The Perfect Arrangement (4 page)

The answering machine beeped.

I blinked several times, confusion scrunching inside my head. Cell phone reception? My e-mail? But I never e-mailed him last . . .

Oh no.

I pulled out my cell phone from my purse and opened up my e-mail app. I tapped on the Sent folder and waited for the e-mails to load. A couple seconds later, there it was. SOS, RESPONSE NEEDED ASAP. Only, instead of sending it to [email protected], I'd somehow sent it to [email protected]. The g-a-l must have brought up his e-mail address instead of Rachel's, and I'd been so panicked about the entire incident that I didn't notice the blunder.

I buried my face in my hands and let out a loud groan. First, I hit him with my car and fled the scene like a crazy woman. Then I sent him a cryptic, slightly hysterical e-mail to call me as soon as possible, in the middle of the night if necessary. He probably thought there was something wrong
with me. Like maybe I'd been dropped as a baby a time or two. Seriously.

Shaking my head, I hit Compose and tried to explain.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 8:32 a.m.
Subject: so very sorry for the mix-up

Dear Nate,

Once again, I am incredibly embarrassed and horribly sorry. In my previous e-mail to you, I promised that I wasn't typically so scattered and frantic, and yet I'm not doing a very good job of convincing you of that, am I?

The e-mail you received yesterday was sent by mistake. It was meant for my best friend, Rachel Galvison, whose e-mail address (unfortunately for you) starts with the same three letters as yours. You might be wondering why I didn't just call or text Rachel if it was such an emergency. The answer to that is simple. Last month Rachel moved to Fiji. It sounds pretty spectacular, but it's not really. She joined the Peace Corps and is working in some remote village, teaching children English while she learns crazy-sounding languages like Chuukese and Kosraean. Last we e-mailed, she didn't have a phone.

I was a bit (that's a lie—I was a lot) panicked about something and needed her advice, so I sent the rushed e-mail off without double-checking who I sent it to. I'm really very sorry for bothering you.

I'm afraid you are getting the wrong impression. I'm not
prone to drama. My life is actually pretty mellow. That's what I call it, anyway. Rachel likes to say “boring.” I am very sorry, and I promise not to let the mistake happen again.

Mea culpa,

Amelia

PS: This e-mail has officially taken me thirty minutes to type out, as I'm sending it from my iPhone. I strongly dislike sending e-mails from my iPhone for this very reason. Most days I want my flip phone back.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 8:41 a.m.
Subject: I'm the world's biggest basket case

Rachel,

I am mortified.

I caught Bridget with another guy yesterday, on the cusp of finding out William had purchased an engagement ring. In my panic, I sent you an e-mail. Or at least I thought I sent you an e-mail. Turns out, it didn't go to you. It went to this guy named Nate, who I hit with my car (long story). He must think I'm psycho. Anyway, I need advice on what to do. William is head-over-heels in love with this girl. You saw them together with your own eyes. If I tell him that I caught Bridget with another man, he'll be crushed. But of course, I have to tell him. Better he know now than find out after the wedding, right? Please call or e-mail as soon as possible.

Miss you terribly,

Amelia

PS: I have now officially quadruple-checked to make sure I'm sending this to the right person!!

At five o'clock, I began my closing routine. My delivery guy, who was no longer sick, had taken all the orders that needed delivering before six, except the arrangements for my stepsisters' party. I would bring those with me. I'd received three phone calls from my stepmother throughout the day ensuring that I wouldn't forget them. It was more than we'd spoken all year. I finished organizing the back cooler, then began the task of cleaning out the dirty stem buckets with soap and water. I organized and filed the orders that needed to go out tomorrow and was sweeping the floor behind the counter when the front bell jingled. I looked up from the growing pile of leafy debris.

It was William, looking even giddier today than he had yesterday.

My broom stopped.

He spread his arms wide. “She said yes.”

The knot of dread in my gut doubled.

“Your baby bro is officially engaged to be married to the love of his life.” William met me at the front of the store. “We were supposed to go to dinner last night, but something came up and Bridget had to cancel. Since I couldn't wait, I ended up surprising her at her school yesterday
afternoon. Her students clapped and cheered. And she loved the flowers.”

“Wow.” I didn't know what else to say. Or do. Bridget had said yes to my brother's proposal, then gone out on a date with another man that very same evening. If I wasn't so filled with concern and heartbreak for William, I would have been steaming hot mad. Seriously, how dare she?

My brother's smile drooped at the corners. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Amelia . . .”

“No, it's nothing. Really. I'm just . . .” Just what? Shocked? Upset? Conflicted? I had no idea what to say. I needed Rachel! “A little emotional. I mean, you're getting married.”

“It's crazy, eh? When did we get so old?”

“Hey, I have six years on you, buddy. If you're old, then I'm ancient.”

William laughed. “Is your calendar free for October twenty-fourth?”

“What's October twenty-fourth?”

“The day I nab myself a wife.”

If I'd been drinking something, I would have spit it out. Good thing William had waited until the end of the day to tell me. My coffee was long gone. “Why so soon?”

“Because when you're as in love as Bridget and me, there's no reason to wait. We're ready to be married, and since we don't want anything huge or fancy for a wedding, it won't take long to plan. Besides”—William's attention flickered toward the framed photograph on the wall over
my head—“October's when Mom and Dad got married. It's a great month. Bridget and I are hoping you'll do the flowers.”

He was right, of course. When the weather cooperated, October weddings were beautiful. October weddings between a wonderful, godly man and his cheating fiancée, on the other hand? Not so much. My mind fast-forwarded to the event. I imagined the other man showing up. A huge confrontation in the middle of the church. Bridget trouncing off with her secret lover, leaving my brokenhearted brother at the altar.

“Amelia?”

My eyelids fluttered. “What was that?”

“Can you do the flowers?”

“Oh . . . sure. I'll have to check the calendar, but yes. I should be able to.”

“Great. Bridget and I will see you tonight at Mackinaws.” He tapped the counter a few times with his palms and shot me a wink. “She'll be the one with the brand-new ring on her finger.”

Mackinaws was on Voyager Drive in Green Bay—a
restaurant built from huge pine logs and beams with massive vaulted ceilings and six stone fireplaces and impressive animal mounts—the two largest of which were a bear and an eighteen-point buck. My stepmother, Jeanine, had booked their loft for the party. It sat up to a hundred, which seemed like a crazy amount of people for a birthday party, but Candace and Crystal would have no problem filling the space. Whereas I tended to have one or two close, intimate friends, my stepsisters were perpetually popular and kept a big crowd of friends, some hailing all the way back to elementary school.

I stepped inside, holding two of the six arrangements Jeanine ordered a month ago. Bouquets of snow-white roses, lilies, and mums, filled out with wispy baby's breath and silvery dusty miller and plastic pearl sprays. I hated working with baby's breath, mostly because it smelled like
cat pee. But Jeanine had cast the vision, and when she cast a vision, nobody could change her mind. So here I was, carrying these two elegant winter-esque arrangements inside a restaurant that screamed north woods.

Upstairs Jeanine was a bustle of activity, simultaneously checking in on guests and micromanaging the two teenage servers arranging the food—trays of smoked salmon, bacon-wrapped chestnuts, fruit, vegetables, cheeses, a taco bar. I wondered how much debt she was racking up on her credit card for this particular soiree. My stepmother was cursed with a rich woman's appetite and a middle-class budget—a common source of contention between her and my father when I was growing up.

She spotted me setting the two arrangements on the nearest table and came over, her face bright. She looked entirely too young to be the mother of thirty-year-old twins. Mostly because she went to the salon every six weeks to hide all traces of gray, worked out an hour each day to keep her physique, wore an entire cosmetic aisle of makeup, and I suspected did Botox, but I wasn't exactly sure on that last one. She gave her hands a few excited claps beneath her chin. “The flowers are here!”

“The rest of the arrangements are in the car.”

She rearranged a few of the roses. “The baby's breath looks a little wilted. We better get the others before it gets any worse.”

I gritted my teeth and smiled, then told her she could stay here. I'd get the flowers. After two more trips up and down the loft, I escaped into the restroom. All the people in attendance were either strangers or old acquaintances from
my days living in Green Bay. The only two who wouldn't be strangers or acquaintances were William and Bridget, but I couldn't be around them tonight. I had no idea how to act cheery or congratulatory when I felt so far from either. I was a lousy faker. And as much as I wanted to unload the heavy burden resting on my shoulders and tell my brother the truth about his fiancée, Jeanine would absolutely throw a fit if I did it before Candace and Crystal's party.

I took my time washing and drying my hands and studied myself in the mirror. I looked more wilted than the baby's breath. “An hour, Amelia. You can handle an hour.”

With that, I joined the growing crowd. William and Bridget had arrived during my bathroom break. Jeanine stood next to them by the food table. She fussed over Bridget's ring, then wrapped William in a big hug. The sight set off a pang of sadness in my heart. Even all these years later, I missed my mom.

As if sensing my thoughts, William made eye contact with me over Jeanine's shoulder. They came apart, and he thrust his hand up in the air to wave. He grabbed Bridget's hand and made his way toward me. Thankfully, one of Jeanine's friends intercepted them before they could get very far, and I made a beeline to the other side of the room, where the crowd was thickest. My mature plan of action? Avoid William and Bridget until I knew how to handle the situation.

I squeezed between two groups of people and tapped a gentleman's shoulder to get past. He turned around, his eyebrows going from neutral to high up on his forehead. “Amelia!”

I nearly choked. “Matt?”

“Wow, it's been such a long time.” His attention flickered down and up—a quick, innocent check out. “You look great.”

“Um, thanks. H-how are you?”

“Good. I just got married, actually.” He put his free hand on the small of a woman's back, pulling her away from her conversation. “I'd love for you to meet my wife. Man, it sounds weird saying that.”

The petite, dark-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful-skinned woman beside him slapped him playfully in the stomach, then slipped under his arm, where she fit perfectly. “You better get used to it, buddy.”

He smiled. “Chelsea, meet Amelia. Amelia, meet Chelsea.”

My name made Chelsea's entire posture perk. “Amelia, as in
the
Amelia? I can't believe I finally get to meet Matt's college sweetheart!” There wasn't a trace of phoniness in her tone. She sounded and looked genuinely happy. “I know your sisters and I are friends, but it's great to actually meet you. I feel like I ought to give you a hug.”