“Dinner. The wedding. All vegetarian. We all have to eat mushrooms.”
“Oh…I don’t like mushrooms.”
He sliced the final cut straight through my heart. I collapsed onto the floor.
“Hey, fine. I’ll eat mushrooms. Before, during, or after the wedding. As many as you want. I promise. Just tell me what the hell is happening.”
“The caterers are making vegetarian-only meals.”
“Why?”
“Lindsey scared them! She ordered her dinner and said she’d rather skin them alive for getting the dinner wrong than hurt one chicken.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get my nails done and put up the decorations and help the caterers and organize the string quartet and hire the other DJ…” The tears came back. “I haven’t even learned how to nae nae.”
“How to what?”
“Mom’s dress isn’t done—she wants to wear that red hoochie-momma outfit, and Lindsey is flipping out. Dad doesn’t have the money right now to pay half the people we need to pay. There’s no cake—we’re ordering cupcakes from this place called Sweet Nibbles, but we’re probably going to have to bake cookies too—”
“Mandy, take a breath.”
“Half the family is ecstatic they can do the funeral and wedding in the same weekend, but my cousins are pissed because they said it's disrespectful, but that’s only because they’ve always wanted Great Aunt Mildred’s jewelry collection, and Lindsey had already asked to wear the rings and necklace for the wedding—”
“Mandy.”
“I haven’t eaten all day. My dress doesn’t fit right. Mom and Dad are fighting again—they can’t even be in the same room. We terrified your dad today. Again. We wanted to make sure the ceremony was good to go, and some very blasphemous things were said when my dad suggested Lindsey and Bryce get some counseling after the wedding to help the marriage…”
“It’s okay. What else?”
Why did it feel so good to tell him all this? I sniffled. I think I ranted everything. I pouted.
“My socks are on the wrong feet.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.” Nate’s voice became to a gentle command. “You lay down and take a nap.”
“What? I can’t!”
“I’ll be over in two hours. You relax until then, try to stay calm, and we’re going to solve the problems one at a time…starting with the wedding food. Okay?”
Nate was gifted in bed, but he wasn’t a miracle worker outside my panties. “O—okay.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
The call ended.
I should have slept. Instead I sprung into a frantic, pulse-pounding scattershot effort to shove as many blankets, bras, books, boxes, and empty water bottles into my closet as I could, in lieu of cleaning.
I tossed the unscrubbed pot soaking in the sink into the oven before rushing to the laundry basket to find something that looked remotely casual. My favorite pair of jeans suddenly fit a lot differently, and I didn’t even want to consider those consequences. A pair of yoga pants worked though.
I tucked into a comfy t-shirt and pretended like I could face the most gorgeous man in the world armed with only a tube of strawberry scented lip balm and a ponytail.
An hour and a half later, Nate knocked at the door. I nearly forgot to tuck the sonogram picture into the deepest pocket of my purse.
I took no chances. I hid the purse and the picture in the closet with all the other unmentionables.
I answered the door to a pile of three boxes. Nate slid a fourth down the hall. I peeked inside.
Lettuce? Tomatoes? He bought three bags of cheddar cheese the size of my head and a tub of sour cream I could swim in…
…And if Lindsey saw the thirty pounds of ground meat he hauled onto my counter, she’d personally brand both of our behinds.
“What are you doing?” I stared as Nate unloaded sleeve upon sleeve of hard taco shells. “Tell me you didn’t rob Mexico.”
“I have a friend who works at a restaurant depot. One of those stores that sell in bulk directly to commercial kitchens. He hooked me up.”
“With…a walking heart attack?”
Nate’s mischievous grin turned proud. “Taco bar, baby! Everyone loves tacos. As long as the vegetarian dishes aren’t too horrible, we can work this out.”
He was a genius.
A goddamned genius.
My apartment wasn’t large enough for any real culinary magic, but Nate made it work. I texted Lindsey to tell her not to worry about the caterers—which, in turn, made her freak about the caterers—then silenced the phone. Nate rummaged through my kitchen as if he had always belonged there. He twirled a frying pan by the handle and winked at me.