Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 26

26

GABY

It really puts my situation with Raff into perspective that my cousin’s wedding – an event that’s been on the calendar for nearly a year – may not go ahead. I’ve decided to shelve my crap to be dealt with some other time, and switch into professional mode.

On the surface, marketing may not appear to have much alignment with crisis management, but I have skills . Raff does too. We’ve had more than our fair share of campaign-launch disasters caused by factors out of our control – and we’ve always come through for the client.

I have no doubt that Raff and I can do whatever’s possible to ensure Monica and Brian get married tomorrow. We’re taking charge!

When he comes downstairs, showered and dressed, I fill him in.

‘We’re going to fix this,’ I say, and his eyes light up.

‘If anyone can, it’s us. I mean, we’re “Raff and Gabs”,’ he says, igniting tummy flutters from hearing our names said together like that.

‘Come on,’ I say, ignoring the flutters. ‘I’ve set us up in here. ’

I take him into Dad’s study, which I’ve commandeered as our headquarters, and run him through what I’ve come up with so far.

‘Brilliant, Gabs – as always.’

I feel a warm glow inside from his praise, even though he’s just being Raff – as in, my supportive champion of a best friend and nothing more. The ‘nothing more’ part hurts – and it comes with a side of longing – but this isn’t about me and my misplaced feelings. Today is about Monica and Brian’s wedding, and there’s no time for dwelling on what will never be.

‘So,’ I begin brightly, ‘Monica’s emailed me the guest list, including a breakdown of where everyone lives – who’s local, who’s supposed to be flying in and so on – plus a list of vendors with contact information, and details about the venue. I’ve printed everything out, so we can divvy up the work.’

Raff scans the array of pages on the desktop.

‘Brian’s on his way from Ballard – that’s about four miles away – but he’s not confident driving in the snow, so he’s walking. We shouldn’t expect him for at least another hour.’

‘How long have you been up?’ asks Raff, turning to meet my eyes.

‘Since before six.’

He nods, his face contorting.

‘Why?’

‘I feel bad,’ he replies. ‘That I overslept again. Meanwhile, look how much ground you’ve covered already. Sorry, Gabs.’

I shrug, feigning modesty when really I feel sick. Because what if, just like yesterday, Raff didn’t oversleep? What if he was snuggled up in my bed talking to her and that’s why he’s only just come downstairs?

He crosses to the window and looks out. ‘It’s hard to comprehend how something so beautiful could cause so much havoc.’

I could say the same thing about you , I think .

I study his profile, the way his eyes narrow as he takes in the blanket of white covering my parents’ front yard. It takes all my willpower not to walk over, wrap my arm around his waist, and snuggle into him.

Because despite what’s happening between him and Julia, despite the constant alarm bells warning me not to ruin our friendship by confessing my true feelings, I still want him.

‘Hello?’ Aunt Christine’s voice echoes through the entry, and I snap back to the present.

‘We’re here,’ says Uncle Marv. I can hear them stamping their feet, presumably to remove snow from their boots, and I beckon Raff to come say hello. The rest of the family crowds into the entry, and Monica rushes to her mom and falls into her arms.

‘Mo-om,’ she cries, bursting into tears.

It doesn’t matter how much conflict there is between a mother and daughter, sometimes a girl just needs her mom.

‘I know, sweetie,’ she says, smoothing down Monica’s hair.

After witnessing that phone call earlier, it’s a huge surprise Aunt Christine is not a complete mess right now and when I catch Issy’s eye, I can tell we’re thinking the same thing. Maybe Uncle Marv gave her a pep talk on the way over – or a Valium.

Or maybe seeing Monica, who is typically the most chill person I know, this upset has activated Aunt Christine’s Mama-Bear mode.

The weather is coming for her baby’s wedding and she’s not gonna let it.

Or I could be completely wrong about that, because amongst all the soothing murmurs, there is not one word of assurance that everything will be all right.

‘Chrissy, Marv, you haven’t met Raff,’ says Mom, interrupting a couple of side conversations.

Uncle Marv reaches out to shake Raff’s hand. Meanwhile, Aunt Christine releases Monica and looks Raff up and down appraisingly. She flicks her eyes towards me, her chin dropping a quarter inch.

I have approximately 2.4 seconds to school my expression. It’s obvious she thinks Raff is my boyfriend – likely because of the last-minute addition of him as my plus one – and the slight incline of her chin is an approving nod.

Geez, Louise.

‘Coffee, anyone?’ Dad asks loudly, and almost everyone says yes.

Mom herds us into the kitchen and Raff says something about murdering a cup of tea. I push past Uncle Marv and turn on the kettle for Raff’s tea while Dad doles out coffee and points to an array of milk and creamer choices.

As I wait for the water to boil, I catch Aunt Christine’s hand hovering over the plate of cookies Dad set out. I don’t blame her when she goes for one of Raff’s rather than mine. It doesn’t matter that they taste the same – on day two, mine look about as appetising as lumps of dried-up Play-Doh.

She takes a bite and groans appreciatively. And as she chews – to my horror – the groaning intensifies.

‘So, you’re the baker,’ she asks Raff after she swallows. She may be the first person in history to load the word ‘baker’ with innuendo.

‘Guilty,’ Raff replies, smiling modestly.

‘Well, cin cin,’ she says, raising half a Santa in a pseudo toast.

Her gaze lingers on him a moment longer, then she addresses the room. ‘Is it too early for a drink?’

‘Chrissy, it’s not even nine,’ says Mom, her brow furrowed.

‘So? My daughter’s wedding is supposed to be tomorrow and for all intents and purposes, we’re snowed in.’ She looks at my dad, then pushes her mug of coffee towards him. ‘Roland, better make this an Irish coffee – and a double.’

‘So, now you’ve met my Aunt Christine,’ I say to Raff as soon as we’re back in my dad’s study.

‘Indeed,’ he replies with raised brows. ‘I didn’t know she and your mum are twins. You never said.’

‘I didn’t?’

He shakes his head.

‘To be honest, I tend to forget – probably because they’re so different. And not only in appearance,’ I say, thinking of my mom’s cropped salt-and-pepper hair and makeup-free face and Aunt Christine’s honey-blonde bob and full beat. Even today, she’s put makeup on.

‘I can see why,’ he says. ‘Right, should we crack on, then?’

Raff picks up his list, his eyes scanning down the page, but before we dive back into work mode, I should probably warn him that Aunt Christine’s under the impression we’re a couple.

Hah! If only. I bite back a wry smile.

‘Um… there’s something I need to tell y—’ I start, but I’m interrupted by the devil herself.

‘I hear this is Wedding Disaster Central,’ says Aunt Christine, lingering outside the door. Ninety minutes ago, she was screeching down the phone line, and now she seems as cool as a cucumber. Maybe it’s the Valium/whisky combination.

‘Hi, Aunt Christine, come on in.’

She wanders in, sipping her doctored coffee, her gaze roving Dad’s desktop, which is covered in printouts. She leans against a bookshelf. ‘It’s all a bust, you know.’

‘The wedding?’ I ask rhetorically.

‘Yep.’ She hits the ‘P’ hard, taking another sip of her coffee. ‘A hundred grand…’ she says, as if to herself. ‘Gone, poof. Just like that.’ She snaps her fingers .

‘ There you are, Chrissy.’

Uncle Marv comes into the study, inspecting Aunt Christine the way a parent looks at a teenager when they’ve arrived home late after a party. ‘Maybe slow down on this a bit, huh?’ he asks, taking the cup out of her hand. Surprisingly, she lets him. But I probably shouldn’t be surprised by anything my aunt does.

‘I was just telling these two that it’s a bust.’ One-handed, she mimes an explosion.

‘What is?’ he asks her.

‘The wedding. A hundred grand. And for what?’

Uncle Marv glances over, clearly uncomfortable to be discussing the cost of the wedding in front of us. ‘We don’t know that,’ he says to her. ‘Everyone here is working on a solution.’

‘Hah!’ she scoffs, giving us the side-eye.

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Aunt Christine.

She may not have intended to insult me, but it wouldn’t be the first time she accomplished that without trying. A quick glance at Raff confirms that he’s not loving her attitude either.

‘Besides,’ says Uncle Marv, ‘you don’t think I’d spend this much on a wedding without taking out insurance, do you?’

Her eyes suddenly expand to the size of saucers. ‘You insured the wedding?’

‘Of course. I told you I did.’

‘I must have forgotten. I’ve had a lot to deal with, Marv,’ she whines.

‘I know, honey.’ With his free arm, he captures her in a hug, rubbing her back as she slumps against him. ‘Now, how about we let these two get on with what they’re doing?’ She nods and he gently leads her out of the room, glancing over his shoulder and mouthing, ‘Thank you.’

I salute him – something I’ve never done before – to anyone . It’s been a weird morning .

‘Wowser…’ Raff mumbles under his breath.

‘Mm-hmm. Told you. Issy calls her the evil twin.’

He sniggers.

‘But not to her face.’

‘I guessed as much,’ he says with a wink.

‘Can I help?’ Now Issy’s at the door. Have I suddenly developed the ability to summon family members simply by mentioning them?

‘Sure, why not?’ I reply. ‘The more the merrier.’ Issy and I are similar that way – we’d both rather help handle someone else’s crisis than delve into our own. ‘We should probably get the bride in here too – if she’s up to it,’ I add.

‘On it,’ she replies.

I go back to my list and am about to call the celebrant when Monica enters, followed by Issy.

‘I just heard from Brian,’ she says, plopping onto a chair. ‘ETA: fifteen minutes.’

‘That’s good,’ I say.

‘I love him so much,’ she says, a peaceful smile alighting on her face. ‘Honestly – I don’t care about the flowers or the chocolate fountain or the frigging napkins… I don’t care about any of that stuff. I don’t care if we have to get married outside in the middle of a snowstorm wearing snowsuits. I just want to marry Brian. I want to be his wife and that’s all that matters.’

Which is why I’m going to do everything in my power to make this wedding happen.

‘Oh!’ Monica claps her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Issy.’

Her expression would be comical if it weren’t so sweet how concerned she is about Issy’s feelings.

‘Don’t be,’ says Issy. ‘It’s not your fault my marriage is in shambles – please don’t give it another thought, okay? This is about you and Brian.’ She turns to me and only a sister would recognise the bravado in her eyes. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘What’s first?’

I task Issy and Monica with contacting the Seattle-based guests – see who might be able to make it – and Issy suggests they move into the living room.

Raff starts calling vendors, starting with the florist and the caterer, then he’ll contact the photographer, and I call the celebrant. If they can’t perform the ceremony, everything else is moot. A few minutes later, I grin at Raff. ‘We have a celebrant! Her husband has a truck and snow chains and she said to keep her updated on the location.’

Now that I know the wedding can legally proceed, I go check on the others, who are making slow but steady progress. The only person without an assignment is Aunt Christine. Mom, who seems as fed up with her attitude and endless sighing as I am, tasks her with making coffee, and she perks up immediately at having a purpose.

I’m back in Dad’s study getting an update from Raff when we hear a delighted squeal from Monica.

‘Brian must be here,’ I say, and we all congregate (again) in the entry as Monica gives him the equivalent of a hero’s welcome.

And the guy seriously deserves it. He’s arrived with a giant backpack strapped to his back and a suit carrier slung over one arm.

‘I’ve packed enough clothes for a few days, and I brought my tux,’ he tells us, a little out of breath. And no wonder; he just hiked through a snowstorm.

He’s also brought his dog, a huge German Shepherd, who seems unfazed by a four-mile walk through inclement weather.

‘And if you haven’t met him yet, this is Bear.’

Bear grins at us, his tongue lolling, and Mom calls him into the kitchen, probably to get some water and a dog treat.

Dad relieves Brian of his backpack, making an oof sound as he bears the full weight of it, and Issy takes the tux from him and hangs it in the hall closet. Both Dad and Issy go back to their posts as I give Brian a quick hug and introduce him to Raff.

I tell him that we’re on logistics and when he’s defrosted, he should help Dad with transport.

‘Thanks, Gaby,’ he says, gripping my arm. Even though he arrived wearing gloves, his hand is freezing, the poor guy. ‘Monica and I appreciate everything you’re doing for us,’ he says, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

My heart floods with warmth. This man loves my cousin, who I love. He’s family now.

‘It’s a team effort,’ I say lightly, and he sniggers as if he knows it’s a lot more than that.

‘Go on. Go help my dad,’ I say.

Dad’s been on the phone to everyone he knows in the vicinity who has an SUV or a truck, asking if they have snow chains and would be willing to collect Seattle-based guests and take them to the venue.

This is if the venue is still able (and willing) to host this wedding. They don’t open until late morning, so we won’t know for sure until then.

By 11a.m., we have yeses from thirty-eight guests – if they can get to the venue – an affirmative response from the florist, who’s based nearby in Uptown, a yes from the caterer but only with an adapted menu, and a maybe from the band. At worst, one of them DJs on the side and has a buddy who can probably get him to the venue, along with his records – actual LPs – and his turntable and mixing desk.

‘Well, here goes nothing,’ I say to Raff as I dial the venue.

The events manager answers, and I explain who I am and why I’m calling. With a sigh, she tells me she was just about to call to cancel .

‘Oh. Are you sure? It looks like we’ll only have about forty guests. Is there any way you can make that work? A smaller space for instance?’ Raff’s eyes lock on mine, a deep furrow between his brows, and I hold my breath for the few seconds of silence before she replies.

‘I’m really sorry. We just haven’t got the staff – not even for a smaller wedding. We’re insured for this type of thing, so the couple should be reimbursed for the cost, but it can take time. I’ll put everything in an email today and revert in the New Year.’

I wish her happy holidays and end the call.

‘Welp… Back to the drawing board.’