Page 24 of Husband of the Year
“Wonderful.” She unzips her coat to her waist, exposing a beautiful soft lavender sweater. “Sweetie, bathroom.”
Doing as she’s told, Illona skips away to use the bathroom before they leave.
“The shoot was a success, and the chef’s spread of summer rolls tasted as delicious as they looked.”
Isabella works as the associate editor for a captivating foodie magazine, with glossy pages that catch your eye as you stand in line at the grocery store. I’m pretty sure with the money they made from selling their business, she doesn’t need to work, but she loves being around the glamour of photo shoots… and hunky tattooed chefs.
“Did anyone say it?” I ask.
“Say what?”
“The name of the magazine?”
Isabella rolls her eyes. “Eat Maine. It’s Maine, Marvin.”
“No, the magazine is called Eat Me.Me.”
“The ME is capitalized. It’s an abbreviation and pronounced Maine.”
“Whatever you say.” I give her a wink. “But it’s not nearly as fun that way.”
“All good.” Illona returns, her hands up. “And yes, I washed my hands.”
“All right, sweetheart,” Isabella says. “Let’s get going.”
“Have a fun weekend,” I say to both of them.
“We’re going to get our nails done.” Isabella pats Illona’s back. “And your dad tells me there’s a flower girl dress to search for.”
“Yes! Blue roses. Or blue with roses. Any color. Maybe pink roses? On blue. Would that look pretty?” Illona rubs her chin. “I’m not sure.”
“Sweetie, we’ll find something. I promise.”
Illona walks over, and I kneel and open my arms.
“This hug has to last me all weekend,” I say. “The only planning we’ve done beyond the venue is your dress. And that’s only because your mom is on it.” My chin rests on Illona’s shoulder and I smile up at Isabella.
“Marvin, planning a wedding is a lot. Have you considered finding someone to help?”
“With the planning? I mean, Olan will help. He agreed on blue roses.”
Isabella pulls her head back, her eyes bulge open, and the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard from her bellows from her pink lips.
“Olan? Help? With a wedding? Marvin. Marvin.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Marvin. Olan is an amazing father. A phenomenal cook. He’ll be a wonderful husband. He can plan a lovely vacation. Date night? He’s your man. But a wedding… that’s on a whole different level.”
“Oh.” My head spins a little because I can vividly picture it. Olan and I on the beach in our suits. Not matching, that would be tacky. We’re not groomsmen. But coordinating colors. Maybe blues and tans. A splash of color here and there. Our friends and family gathered on chairs as the ocean breeze blows the fabric on Jill’s and Illona’s dresses. Our families will sit in the front. Sarah will put Rebecca and Erik at ease with embarrassing stories about me. Mother, nobody wants to hear about the time I had a terrible fever in preschool and you had to take my temperature in the tushy. Oy.
“Don’t you know anyone who could help?” Isabella asks. “Someone organized. Someone who knows about weddings.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “But we’ll figure it out. Or find someone.”
“Okay, let’s go, peanut.” Isabella taps Illona’s shoulder and they head out.
As I grab my bag, my mind races with thoughts of everyone I know. Surely someone must have experience with weddings—or at least know someone who does. The picture of Olan and me on the beach returns, and I’m determined to make it a reality.
“This is the original version.”
Drums, cymbals, and percussion rattle inside Olan’s car as we drive to Vincent and Kent’s condo on the west side of the peninsula. Since wehad plans in the city, Olan scheduled an office day and I took advantage of the time to prepare for the next week while waiting for him to pick me up at school.
