Forget Me Not by Julie Soto

29

Ama

THE WEDDING

It’s a hairline fracture across my metatarsal, whatever that means. The doctor got me into radiology within twenty minutes because I couldn’t stop crying about how I was going to miss the whole thing.

On the way out of radiology, Elliot calls, and I walk him through the cues for the ceremony again. He remembers everything I said in the waiting room, and now it’s just trusting him to know how to count measures of music. I cue the wedding with him as the nurses wheel me back to the exam room, and when I say, “Go bride,” one of the patients in the hallway looks at me like I belong in the psych ward. Once the wedding has started, Elliot hangs up to focus, and I send him the phone number of the bridal carriage driver to cue.

The doctor sets me up with crutches and a walking boot and gives me an appointment to come back on Monday to get a cast on it. I take the painkillers they give me and order an Uber as I buy a pair of flat shoes in the hospital gift shop to fit my one good foot.

Elliot texts the group chat of me, Mar, Sarah, and Jake to say the bridal carriage is off and the first guest carriage is loading, so I set the Uber destination for the reception. I have to tell my driver about the street closures around the park, to which he says, “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a wedding, I think?” I say innocently.

“What genius thought of this?!”

I press my lips shut and stare out my window as he follows the detour signs.

He drives up the side street to drop me at the back entrance, where the caterers entered. He helps me get on my crutches, so I’ll forgive him the remarks.

As I’m navigating stepping up to the curb, Bea’s van pulls up to the front, about twenty yards away. I take a fortifying breath, knowing I’m likely to end up on TLC in my boot and crutches. The two cameramen and the sound guy jump out, grabbing their equipment and scurrying to be inside when the first guests arrive. I’m just reaching for the back door when Bea jumps out of the driver’s seat, and the passenger door opens to reveal Whitney Harrison.

My breath stops. She’s dressed in her pale blue Stella McCartney—her favorite for interviews or important weddings. She has an iPad in one hand and a Bluetooth in an ear. She’s talking quickly with Bea, nodding and looking over the venue with laser-focused concentration.

She looks like the wedding planner. She looks like Hazel and Jackie’s wedding planner.

I told her not to come, and she came anyway.

I’m trying to catch my breath as my thoughts tumble around my head.

Bea catches sight of me first. She smiles in such relief that I don’t know what to think. As she runs over to me, Whitney looks out over the street, waiting for the first guests to arrive.

“Ama, god!” Bea reaches out for my elbow to help me up on the sidewalk. “What happened?”

“What’s Whitney Harrison doing here?” My voice is hollow. As if her ears were ringing, Whitney turns, sees me, and waves merrily from halfway down the street.

“What’s—What do you mean?” Bea says, brows drawing together. “She said you called her to come run the wedding.”

“Elliot ran the wedding,” I snap.

“Yeah, but—well, Whitney managed Hazel. She walked her around the park with Jake, she took the ‘go bride’ cue—”

My crutches really get in the way of the angry stride I’m trying to accomplish, but I still make it to throwing distance of Whitney.

“What are you doing here?” I snap.

“Ama, oh my goodness,” she says sweetly. “Is it broken, dear?”

“I told you I had it under control. I told you I didn’t need you.”

Whitney gives me that face—that face that she used to give brides who asked if she had any cheaper packages—as if to say Bless your heart.

“Ama. Clearly you do need me. There was no wedding planner here!” She chuckles.

“The wedding was called perfectly without you—”

“Of course, and Elliot did well with what little experience he has, but Hazel Renee was clearly not happy with you.” She reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, and I jerk it back. “Ama—”

“Why did you overbook your vendors for today?” I say.

She tilts her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you scheduled at least three fictional weddings today—after I gave you the date. After I came to you for advice.”

“Ama, you left my company on good terms,” she says simply. “I will always support you, but I’m not going to turn down work for you. After we talked, I booked up. I mean, how long did you wait to contact those vendors after we talked? How long was I expected to wait to book?”

Acid in my stomach burns up to my throat. “What happened to those three weddings then? You only have one later today. That’s what you told me.”

“They canceled.” She shrugs. Like it’s easy. “Things change. One day, when you start working in as high of a volume as I do, you’ll see three weddings cancel, just like that.” She snaps.

I don’t believe her. I have Elliot’s voice ringing in my ear from years ago, telling me that she copied my designs, that she underpaid me. I can feel her nails like claws in my arm, hissing Be a professional in my ear as my hand throbs and my tears fall, my skin still buzzing with the memory of a stranger’s hand on my ass. A clarity washes over me, warm and focused.

“You’re right,” I say softly. “One day, I’ll know what it’s like to have four weddings in one day. One day, I’ll understand what it’s like to book up so quickly that I forget the conversation I had two days ago.” I nod, a smile curling my lips. “Because I’m coming, Whitney. I’m on my way up, and nothing you do to sabotage my business is going to stop me. I’m worth ten of you. I’ve always been worth ten of you, and you were right to fear me moving in on your market.”

Something shifts behind her cool blue eyes. I step into her, ignoring the pain that lances up my leg, and say, “Now, back the fuck away from my wedding.”

Whitney’s lips are tight. Her gaze cold. But I’m not afraid of her anymore. I hear the click of horse hooves as the first carriages approach. It’s only now that I see one of Bea’s cameras pointed at the two of us.

She leans into me, and her teeth click over her consonants. “You think you can speak to me like that? I made you. How many clients have I sent your way, just for you to repay me like this? You think you’re moving in on my market? My market?! I’ve been working nationally while you’ve been slutting it up at bachelorette parties and flirting with my vendors just to get the same discounts.”

My jaw drops. A laugh bursts from my throat. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that you think San Francisco and Lake Tahoe qualify as ‘nationally,’ or that you think you’re the only wedding planner who gets industry discounts. Bye, Whitney. I have a reception to run.”

Her claws reach out, snatching my arm. “Don’t walk away from me, you ungrateful bitch—”

I get to see the moment Whitney realizes we’re being filmed. It is—by far—the greatest moment of my life. She goes pale underneath her concealer, and her neck snaps to the cameraman inching closer to us. She’s speechless.

I place a condescending hand on her shoulder, like she always did to me. “Whitney, come on. Be a professional.”

She seethes, steam practically spouting from her ears. She spins on her heel and marches into the street just as the first horse arrives. Whitney jumps back, screeches, and the horse rears on his hind legs. I gasp, slapping my hand over my mouth. She scurries out of its way in just enough time, but the carriage driver has to soothe the horse.

As soon as the shock has passed and I realize how comical that really was, I turn over my shoulder to Nick, the camera guy. “Did you get that?” I say with a smile. He nods, smirking.

I take a deep breath and paste on a smile to greet the first guests, apologizing for that moment with the horse. Bea is still standing on the sidewalk, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, you probably can’t use that footage, huh?” I say. “She won’t sign a waiver now.”

“She already signed a waiver.” Bea’s lips twitch. “At the bridal boutique. When she approached me about being interviewed.”

I blink at her. “You interviewed her? What did she say?”

Bea steps closer. “She said that you worked under her. She taught you everything you know. And … that you were too inexperienced for a wedding of this magnitude.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. My teeth grind together.

“So,” Bea continues, “I’m just imagining how great that will be, juxtaposed with what just happened here.” She beams at me. “I love good drama.”

“Well, you’re very welcome.” I lean on my crutches. “Let’s go have a party.”

Bea meets with her team, and I hobble to the back door, not wanting my crutches and stained dress to catch too much attention. The catering coordinator greets me like I haven’t been missing this whole time. There’s a quick exchange of words about my boot and crutches, but soon I’m stepping through the makeshift kitchen and into the fairytale wedding that I created.

Even though everything here was in a design either drawn or rendered by me, it still knocks me off my feet to see this old dance studio that we turned into a wedding reception. Elliot’s floral chandeliers are being lit from the sides by soft LEDs, and his columns with vases of queen protea sit in every corner. There was no time for first look with Hazel and Jackie, but the dining area is well preserved for their grand entrance, as the guests are directed up to the roof for cocktail hour. The girls will see all of this for the first time when they arrive.

I mill through it as the guests arrive, checking every place setting, every centerpiece. I shift things slightly, I straighten knives, but really—it’s almost perfect.

A guest comes down the stairs and gestures to her friend. “You have got to see this!”

And I just know she means the dance floor.

After I confirm that all the guest carriages have arrived and everyone has headed to the roof for cocktail hour, I heave my way over to the bottom of the stairs. I shake my head at the stair lift that we installed to meet ADA standards. I sigh and push the button for the chair to come down to me, chuckling at how things had turned out.

When I’m at the top of the stairs and back on my crutches, I get to see the rooftop for the first time since Thursday.

It’s absolutely remarkable. The guests step over Elliot’s gorgeous dance floor tentatively, as if afraid to walk on it. Some of them point down to it, nodding to their friends, taking pictures. The cocktail tables are set perfectly, and the boxwood lining the sides of the rooftop brighten everything up. I see the canapés being rotated, and the guests giving orgasm eyes after the first bite. I see the second bar line, just as full as the first, and I pat myself on the back for knowing my Hollywood winos.

And I also see an antique tub holding craft beer, displayed on god knows what, but it’s three feet tall and perfect with a tablecloth thrown over it. And next to it, Jackie’s mom is placing a proud hand on the side, showing it off to whoever will listen.

“Basin,” I huff under my breath. And that’s when I finally see Mar.

She’s standing in the corner, eyes flitting over everything, like she’s cataloging the places she could have missed something. Her gaze lands on me and she jumps. She rushes over to me on her long legs and sweeps me into her arms.

“Ama.”

“You did it, babe. You’re killing this.”

“You did it.” She pulls back from me. “You did all of this.”

At that moment, the wedding announcer takes the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the entrance. The happy couple are almost here.”

The crowd titters. I frown at my watch. “Already?”

“Yep,” Mar says. “Elliot kept us on time.”

As the bridesmaids finally make it upstairs, I get to see the wow on their faces as they emerge into the autumn air. Bea and her crew are cataloging every moment. Not five minutes later, I hear Jackie scream from below, and before I can be concerned, Hazel starts laughing.

I wish I could be down there with them to see their reaction to the once bat-infested, abandoned dump I remade for them. But I know Bea is getting it.

“Ama.”

I turn and there’s Laura Gilbert. My heart jumps.

“Senator. Thank you so much for your help today with the permits.”

She waves her hand. “Not at all. And call me Laura.”

I absolutely will not.

She continues, “I am so blown away by this. I mean, I adored my wedding, but this is clearly your forte. I’m so glad I pushed Jackie toward hiring you.”

“Me too,” I say with a smile. “I was honored that you did.”

“Well …” She leans in conspiratorially. “I couldn’t let that wicked witch have all the fun.” I’m about to tell her she’ll enjoy what the filmmakers caught, when she says, “And I was happy to see you and Elliot working together again. You go so well together.”

My voice is stuck in my throat.

“In business, I mean,” she says. When she winks, I think I pass out for a few seconds, then the announcer is tapping the mic again.

“For the first time as a couple, please welcome Hazel Renee and Jackie Nguyen!”

I refocus my attention and let Laura Gilbert slip away through the crowd.

The guests whoop and yell. Jackie and Hazel run upstairs. Jackie is already sobbing, and her friends and family laugh, like this is to be expected. I wonder if she cried throughout the entire ceremony. I’ll have to ask someone.

Hazel is speechless on the threshold. I see her take in everything, holding on to her bride, and beaming. She goes off script when she gestures for the announcer to hand her the mic. She drags Jackie up onto the dance floor to stand center.

“I just have to say—I know I’m not supposed to speak yet,” Hazel says. The crowd laughs. Jackie sobs. “But our wedding planner wouldn’t let us see this for the last two months. You don’t wanna know what was here when we last saw the place! So I hope that explains why Jackie can’t get ahold of herself.”

There’s polite laughter, but none of it is louder than Jackie’s whimper. Jackie brushes her eyelashes and then gasps. “My grandpa’s tub!”

My foot throbs in gratitude.

Hazel continues, “And our wedding planner is really the brains behind this. She created this from nothing. She’s been out of commission today, unfortunately—”

Jackie jerks. She’s pointing at me. “Ama’s here!”

And suddenly I’m crying and waving and hobbling forward. Jackie and Hazel cross the room to me and both hug me. It’s a tornado of questions and answers and gratitude and joy, and I’m so swept up in it that I’m surprised I even notice Elliot entering the rooftop from the door, looking for a place to just rest his feet for ten minutes. He looks haggard, never having changed into nicer clothes from this morning, and dirty in the way that he makes look good.

He catches sight of me at the edge of the platform with Hazel and Jackie. His eyes slide to the boot, and he glares. It seems I’m in trouble.

I get the announcer to continue, inviting the guests to get drinks at the bar, find their table numbers on the seating chart, and then head downstairs to their tables. I encourage Jackie and Hazel to take a few more minutes up here and then start moving themselves back downstairs to the head table. I snap for the photography team to catch every moment.

Once everyone is cleared from the rooftop, I take the chairlift down and set up in a corner where I can see the whole room. Mar gladly hands over the walkie-talkie and goes to grab me a chair. I put the earpiece in, press the Talk button, and say, “Ama’s on headset.”

Jake’s voice comes quickly. “Oh, thank god.”

“Sarah, how is the Rose Garden? Is George almost done packing up?”

“Who is George?” she asks lazily.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself I can’t kill her until the wedding is done. “He is the rental coordinator.” When she doesn’t respond to that, I say, “Large, red hair, fifties. You are supposed to be waiting for his team to finish packing up the ceremony.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s almost done,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. “I need Jake to meet with Vince and the horses to make sure we’re all squared away. Jake, you’ll need to dismantle the arches. I’ll send Mar with you.”

Mar groans and then reluctantly nods.

“I can go. Let Mar stay.” Elliot’s voice. I search for him in the crowd, but I can’t find him.

“Perfect, thank you. I could use Mar’s feet. You’ll let me know if you have an issue breaking down the floral arches?”

“Yep.”

I turn to Mar and say off-walkie, “Can you do a round for me and check to make sure we’re not slowing down on canapés?” Once she’s gone, I say into the walkie, “I’m back in action. You all did amazing work today. I think the brides are crazy happy, and it’s all thanks to you.”

The next hour goes like all receptions do—in a blur. The food is ready to come out on time, but the guests hover near the downstairs bar, so we hold for fifteen minutes and give the bartenders a spiel to say about dinner starting soon. After the third server stops me to ask how I hurt myself, I ditch the crutches and hobble on my boot. There’s a cord situation with the live band, and the bassist is seconds away from running to Guitar Center when someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Do you need a quarter-inch cable?”

I look up, up, up a broad chest to a stern-looking, dark-haired guy in a black leather jacket. His lashes are long, and his jaw is perfectly chiseled. Whoa.

“Yes,” I squeak, realizing he’s over a foot taller than me. I see the cello case in his hand. “Oh! Are you Xander? Our ceremony cellist?” He nods. “I heard my assistant asked you to keep an eye on things earlier. Thank you so much for that. We had a really important errand, and we would never usually ask.”

“Sure.”

I wait for him to say more, but it’s possible I’ve found someone who speaks less than Elliot.

“So, you have a cable?”

He kneels down to open his case, and grabs a cord from a side pocket. As I’m texting the bassist to let him know I’ve got the cord, Xander says, “This is a really nice wedding.”

I grin up at him. It looks like giving compliments physically pains him. “Thank you! I’m so glad you could fly in for it. Please enjoy the rest of the night, and I’ll get this back to you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m headed to the airport now. Just keep it.”

Without much more ceremony, he grabs his cello case, squeezes Hazel’s shoulder in goodbye, and walks out the door.

Hazel catches sight of me frowning after him and sidles up to me. “I’m sorry if he was short with you. He’s always been temperamental, even when we were kids.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “He just saved the day, actually.”

“You’ll be seeing more of him. He and I have dozens of friends who are engaged.”

I knock her elbow. “Why would your LA and New York friends want a Sacramento wedding?”

“You think you’ll be stuck doing only Sacramento? Ama, I have ten New York couples who are already looking at you. I want to introduce you to some of them tonight.”

My stomach flutters, and I look down at my dirty dress and walking boot. “Great. Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today.”

She waves her hand. “It’s fine. I actually …” She sighs dramatically. “I did an Instagram Live today that was unfair to you, I think.”

“Oh really?” I ask innocently.

“I’d like to fix it though.” She takes out her phone and opens Instagram. She takes a selfie with me, and before I know it, Jackie is joining us. They both kiss my cheeks from either side and I’m beaming like a dork.

When I’m tagged two minutes later, Hazel’s caption says This is my wedding planner, Ama Torres. She works in Sacramento, but LA better look out. When I slide to the next frame, she’s got amazing shots of the reception and the horse-drawn carriage ride. The last frame is just a blue background with my name, email, and website in white lettering.

I shake my head and grin. It’s not an Instagram Story that will go away. It will always stay up as part of the wedding pictures she posts. I’m still pinching myself that I got this gig, but even more so, that I might be friends with Hazel Renee. And Jackie Nguyen. The world didn’t end when I allowed myself to get close to them. In fact, it got bigger and better.

Once the cake is cut, I step outside into the alley and breathe. My foot is killing me. I have a sore ass from where I fell this morning, and my body is rebelling because I haven’t eaten.

The door opens next to me, and I jerk to see Elliot stepping out. He extends the Bluetooth to me.

“Did you like your first gig as a wedding planner?” I tease.

“Uh, no. I’ll stick to flowers.” Then he produces a water bottle from the bar and two Advil from his pocket.

I swallow greedily. “Why didn’t you say that Whitney showed up?” I ask.

He cocks his head. “She said you called her.”

“I didn’t.”

His eyes harden. “Ah. Well, you mentioned her in the ER, so I assumed …”

“I sent her packing. Bea got it all on film,” I say proudly.

His mouth twitches. “That’s all the reason I need to watch this stupid show when it airs.”

I smile at him. “Thank you for today. And not just today. This wedding … this reception … it’s insane. The floral is astounding. I can’t believe I made you do all this.”

“You didn’t make me. I’m … I’m hoping to elevate Blooming, so this is just as … ‘insane’ for me.”

I nod. “Good. You’re … you’re so special, Elliot.” Tears prick behind my eyes. “And I can’t ever thank you enough for getting this wedding up on its feet today. You’ve always told me that I need more help, but I really thought I had this one under control.”

I choke on my words. The full weight of what happened today hits me.

“It could have been really bad,” I say. “I was … I couldn’t get to my phone. And I just had to wait for someone to call me or I had to scream for the neighbors, and I just … And then you called.”

“Because I broke the arch,” he jokes lightly.

“Right.” I smile, sniffling. “Maybe it’s your turn to get an assistant.”

He smiles at me. And it’s the first time I’ve seen it directed toward me since—since he asked me to marry him. My heart hurts with the absence of it. I miss him so much even when I’m near him. I can hear his words to Jackie beating against my skull, and I don’t know if he knows that I heard. But I did hear.

He’s standing there against the brick building with me. I step forward—limping—and rise up on my good toes. He tilts his mouth down to meet mine, and the simple movement cracks my chest in half. I sob against his lips for a moment, threading my hands into his hair. His arms wrap around my back, and I can feel his hands searching for the ends of my hair like they used to, but my hair’s cut short now. I press myself against him, and it all fits again. He smells like soil and roses, and I’m so short without heels on that I need to climb him like a monkey. His mouth parts against mine, and I cry more.

I whisper into his skin, “I love you. Elliot, I … I do.”

He holds me for a second, and I’m waiting to hear him say it back.

His arms slip from around my ribs, and carefully, he puts me back a step. He won’t meet my eye when he says, “I can’t. Not … not again. I can’t.”

Head down, he moves away from me. He disappears around the corner, walking down the alley. I try to follow him. I call his name once. He doesn’t turn back.