Page 86 of This Is How It Started
I check in on the bride, who is so calm and serene that I can’t help but wonder if the fuss about bridezillas is an urban myth. Her fiancé is on his way with the best man, so I make sure their room is ready. It’s the guest suite on the main floor with a view of the backyard. I stock it with champagne and snacks and a few toiletry items in case one of them forgets something. I read about doing that in an event-planning book. Very informative.
With my work done, I wander into the kitchen to see if Brooke needs help.
“Eat,” she says and hands me a plate of canapes, like a Jewish mother, even though she’s the ultimateshiksa. “You’ll need your energy for the rest of the day.”
I sit at the island, devouring the miniature crab puffs. “Whoa, these are good.” I never ate breakfast and am starved.
I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee from the bottom of the pot. Another thing I’d forgone when I woke up at five in the morning in my quest to get everything done. I should be exhausted, but I’m pumped. Now I know why they call it an adrenaline rush.
I finish my canapes and load the dishwasher with all the dirty bowls in the sink. I start a second wash in the dishwasher in the butler’s pantry.
“Give me another job to do,” I tell Brooke, who is cutting vegetables for a crudité platter. She seems to have everything well in hand, but I’m out of chores.
“Could you check the oven to see how the roast is doing?”
“Sure. But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Just make sure nothing’s burning.”
The roast looks like it’s doing what it’s supposed to. I grab a sponge and some disinfectant and wipe down the counter. “I think we’re going to pull this off,” I say like I still can’t believe we’re doing this.
“Of course we’ll pull it off, O ye of little faith.” I don’t know how she manages to do it, but Brooke is always confident. Maybe it’s working in the ER, saving lives. “And by the way, you need to start drawing a salary. This has become a full-time job for you, and we’re making enough money for you to pay yourself.”
“I’m living here free, Brooke.” It comes out with me sounding indignant, which I am a little bit. Brooke said she was doing this for us, for future Gold generations to save my dad’s legacy. Why should I profit from that?
She turns and forces me to meet her eyes. “I’m not paying you, if that’s what you’ve got your panties in a bunch over. The house is. Part of your compensation package is free room and board.”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying.” I stare back at her. “Let me put it this way, when we were kids, my parents, unlike other parents, didn’t pay us an allowance to do chores around the house. It was their philosophy that everyone had to pull their weight. They didn’t get paid to put a roof over our heads, so why should we get paid to make our beds? I’m just pulling my weight.”
“I’m not suggesting you get paid to make your bed or to take out the trash, or any other menial chore. That’s pulling your weight. What I’m talking about here is a full-fledged business. If you want to be a partner in it, you draw a salary. No one works for free. And for the record, it’s my opinion that you enjoy this more than you do real estate, and you work a hell of a lot harder at it. So embrace what I’m offering you.” She returns to her vegetable cutting, letting me know she’s done talking about it. Take it or leave it.
She’s given me plenty to chew on, but I don’t have time to think about it now. Not with a wedding less than thirty minutes away.
I pop my head out the front door to make sure the valet company has arrived and is ready to receive guests. Then I climb the stairs, tap on the bride’s door, and check in. Shireen’s parents are sipping champagne while Josie is doing the bride’s makeup. They don’t need me crowding their party, so I take myself downstairs. The officiant is here, and I get him settled outside.
That’s when my mother of all people pulls into the driveway. What is she doing here? My first reaction is to reach for my phone and scroll through my missed calls. Nothing. There would’ve been dozens if there was an emergency.
I watch her alight from her car in one of her crazy outfits. Flowy cropped linen pants, a dozen layered tops in various lengths and widths, and a pair of gladiator sandals. The ensemble makes her look both like a bag lady and a well-heeled customer at a Lilith closeout sale.
To my knowledge, this is the first time she’s been to the house since my father married Brooke, and I can’t imagine what she’s doing here. She and the valet are talking. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but I can tell that he wants to take her car. The instructions are that all vehicles are to be parked offsite except for the groom’s, the officiant’s, and the photographer’s. The delivery people are allowed to park just long enough to unload.
As I approach, I see the valet throw his hands up and my mother pocket her keys.
“Mom?”
She kisses me on the cheek. “What are you wearing, dear?” She eyes my work sweats with disdain.
That’s the last thing on my to-do list. To change into black pants and a white blouse, the uniform Brooke and I have chosen. If I rush, I’ll have time.
“You have leaves in your hair.” My mother reaches up and pulls one out of my ponytail.
“Ouch.” I pull away. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Is that the way you greet your mother?”
She knows how important it is that this wedding goes off without a hitch because for the last week that’s all I’ve talked about.
The waitstaff pulls up in a minivan, and I’m momentarily called away. I direct them to the kitchen, and in that time my mother has managed to slip away. Damnit. I don’t have time for this now.
