“Did you tell her the cake needs to be pink?” Maggie asked.
“I did.” Courtney checked her notes. “She’s going to show us a range of colors and styles and says she has some really fun ideas for you.”
“Excellent.” Maggie turned to Joyce. “What do you think of adult Otter Pops?”
Courtney pressed her lips together. Seriously? Was this a frat party?
“What are Otter Pops?” Joyce sounded confused.
Courtney described the frozen treat. “They come in a lot of different flavors. Mom’s suggesting we add alcohol.”
“Vodka,” Maggie said cheerfully. “You inject them with a syringe, then freeze them. It’s fun.”
Courtney wasn’t sure which part would be fun. And where exactly were they going to get syringes?
“I’ll make a note of the idea,” she said, entering the information on her tablet. “We’re confirmed to have Judge Jill Strathern-Kendrick perform the ceremony.”
“Oh, good.” Maggie smiled. “I just love Jill. She and I serve on several community boards together. She’s really pregnant, though. Is that going to be a problem?”
Courtney checked her notes. “She’s not due until three weeks after the wedding and she was late with her last baby. Do you want me to arrange for a backup? It’s probably a good idea. Just in case.”
“No. I want Jill. I’m sure everything will be fine. Now, about the flowers...”
Courtney listened as the other two women discussed various choices. She offered suggestions as well, thinking the color scheme made it easy to have a range of options. Now, if her mother’s colors had been shades of blue, they would have had to be more creative.
She had visions of the hotel overflowing with vases filled with water colored with food-based dyes and roses in a range of sky blue to violet. That would be interesting.
“I’m going to be away for a few days,” Joyce was telling Maggie. “Just so you know. Courtney will be handling everything while I’m gone.”
“With the wedding?” Maggie asked, her tone doubtful.
“Yes. She fills in where we need her and she’s been handling a lot of events for us. She planned your engagement party and that turned out very well.”
“That was a onetime thing.” Maggie turned to her daughter. “I thought you were just a maid.”
“Most days,” Courtney said, reminding herself it was her choice not to say anything to her family. “I’ve also been known to serve tables, bartend and coordinate weddings. I go where I’m needed.”
“She does an excellent job,” Joyce added, looking pointedly at Courtney. “You should ask her about it.”
Maggie nodded, still looking doubtful. “Yes, I would imagine after all this time you would be able to do a lot of things around the hotel. But you’re still primarily a maid.”
For a second Courtney thought her mother was going to say more. Suggest yet another course at a trade school. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would be done with college and be able to tell everyone what she’d been doing.
She thought about what Quinn had said about external validation versus internal. Maybe she should—
No! She’d waited this long. She wanted to be able to slap her diploma down for everyone to see. She wanted it to be real and tangible. Until then, she was keeping her secret.
They finished up with their appointment, and Maggie left to go back to her office. Joyce walked out to the lobby with Courtney.
“You should tell her,” the older woman said. “She worries about you.”
“I will.”
“You’ve accomplished so much. She’ll be proud of you. Why make her wait any longer?”
“I’m not done.”
“You’re hurting them and I worry you’re hurting yourself.”
Shades of what Quinn had said about her punishing herself as well as her family. Was insightfulness genetic?
“I appreciate your concern,” she said instead, “but this is how I want to do it.”
Her boss smiled at her. “A very polite way of telling me to mind my own business. All right. I will. You have to decide for yourself.”
“I know and I have. This is the right thing for me to do.”
But even as she spoke, Courtney couldn’t help wondering why she was the only one who could see that. And if everyone else thought differently, wasn’t there the tiniest chance that maybe she was wrong?
The door to the bungalow swept open and a tall, handsome African American man walked in. He spread his arms out wide and announced, “I want to be the next Prince!”
Quinn pulled off his headphones. He stood and crossed to his client and friend.