Part One
Fanatic Fuchsia - Severe
(Severe risk of meltdown, crying jags, and/or bridezilla-like behavior)
"Men are like puppies...you will get attached, bring them home, and they will shit all over everything you love."
-Unknown
Chapter One
The swirly red letters on the front door of my office seemed to taunt me this morning. Ready to Wed, they proclaimed- there were even matching vinyl hearts on either side. I wanted to punch through the glass, watch the words and hearts shatter to the ground. I might even welcome the pain that the shards would be sure to bring to my knuckles, simply to have something to detract from the hollow ache that had settled over my heart.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I had to face my office sometime, though, and with a client coming in first thing tomorrow morning, that only left today to do it without an audience. I didn't want to end up crying at the sight of wedding paraphernalia during the consult. Brides had dibs on breakdowns in this office, and as I'd gotten to relive every day for the past two weeks, I definitely wasn't a bride.
I shoved my way inside, frowning at the cheery room that was so covered in depictions of romance that even Venus, goddess of love herself, would probably say, "Whoa, girl. Maybe it's time to stop hitting the ambrosia so hard." Simply being in my office used to make me feel enamored, but right now it was rubbing salt in an open wound.
I took a generous sip of my coffee, hoping more caffeine would help, walked over to my desk, and dropped the giant stack of mail on top. There were a lot of envelopes in varying shades of white, cream, and pink, no doubt family and friends sending their matrimonial well wishes.
I tore one open and slid out the contents. There was a gift card to Bed Bath & Beyond inside. The next one had a hundred-dollar bill, and the one after that, a donation made in Grant's and my name to save a seal.I was going to have to find a way to send it all back-well, not the save-a-seal gift. They'd have to bite the bullet on that one, because I wasn't going to un-help the seals. But the rest would need to be returned. Did they make a thanks for the thought, but I'm still single card?
Even worse, I knew this was only the tip of the congrats iceberg. Most of Grant's and my family and friends would've sent cards and gifts to the house, and they'd all need to be dealt with, too. My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. I shoved aside the rest of the cards, too depressed to deal right now. The Las Vegas Beacon was at the bottom of the stack. Because I'm obviously a masochist, I opened up to my column.
My wedding advice column, Get Ready to Wed, now made me feel like a bigger fraud than the six-foot-five drag queen who played Mariah Carey down at the Strat. Don't get me wrong, the guy could sing-even hit those glass-shattering high-pitched notes-but he was no Mariah.
I used to be the real deal. The wedding planner who made it all happen, regardless of the snags involved in pulling off a perfect wedding. When people used to ask me how I did it, I threw out terms like "attention to detail," "perfectionist," and all of those nicer-sounding descriptions, but I'm not afraid to admit it anymore. It's because I'm a control freak. I like making charts and lists and checking off one item at a time. When it's Go Time and everything falls into place exactly like I planned-because I've ensured it will-satisfaction pumps through my veins. I even like the challenge of a last-minute problem. Plus, making a couple's wedding dreams come true makes me feel like their fairy godmother-except I'm much younger and better dressed than your typical fairy godmother.
