diet trying to stay hydrated, then I’ll have some toast,” she says. “Don’t you dare worry about me. Go get my baby and tell him we’ll do Disney and Hot Wheels as soon as I’m up and running again.”

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