Wedding of the year

Chloe

“No, Simon, don’t worry. I’ve got this.” When in reality, I knew I didn’t.

Simon was my employee and friend for over four years, ever since I opened my pastry shop. He was the first person who answered my job listing; 20 at the time, tall, blond, Viking type, and it wasn’t a secret I liked him from the moment I saw him. Before I discovered he had a boyfriend. But him being so easygoing and friendly made that initial awkwardness vanish quickly, and we grew to be more than friends; he became a brother I never had.

Usually, Simon was in charge of the delivery, but today his boyfriend was having knee surgery, and I understood he had to be there.

“But…” he said, and I interrupted him.

“No but! Go! That’s an order!” I commanded with a smile, knowing he wouldn’t misunderstand. “And wish Dave to get well soon!” I yelled after Simon, who was already on his way out.

Watching him disappear from my sight, I sighed loudly.

“Are you OK, Chloe?” I heard Abby ask from the storage room.

“Yeah… just peachy.”

We had this big event to cover today, a wedding. I’d been preparing for it for a week. Some wealthy playboy was marrying a trust fund Barbie, and all the news was talking about it.

I made the wedding cake and decorated it as the bride’s mother instructed, including edible flowers and genuine gold flakes that cost a fortune, plus all the cookies, muffins, sweet pastries, and croissants they ordered. If anyone asked me, I would say it was all a bit too much... but nobody asked me. That’s why I didn’t voice my thoughts about the monstrosity I created. I was handsomely paid for the job, and I did the best of my abilities, so my conscience was at peace.

Everything was fresh and packed into boxes, and the only thing we had left to do was safely deliver it to the venue. Abby and I started packing and securing the load into my old delivery van. The summer sun was climbing up the sky fast, and its warm rays caused us both to heat up. By the time we were finished, my skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Oldie, as we called it, was still functional, and I was reluctant to replace it, but if I survived today, the old metal can was going straight to the scrap yard!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?” Abby asked once we were done. Her smart eyes, hidden behind the big round glasses, told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.

“No, you better stay here,” I mumbled, rethinking my decision about closing the shop for a few hours. Then again, mornings were usually the busiest part of the day. “I’ll be fine. Plus, I can’t ask the hot best man to help if you’re there.” We both laughed at the joke, and Abby returned inside to clean the mess I had left behind.

What was my problem with this delivery? Clutch.

Oldie had a manual gearshift, and it scared me like nothing else in the world. I hadn’t driven a car with a clutch for six years, and every time we had a delivery order, Simon would take care of it. Today he had somewhere important to be.

I didn’t mind it, I swear. I loved him. He was my best friend. I loved Dave too, and I understood how stressful this was for them. But maybe I shouldn’t have lied that I’d be fine.

After a quick prayer to all the invisible forces, I hopped in, turned the key on, and the engine roared to life. Even the sound made me shudder with anxiety as I knew what awaited. I didn’t even get past the gate when I lost the gas for the first time, and with a loud pop and a rough jerk, Oldie stayed buried in place.

I felt my heart rise to my throat, beating with unpleasant bitterness in response to what I had just done and was about to do. Ignoring Abby’s worried stance when she peeked through the back door, I started the van again and slowly departed from the parking lot of my building. During the next mile, I lost the gas three more times, and each time, I am pretty sure my heart skipped a beat while the buzzing in my ears reached impossible levels.

My right eye twitched in horror from the screaming horns of cars stuck behind me as I turned the key on and on again; the panic that overwhelmed me didn’t help my shaking hands. By the time I arrived at the Scott mansion, fear and stress caused the red muscle in my chest to beat so fast that I genuinely believed I was about to have a stroke. If I wasn’t constantly aware of the importance of making this delivery, I swear I would have left both the van and the goods in it ten traffic lights ago!

When I finally parked at the back entrance of the mansion, it was half an hour later than I was supposed to be there, but I did not dare pass the 30-mile-per-hour limit.

The atmosphere was chaotic. The employees and hired help for the day were running around, doing what they needed to make the most important wedding of the year perfect.

“You’re late!” A woman dressed in a smart suit rushed to me, hissing. ‘A wedding planner?’ I wondered. She checked something on the list she was holding in her hands and, unexpectedly, whistled at a couple of guys passing nearby.

“Hey, you two! Come! There’s a ton to unload here! Chop-chop!” She ordered. ‘Wow, talking about the efficiency.’

I unlocked the back door and helped the guys unload the boxes, being especially careful with the cake. It was almost 3 feet tall and one of my most significant works. I was very proud of it, no matter how much it didn’t suit my liking.

We took everything to the kitchen and packed up the boxes where the planner lady showed us. While making the rounds, I couldn’t help but discreetly look around. I’d never been inside the famous Scott Mansion before, and its interior was as impressive as its exterior. Everything was decorated tastefully, screaming luxury and power.

“Mrs. Scott instructed me to hand you the check. But she forgot to give it to me, so wait here, and I’ll go find her.” The wedding planner gave me a tight-lipped smile, turned around, and stormed out; the sound of her heels tapping on the marble floor resonated off the walls.

Mrs. Scott was the epitome of elegance. A strand of grey adorning her dark hair was worn with evident pride, and I respected that immensely. Large curlers were still on her head, but her makeup was flawless, as was her dress. Even the most unsuspecting eye wouldn’t miss a discreet metal cuff on the lapel, suggesting the famous designer and its price.

“Good morning, Mrs. Scott,” I greeted her with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” she returned in the same manner. The way she spoke screamed the high society in which she was born and married. “Here. Your check.” She handed me the piece of paper, and I took it with a curt nod. “Since everything is as we discussed, I’ll make sure to put in a good word for your work.” Well, this was a pleasant surprise!

“Thank you, Mrs. Scott.” I was indeed grateful; her friends were known to organize important events, which could mean significant potential for me. “I’ll be on my way now.” I folded the check and put it in the pocket of my white coat.

“You can find your way out, right?” Wow, this woman was unusually nice, but ‘you don’t marry your only daughter every day.’

“Congratulations again.” I ensured everything was in place, and I’d forgotten nothing before exiting the kitchen. It was becoming too crowded, and my job was done.

I tapped my coat pocket, ensuring the keys to my worst nightmare were still there, secretly hoping I had lost them somewhere. That would give me a perfect excuse to call the cab and leave the damn thing here, but no such luck.

Wait, was this the right way? I snapped out of my thoughts when I reached the end of the hallway and found no exit I thought I would; instead, there was a window in front of me from which I could see a part of the backyard - but no door I had come through earlier.

I turned around and assessed my surroundings. Hmm. The walls looked the same... Damn rich people and their maze-like houses, I cursed in my head.

OK, I’d go back to where I came from and find the right exit. Halfway back, I heard a cry. A cry? It sounded like a cat stuck in a jar. I stopped for a second to listen, and to my surprise, I heard another one, only louder, but it was definitely not a cat.

‘Walk, Chloe, just walk. Your job here is done,’ I told myself.

But my curiosity got the best of me, and I pressed the doorknob of the room where I thought the yelps were coming from. And guess what? It was unlocked. My brain demanded I turn around and go straight home, but I paid it no mind. I knew I would regret this, but I couldn’t help myself.

So, I opened the door, peeked inside, and instantly knew I should’ve listened to my gut when it told me to ignore this and leave.