Forget Me Not by Julie Soto
25
Ama
THE WEDDING
Iwake up crying on Saturday. One of those dreams that you can’t quite grasp, but you’re devastated when it’s over. I put cold patches under my eyes to keep the swelling down and start my day at six.
Mar texts me at seven and says:
Don’t forget grandpa’s basin, whatever that means
“Fuck.” I stare at the phone.
I told her to text me that today. And I’m glad I did.
The antique basin that will hold craft beers at the reception. Does it go with the theme? No. Will it make Kim Nguyen happy? We can only hope.
That will have to be at noon when I head from the Rose Garden to the reception hall to oversee final touches. It’ll take me twenty minutes out of my way, but as usual, I’m low on help today. Jake and Sarah stay at the Rose Garden. Mar stays at the ballet studio. And I bounce to the brides when needed.
I get a text from Bea at eight a.m., asking if there’s anything she can film today before the crew heads to the Airbnb for the brides getting ready. I send her to the Rose Garden. There will be plenty of disasters to catch there. There always are.
Our permit at the Rose Garden doesn’t allow us in until eleven for our two p.m. ceremony, but I get there at ten thirty and stare at the park. Taking deep breaths, I tell myself that everything is going to go perfectly. The weather is amazing, brisk and sunny. Hazel and Jackie are on schedule in the Airbnb. And as George and his crew from Michelangelo’s Rentals pull up in the truck with the chairs and stanchions, even the setup is going according to plan.
Jake arrives at quarter till, apologizing for his misstep yesterday by being one hundred percent focused today, which is all I could ask for.
When the box truck containing all the floral pulls up, sans wedding arch and sans Elliot, that’s the first time something goes wrong. I ask his cousin Ben where he is, but all he says is “He just told me to get over here and ask you where everything goes.”
My pulse spikes, but I let Ben and Jake start the floral setup.
I give Elliot until twenty after before I text him.
All good?
He writes back.
give me 10min
I start chewing on the inside of my cheek. Elliot’s never late. I think of the dark circles from yesterday and how easily he snapped at the camera crew. He used to tell me all the time that I needed an assistant, but now it’s him who needs the extra help.
Fifteen minutes later, his black truck rolls up to the loading zone, a floral arch standing proudly in the back like a chariot rider. Jake runs up to help him unload it, but Elliot just tells him to get back. He gingerly unties the cables and lifts it down to the ground. I meet him at the altar markings I’ve made in the grass as he carries the arch over him, moving slowly.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. It’s not a lie, but I’m also not looking at it closely. I’m too busy trying to gauge his stress level.
“It’s temperamental,” he says.
“Troubles?”
“It snapped in half about an hour ago.”
My heart stops. I look up to the top, and only now can I see a crack. “What do you need?”
“Nothing. It’ll be fine. Before I head to the reception, I’ll run back to the shop for spackle and paint, and if there’s time, I’ll solder a rod to hold it up.”
I nod, as if I can see the perfect image he’s painting instead of the horror show where Jackie and Hazel say I do as their arch snaps in half and stakes the minister in the heart.
I check my watch. “I have to go. I’m running errands, so if you need anything—”
“Go.”
I spin and dash to my car. It’s after eleven thirty, and I need to check to make sure the horses and wagons are set to arrive, pop in on the brides, and call Mar for any errands she needs.
When I’m finally on my way to Jackie’s grandmother’s house to pick up the basin, I’m thirty minutes behind schedule, and I barely got to check on the Airbnb. The only saving grace is that Mar says things are going perfectly at the ballet studio.
I pull up to the address Kim Nguyen sent me in the email I barely glanced at. Her mother isn’t going to be home, so I’m looking for this basin at the back of the driveway. When I walk up and turn the corner, I stop dead in my tracks.
I don’t find a basin. I find a bathtub.
My mouth opens and closes. I can’t form words, and even if I could, who would I be complaining to?
I whip out my phone and read over Kim’s email, searching for the word bathtub. I curse when I see she did call it an antique tub. I’m racking my brain trying to figure out why I’d thought this was a basin that could fit in the back seat of my car. Maybe something was off about the way Kim first described it to me? Hadn’t she held her hands out to the side, indicating how large it was?
Now, looking at this antique clawfoot tub, I can see that, one, it won’t rest on the table we’ve put near the bar and, two, it’s a fucking bathtub.
I clap my hands together. “Okay. Okay.”
At least whoever placed it in the driveway for me kept it on the furniture dolly they’d used to get it here. The difficult part would be getting it into the back seat of my Camry.
I glance at Kim’s email again.
You’ll need 4 to 6 men to lift it!
I close my eyes, suck in air through my nose, and summon the energy of four to six men.
First, I run back to my car and back it up the driveway. There’s no way I’m going to let all these neighbors see me do something so colossally stupid. I line the back seat up to the tub and push my front seats forward. It could work. The clawed feet may pose an issue, but I think the tub will fit in my back seat. If I could flip it, that would be best, but I don’t think I can—despite my bravado.
I roll the tub on the dolly to my back seat and take a fortifying breath.
In those seconds, I imagine pulling up to the reception hall and paying the catering staff fifty bucks each to come out to the loading zone. I imagine Mar and me reworking the bar section to fit this tub, perhaps elevating it so people aren’t bending over to grab their bottles.
But I also imagine just leaving this tub right here and going back to the important things. And the look on the face of Kim Nguyen, who has been an angel of an MOB in comparison to Hazel’s team—Kim Nguyen, who asked for this one thing from me—Kim Nguyen, who told me not to come without four to six strong men …
I kick off my heels, bend, and lift from my knees.
At first, nothing happens. No progress made. And then two things happen quickly.
The front of the tub lifts up, almost high enough to get one clawfoot onto the floor of my car. I’m elated. And then the dolly, which had tilted under the weight, allowing said tub lifting, slips out from under the tub and zooms under my car.
The tub comes down. And my bare foot is under it.
It’s a crunch like I haven’t felt since I fell off my bike in sixth grade. Lightning shoots up my leg. I yelp and fall on my ass next to my car. With the adrenaline of a mother lifting an SUV off her child, my good foot presses against the side of the tub until it rolls off my foot. I scuttle backward like a crab and take shaky breaths until my mind can work again.
My right foot is pink and swelling already. I can’t move my toes without screaming out. I bite down on my lip as the tears fall down my cheeks.
The tub … is still in perfect condition, except it’s on its side in the driveway instead of inside my car.
But me? I can’t walk. I can’t get to my feet. My phone is in the car. I have my Bluetooth in my ear, but I can’t call from it, only answer. And the wedding starts in ninety minutes. I can’t catch my breath, and I realize I’m hyperventilating.
My face crumples. I choke back a sob, and my hand covers my mouth, trying not to alert the neighbors until I’m sure I want to.
I lie back on the driveway and stare at the sky, watching clouds move slowly, imagining myself among them.
Forcing myself to breathe, I try to consider my options. I could yell for help. The neighbors would call an ambulance, and I’d still have a broken foot and a tub in the driveway. If I went in the ambulance, I would miss the wedding.
Or, I get to my phone and figure the rest out.
I turn on my side and try to get to my hands and knees. Pain lances through my foot anyway, even when I’m not putting pressure on it. I try for a few feet before I have to stop, sucking in air like I’ve run miles.
I fall over on my back again, elevating my foot on the side of the tub. My chest is shaking as I realize what’s happening. The wedding starts in ninety minutes, and I’m not at one hundred percent. I’m not even at fifty percent. The wedding of my career. The budget of my dreams. The film crew, the eyes from Los Angeles, the opportunity of a lifetime for Elliot.
Tears are streaming down my temples into my hair. I’ll give myself one more minute, and then I’ll try getting to my feet.
A melody starts in my left ear, and I sob when I realize someone is calling me. I tap the side of my Bluetooth. “Yes, who is it?”
“I need spackle,” Elliot says, voice coming quickly. I swallow a cry. “I’m all out. Can you grab some or are you already back at the garden?”
“I’m—I don’t … Elliot, I need help.”
There’s silence on the other end. And I start to shake at the thought that I lost the call. Then he says, “Where are you? What’s happened?”
“I’m—I’m at Jackie’s grandmother’s house, and I hurt myself. I can’t … I can’t walk, I can’t drive.”
“Text me the address.”
“I don’t have my phone. I’m on my Bluetooth. But it’s on Titan Court, in Tahoe Park.” I hear his truck starting, and I panic. “Wait. Go to the Rose Garden and send Jake—”
“No, I’m coming to get you.”
“Elliot, the wedding.”
“It won’t happen without either of us, so I guess we’re running late.”
A sob bubbles out of me. “Call—call Mar. Tell her to get over to the Airbnb. And we need like three other strong guys. Is your truck bed full?”
“What?”
“I was picking up something, and it’s too heavy. Who can come over here to load it?”
“Jesus, Ama.”
I gasp a cry, hearing his vowels betray him like they used to as he pronounces it “Emma.”
Then he says, “How heavy and how important?”
“It’s a bathtub. Like a full fucking bathtub. And probably not important at all, but it has to be perfect, Elliot. I’m so close. This is for Jackie, and you know how much of this wedding has been commandeered by Hazel’s agent and Hazel’s reality show.” My voice cracks, and I heave in air. “This wedding is so out of control. It barely feels like her wedding.”
He’s quiet for a second and then says, “Fine.”
The line goes dead, and I’m alone again. I sit up and maneuver myself against the side of the car until I’m standing on one leg. My foot is throbbing, and I hear the crunch replayed over and over.
It feels like years go by before my Bluetooth rings again. I tap it. “Elliot?”
“It’s Mar. What happened?”
“I think I broke my foot. I can’t walk.”
She curses. “That’s … that’s fine. Who needs to walk? We’ll pop you on some crutches and call it a day. Maybe Elliot can put some floral design on those bad babies and you’re good to go.”
“Are you on your way to the Airbnb?”
“Yeah,” Mar says. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Make something up about an issue at the venue that made us switch places if they press, but whatever you do, don’t draw the attention of the film crew.”
She sighs, and I can just imagine her rubbing her forehead. “Yeah, okay.”
“And Mar?” I ask. “Doesn’t Michael live in Tahoe Park?”
“Michael, my ex? Your ex-stepbrother?”
“He does, right?”
“Ama, whatever this is, don’t do this.”
“Hey, I’ve been working with my ex for six months. You said it would be ‘professional’—”
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses.
“Please, just see if he can come to Titan Court in the next ten minutes.”
“This is low, even for you.”
I smile. “Promise him a blow job.”
She hangs up on me. I spot my phone in the front seat, and I’m just about to stretch for it when a black truck pulls up. Three people jump out—Elliot and my only two assistants for the day—Jake and Sarah.
“No, no,” I say. “We need one of them back at the Rose Garden.”
Sarah pops her gum. “I’m set up. I asked the cello-ist to call us if anything weird happens.”
I squeeze my eyes closed at this shit show as Jake corrects her pronunciation.
Elliot makes a beeline for me, rounding the bathtub without a second look at it. He crouches down in front of me, and I press my lips together to keep them from trembling. His fingers reach for my ankle, and just the slightest pressure on the top of my foot makes me hiss.
“Can you stand on it?” Jake asks.
I shake my head. “Thank you for coming,” I say to my ex-stepsiblings. “There’s another guy on his way, hopefully. We just need to get the bathtub into Elliot’s truck. There’s a dolly under my car somewhere.”
Jake starts to work on locating the dolly as Sarah takes a picture of my foot. I turn to Elliot. “I’m fine. We can load up the truck, and then I can probably drive with my left—”
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he states.
“No. There’s a wedding. We still have to get spackle, right?”
“Jake will take my truck. I’ll take you to the hospital. That’s the end of this discussion.”
“Elliot.” I level my eyes at him. “That is not an option.”
Just then, a voice calls, “Uh, hey? Is Ama here?”
I look over the top of the car, and there’s Michael. Just as toned as I remembered.
I stand on one foot and wave him down. “Thank you for coming! We just need your help lifting something heavy, and then we won’t bother you again!”
“Sit down,” Elliot says, putting his hand on my shoulder. I slap it off and smile brightly at Michael, even though I probably look like someone whose career is being stabbed to death before her very eyes.
Jake has the dolly, and he’s looking doubtfully at the height of the truck bed and the weight of the bathtub.
I lean on the car and start to hop over. “I’ll help you guide it in—”
Gravity upends me, and suddenly I’m in the air. Warm arms have swept me off my feet—literally—and Elliot is bridal carrying me around my car and to the passenger side.
“Save your strength,” I say, for lack of any intelligent thought. “I hear the tub’s heavy.”
He tugs the door open with a scowl and gently sets me inside. When he shuts the door on me, I take a deep breath and thank god I at least have my phone again.
I see twenty texts from Bea, Jackie, Hazel, and Mar. I dial Jackie first, sending the call to my Bluetooth and watching through the windshield as Elliot and a small army of my ex-stepsiblings back the truck into the driveway and prepare to lift the tub.
When Jackie picks up with “Ama! Is everything okay? Mar said there’s an issue at the ballet studio,” I’m wincing, watching Michael and Elliot get under the tub while Jake heaves it upward from the truck bed. Sarah braces the dolly with a bored expression.
“Hi, yeah. Hey! Everything’s okay! I’m on my way back, but is there anything you need?”
“No,” Jackie says, dragging the word out so I know she’s lying. “I just … God, it sounds stupid, but I could really use your calming presence right now.”
The men are grunting. Elliot yells for Michael to jump out and help Jake, and I gasp as Elliot is left under the tub.
“Ama?”
I close my eyes. “Jackie, you’re totally right. I should be there. I want nothing more than for you to feel calm and pleased right now. Give me ten minutes, and then I will be your cannabis gummy for today, okay?”
Jackie laughs and says, “As a state employee—ahem—I, of course, have no idea what you’re talking about, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
I hang up with her, and when I open my eyes, the tub is in the back of Elliot’s truck, and the men have not died. I open the door and thank them profusely.
Michael is sweating and glaring at the tub. “They better be getting married in that tub.”
I smile weakly. “It’s going to hold artisanal craft beers at the reception.” He turns his glare on me. “Of which you will all be getting a six-pack, in thanks for your six-packs. And that reminds me …” I gesture for Elliot to come closer. “The tub needs to go on the rooftop. Up the stairs.”
He frowns at me, then turns to Michael. “Michael, right?” He shakes his hand. “Ama just told me she’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can come help us unload this thing.”
I open my mouth, and then close it with a tight smile. “Yep.”
Michael agrees, and Elliot talks quickly with Jake, handing him the keys to his truck. Michael walks over to my side of the car and kneels down.
“It landed on you?” he asks. I nod and remember he was in med school. “Can you put any weight on it?”
“No.”
He hisses and shakes his head. “You gotta get that in a cast real quick,” he says, just as Elliot comes within earshot.
“We are,” Elliot says. He claps Michael’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”
“Thank you so much,” I add. “If there’s anything I can ever do for y—”
And then Elliot slams the door on me again. I scowl at him as he waves at Jake and Sarah to go. I call Mar.
“How’s it going?” I say as she picks up.
“I mean, it’s going well?” she says. “Like, for a wedding without a wedding planner, I think it’s top-notch, really.”
“Okay, well, I’m on my way back. Michael came through, so maybe consider getting back together with him, yeah?” She groans, and I add, “Also, he’s coming to the ballet studio with Jake and Sarah right now. Thanks, bye!”
“Ama, what—” I end the call.
Elliot pulls open the driver’s door, slips inside, and reaches his hand out for the keys. I pull them close to my chest.
“We’re going to the garden,” I say.
“We’re not. We’re going to the hospital.”
“Elliot.”
“Ama, give me your keys!” His voice booms in my small car, jarring me. I hand them over. He slides back the seat for his long legs, and turns on the ignition. The dashboard lights up with all my warning lights. “Are you fucking kidding me with this car?!”
“It’s drivable! It’s fine!”
He shakes his head and pulls out of the driveway. To my dismay, he turns left—away from the Rose Garden. My foot throbs, and I start running through the timeline in my head. I feel my ribs contracting, realizing I can’t do this. I can’t make this happen if we go to the hospital. But I know he won’t turn around.
My head feels light. The only thing centering me is the pain in my foot. How can the ceremony possibly go on without me? I am the only one who can run it, because I am the only one who knows all the details. I don’t even know if Jake has a fully updated schedule—
“The wedding is going to be fine,” Elliot’s voice floats to me, tethering me. “But you need to be fine first.”
I turn my head to disagree with him. But he’s already staring at me. His eyes are dark and focused, and I fall into them.
“You are more important than the wedding, Ama.”
He’s wrong, but it still fills my chest with butterflies and my head with lovely thoughts.
I watch the blur of the city as the hospital comes closer, listening to him breathing in the silence.