When We Fall Read online

  Good Lord. Why is this my issue? Passports are not a part of the wedding planning process. They go with the honeymoon and I don’t plan those.

  “Has she attempted to track it via the US State Department’s website?” I ask calmly, knowing full well she won’t know that answer. Lynn has been my personal assistant and wedding planner-in-training for two years now. Things like this always pop-up, and she should know a quick off-the-cuff reply by now without seeking help.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll go ask,” she turns to leave, scurrying through the door.

  “Lynn,” I call her back, and after hearing a big bang and then a crash outside my office, she appears again quickly as if those noises didn't’ just happen (and I’m not even going to ask about them). “If she hasn’t done that yet, she should. Then if the status shows pending, there is a customer service number to call. Please have her call and not email since that can take up to 24-hours. Get the number for her from a separate online search since I don’t think it’s on their website for some stupid reason...it’s something like National Passport Information Center.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replies and leaves just as quickly as she came in.

  Organizational skills people. Maybe I should write a book about it. Nah, writing is too hard, and I don’t have time for it.

  Planning weddings is my passion. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve adored weddings. My parents were experts at it. Yes, I’ve had three step-fathers, and four step-mothers to prove it. Each one felt the need to include me in the planning and shopping process since I was an only child, and they didn’t have to worry about sibling rivalry or playing favorites.

  Each new bride and groom coming into my life showered me with promises and gifts. I’ve lead a spoiled life for sure, and I won’t apologize for it. It’s given me the background and experience I’ve needed to find my success in this industry. But it’s also left me to raise myself while they were busy falling in and out of love.

  I never felt the need to be jealous of them taking my parent’s time and energy away from me. I’ve been an independent soul since I was five swinging back and forth from home to home on every other weekday and weekend. That’s also why I am a great multi-tasker, I think. I always had to keep it straight in my head whose house, whose rules, and which spouse I was dealing with. Fun! Fun!

  Each spouse brought something new and exciting to my life until it didn’t any longer. I’d watch the marriages be exciting, complacent, boring, and then downright hateful. My parents....well, let’s see, they are good people. They’ve taught me many lessons in life as most parents do, but the one thing they’ve taught me for sure is: LOVE ISN’T EASY.

  You’re probably wondering if I’m bitter about that fact. Nope. I’m not because you know what that means. I always get to enjoy the best part of relationships – that warm, gooey, melt you on the inside feeling you can’t contain. It bubbles up and does weird things to your body and brain. You know, those feel-good endorphins that cause celebrities to jump on couches professing their eternal love or rent out whole stadiums for a proposal. Yes!

  I’m too busy to seriously date. Men don’t ever seem to fit into my wedding schedules, so I never get to the complacent stage of a relationship. It’s always the candlelight, concerts, dancing, fancy dinners, fairs, festivals, movies, the opera, the theater, and the list goes on. San Francisco, my home base for business, has great “date night” options; there are always many different things to do. Occasionally, my dates come from meeting people in other towns where some of the weddings are being held. It’s always different, especially with the choice of man.

  I’ve dated all walks of life it seems, but each one was interesting in their own right. I’ve yet to find ‘the one’ that makes me want to change my single status, but I’ve definitely learned what I am not looking for. I can’t date men that are too short or too tall. I can’t date grunge, nor can I do metro-sexual styles. I can’t date cocky, and I especially do not do whiny. God help me with a crying, complaining man. Oh! I almost forgot...I refuse to date the animal hunting ‘gotta hang it on my wall to prove my manhood’ kind of man either. It’s not that they aren’t sexy in their gruff and rough ways (because good Lord the beard and the muscles), but I just can’t stop thinking about the poor animals.

  I like men of sports. They hone their mind and bodies to perfection. I love a competitive man by nature. They know how to keep it interesting and keep what is theirs. Yes, I know that sounds a little caveman-ish, but a woman likes to know she’s wanted. I also love men who know how to build or fix things. They have a purpose and will always be able to hold a job.

  I also adore men who love music and dancing. They show me that life is meant to be lived to its fullest and having fun is a must. Plus I like the softer side that it shows. I’ve always wanted a man to request a song with me in mind, and dance with me to it. It’s hard to believe that in my thirty-eight years of living, this hasn’t happened yet. I’m still waiting, and I will continue to wait until the day I die probably. It’s on my bucket list. But I digress with my love life.

  I’m perfectly content to help bring my client’s vision of everlasting love to their lives. Each bride and groom is different, each love is different, and so every wedding is different. It’s been my life’s work to see it all brought together in one amazing start to a (hopefully) beautiful life.

  Back to my work at hand. I glance at my phone and see that the last hour got away from me. Wow, I lost an hour to daydreaming about my love life. I don’t even think my love life has lasted a solid hour. Geez, that’s not good. Now I’m late for a meeting with my bride in Walnut Creek. I grab my purse and head out my door, only to make a quick stop by Lynne’s desk.

  “Lynne, how did your call with Samantha Baker end?” I ask. “Is everything going to work out nicely?

  “Oh, gosh. I hope so,” she breathes nervously, licking chocolate off her fingers and smacking her lips together. I watch her wad up a few bright green foil wrappers of Andes Mints, tossing them to the trash at her feet. She picks up a contract from her desk and leaves a chocolate smudge on the corner. Goodness. I need to buy hand wipes for this woman. “She said she’d call me back if she had any more problems, so I wait.” She shrugs her shoulders in her usually happy-go-lucky-until-I-need-assistance state.

  “Okay,” I respond dryly, eyeing her as she folds the contract with the chocolate smudge on top for mailing. It’ll be the first thing they see. I’m going to have to let the boss lady out. “Umm, Lynne. What would you think if you got a contract in the mail and it had a light brown stain on the front?”

  She looks at me and then at the contract in her hand, and shrugs her shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t even notice,” she giggles in a slightly irritating way that annoys me. Yeah, that’s Lynne, flighty as hell sometimes.

  “If that were me receiving that, I would think that someone went to the bathroom and maybe didn’t wash their hands as thoroughly as they should. It’s unprofessional and just gross,” I explain, my voice growing sterner as my words progress. “Please reprint just the top page of the contract before mailing it out.” I stare down at her, trying to assert my authority with my hard glare.

  I hate it when my inner boss lady has to come out and work over my employees. I want to be the boss that everyone loves, but sadly, that doesn’t always happen. She assures me she will reprint it and shoos me away, seeing my purse on my shoulder.

  I merge onto the Bay Bridge and make it through Oakland in record time. What is going on with traffic? Did I miss a holiday or something? It’s so light. I end up making it to the Mossimo Ristorante in record time and proceed with ordering one of my favorite drinks, a White Wine Spritzer, while I wait on Aran Bailey, soon to be Daniels.

  Aran is more than a client. She has become a good friend over the last few years in trying to plan her wedding. We share similar opinions on many subjects and we both lead a very independent life. She’s definitely got her shit together, and that’s probably what I
admire the most about her.

  She’s the fiance of one of the best power forwards in the history of the NBA. Kyle Daniels has broken more records in three years than should be humanly possible in a basketball game. He’s a phenom and is currently THE highest paid player in the league. He was drafted three years ago as a first-round pick and has taken the Denver Nuggets to the Championships twice in the last two years.

  The Sacramento Kings swooped in and offered the Nuggets a deal they couldn’t refuse in a deal for young, new talent at the next draft, and Kyle was traded a few weeks back. It was a sour deal for Kyle and Aran since they loved Denver. Nevertheless, feelings were hurt and loyalty was misplaced leaving them no choice but to cancel their massive wedding plans there and bring it all to California. Might I add my less-than-favorite part...on a short time schedule.

  They are adamant they want to get married on July 1, 2017. Yes, that would be 7-1-17. It’s got some kind of crazy meaning to them, but all I can make of it is that Aran’s birthday is on the 17th, but that’s March 17th.

  Aran didn’t want to get married while pregnant. She wasn’t comfortable proceeding due to the potential bad photo opportunities and the gossip that would surely tarnish Kyle’s reputation. He didn’t care, but Aran did and so everything was put on hold. As soon as they weren’t pregnant and we started planning the wedding, there was an ‘oops’, and she got pregnant again— with twins.

  They have both agreed they’re done. Now that the kids are a little older, and can participate in the wedding, we are moving forward again. She says her parents in Heaven are shaking their heads at her in shame, and that’s what has been causing these little tremors of earthquakes we’ve been feeling in northern California lately. She’s so damn funny.

  “Hey, there,” Aran says, approaching the table breathless like she ran in here. She’s got her wedding portfolio tucked up under her arm. “Oh my god, let’s start planning this before something happens and I have to postpone it again.”

  “Let’s get this party planning started then,” I cheer. “And don’t worry about me, because I’m not getting you pregnant.” We both laugh out loud, causing some of the other restaurant patrons to stare.

  Chapter 3 – Frank

  Fuck me! I can’t seem to get that snobby bitch out of my brain. She’s been circling around in there all night and most of today, nit-picking the tiniest of problems with my bar. I’m at the point where I am officially over-analyzing the situation.

  Maybe I do need some new pre-recorded music for the sound system. I chuckle at the thought. Nick is going to end up thanking the snobby bitch when he hears that I bought new music. He hates it too, or he used to. I think I’ve finally worn him down and he’s okay with it. Or he’s gotten to the point where he can tune it out. Not sure...guess I’ll have to ask him when he comes in next time.

  She’s got me so worked up over it, I walk around through the busy lunch crowd and take a small survey of the kind of music people might like to hear. Turns out the snobby bitch was right; country and some top 40 pop music for those that answered. Some preferred to hear the band and begged me to get them to play every night. JEMFire is going to love hearing that, but it ain’t happening.

  I will never understand why heavy metal music died? Great bands have come and gone. The truly great ones have stood the test of time, like Metallica and Megadeth, but my personal favorite Whitesnake, broke up shortly after their second album went platinum here in the US. They’ve re-formed and toured, making some new albums, but will never be as great again as they were in their prime. That’s why Jenna indulges me with their best singles with the very little metal music that I request. It’s my own little way of keeping them mainstream.

  Bekah sneaks up behind me and taps me on the shoulders, causing me to jump and growl. “Boss, what’s got you so frazzled today?” she asks, taking a long look at my tired eyes and sagging face. “You look like you haven’t slept all night long. You aren’t sick, are you?”

  “Nooo,” I drone out. “Jenna’s sister-in-law, Aran, wants to have her wedding here in a few months, and I’ve been up late thinking about making some changes to the bar for the wedding to be as she has planned.”

  “Oh, that’s exciting,” she squeals. “Isn’t she the one who’s engaged to the big basketball player? I mean, the famous one...since all basketball players are really big.” She finishes her sentence, stopping in the middle to roll her eyes at herself and correct her words.

  “Yes, she is,” I reply. “He’s a Sacramento King now, so we’ve got a local celebrity in our family— well, besides Nick, of course.” We both laugh. I’d better not forget Nick or Jenna will have my hide.

  “Not to mention that he’s royalty with being a King,” she chuckles at her own joke. “Yes, and don’t forget Nick. He was so sweet to hire both of my nephews for his landscaping company. They love working for him, even though he’s barely around. He’s got good people managing the business for him.”

  “Anyway,” I groan, stopping her story before it can begin. I’m too tired to listen. “Did you need me for something?”

  “Oh yes,” she laughs, “thanks for reminding me. I was wondering if I could trade my mid-afternoon shift tomorrow for the late one with Sarah? My car is in for repairs and it won’t be ready until after 4:00 pm they said.”

  “Sure, no problem,” I advise, swallowing the rest of my soda and letting the ice drop back to the bottom of the cup. She takes it from my hand and proceeds to go to the bar and pour me another. She’s a loyal and true employee, always taking care of me. She sets my new drink down on the wet, wrinkled napkin in front of me and goes back about her duties, but not before she smiles really big and winks at me.

  After the lunch crowd dwindles down, I take my checkbook, statements, bills, and receipts to the back booth and start to balance my month end. It’s my highest priority on the last Wednesday of the month, but after two hours of sorting through paper and getting lost in my thoughts again, Bekah catches me dozing in my hands as I stare down at my checkbook.

  “Boss?” she says, pushing on my shoulders to nudge me awake. I sit up straight and rub my eyes. The bright lights in the bar burn my eyes. “Why don’t you go home and take a late afternoon nap? It’ll do you some good before the night crowd starts. It is Wet Wednesday, you know.”

  “Ah, shit. It is Wet Wednesday,” I repeat her words through the sleep fog my brain is in. Wet Wednesday is the last Wednesday of the month and it’s half-price mixed-drink night. The bar does a really good business during it, but some of the locals can’t handle their liquor and get a rowdier than usual. “Yeah, I’ll be back around 7:00 pm.” I pick up my sorted piles of paper and shove them into the folds of the checkbook and dump it all in my office.

  As I walk back out through the bar, I see a lady sitting at one of the high tops, wearing cream-colored heels. She’s not a brunette like the snobby bitch was, but they still draw my attention and cause me to stop where I stand and think about her. She looked good standing in my bar. What the hell? She needs to exit my damn brain.

  Bekah catches me staring at the woman and points to the door, making sleepy gestures to me by tucking her folded hands against her cheek and snoring.

  I know what it is. It’s that fucking honeysuckle. It’s invaded my brain and is taking over. I can almost recall her scent just thinking about her. Before I leave, I walk behind the bar and pull the pour top off the Jagermeister and inhale it in one big, long sniff. Choking and coughing, tears burn my already red and sore eyes. Derek watches me in confusion but doesn’t say a word. I hope that does the trick.

  I stroll across my fresh, new parking lot to the far corner and open the gate, entering the quiet backyard of my home. It’s decorated exactly like a Japanese Tea Garden. Yeah, I know...that doesn’t sound like my style, does it? I’m a man of many surprises. I lay down in my hammock and relax.

  Back when I used to race— I was up and coming in the Nascar circuit and had just won my Yokohama Tire sponsorship;
they sent me to Japan to visit and accept the official deal at their main corporate headquarters.

  While there, they took me and my fiance, Olivia, to a Japanese Tea Garden, and I’ve never forgotten how peaceful and quiet it was with the water sounds from the Koi ponds, the beautiful gardens, the strolling bridges, and the smells of the Honeysuckle and Cherry Blossom trees...it was so serene. I remember walking through the gardens and holding her hand. She stopped us right next to a large honeysuckle bush and picked up its massive weight, inhaling it. I remember the look on her face, as the sunshine lit up her cornflower blue eyes.

  Fuck. Snobby bitch has me going down memory lane, and I hate that place. I stretch my arms over my head and stare up at the sky, trying to think about all the things I ‘ll need to do for Aran’s wedding. Focus, Frank. 1. Paint the bathrooms. 2. Dust the wooden beams. 3. Get some Murphy’s Oil Soap to clean the beams and all the wood...thinking about anything and everything except where my brain wants to go...memory lane.

  I re-created that calming Japanese feeling here in my backyard. It’s now my favorite place to relax. Sometimes it’s so relaxing, I end up sleeping all night out here. The only thing I didn’t bring to my tea garden is the damn honeysuckle.

  I’ll do anything I can to stay away from that smell. It was Olivia’s signature scent and matched her honey-blond hair. It was long and flowing, just like that bush in the garden in Japan.

  I close my eyes, giving in to the complete and overwhelming feeling of being bone tired. I’m still trying hard to think about anything and everything except honeysuckle and snobby bitch...

  “Oh, Frank, look,” she says, practically skipping to the long honeysuckle bush that’s cascading over the concrete wall. She picks up the waterfall of flowering greenery, and lifts it to her face, inhaling deeply. “It’s my favorite scent in the whole world.” The sun is shining on her face, lighting it up and piercing her blue eyes, making them appear lighter and brighter than they actually are. She’s so beautiful; she takes my breath away.