Meg Cabot - Queen of Babble Gets Hitched

I look at her, feeling slightly nauseous.

But it’s a good nauseous. It’s a great nauseous, actually.

“By eight tonight,” I say a little hazily, “I will have.”

“You’re going to design a line of bridal gowns for Geck’s?” Chaz asks as we hurry down Seventy-eighth Street, back toward Chez Henri. “And Ava Geck is going to do… what, exactly?”

“Be my spokesmodel slash corporate representative,” I say.

“Does Geck’s even sell nice clothes?” Chaz wants to know.

“They will after they start selling mine,” I say. “Ava will make sure of that. They’re going to have her name on them too.”

“And you trust her?” Chaz sounds dubious. “Ava, I mean. No offense, Lizzie, but—”

“If the next words that come out of your mouth are ‘skanky crack whore,’ you’re never setting foot in my apartment again. For however little time left I have it.”

“I’m just saying, like another person whose name I won’t mention, Ava doesn’t exactly have a reputation for stick-to-it-tiveness. Except where pudding wrestling is concerned.”

“Maybe because no one has really given her a chance to prove herself,” I say defensively. “I mean, she’s an heiress. When has she ever had to stick to anything? But she seems really serious about this. The dog clothes were her idea.”

“Oh yeah,” Chaz says, with a chuckle, putting his arm around my shoulders. “She’s serious about this all right.”

“Chaz,” I say, leaning into him. I don’t care that I’m hot and sweaty (and so is he). Even when I’m annoyed with him, like now, I can’t stop myself from touching him. It just feels… right. “People love their pets. They really want them to be a part of their special day.”

“But doesn’t the idea of your enabling them to do so by designing mini doggie tuxedos for them make you the slightest bit queasy?”

“No,” I say firmly. “Not if it’s going to save the jobs of everyone at the shop.”

“And how is your designing doggie tuxedos for Geck’s going to do that?” Chaz wants to know.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” I say as we hurry along. “I’m just taking this one step at a time. First I’ve got to get these sketches done. Then get the deal in place. Then I’ll get to that part.”

“You’re incredible,” Chaz says. And there’s no hint of sarcasm in his tone now.

Still, I pull him to a stop and narrow my eyes as I peer up at him. “Are you mocking me?” I demand suspiciously.

“Absolutely not,” Chaz says, looking down at me with a perfectly serious expression on his face. He’s dropped his arm from my shoulders, but now he puts both his hands there instead. “I told you before—you’re a star, Lizzie Nichols. And I am humbled to be allowed to hitch my wagon to your star. Just tell me what you need me to do to help, and I’ll do it.”

I blink up at him and my eyes fill with sudden tears. It’s still astonishing to me how blindly stupid I’d been, refusing to see what was right there in front of my face for so long. That I could have been this happy six months ago, if I’d just been willing to admit to myself what I’d clearly known all along… that it wasn’t Luke I was in love with anymore after all.

But I don’t say any of this to Chaz. There’s no reason to. Not now. Because I’ve said it already.

Instead, I say, “Diet Coke.”

He tightens his grip on my shoulders. “You need Diet Coke? To get the drawings done?”

I nod.

“Done,” he says. “I’ll get you every six-pack in the city. I—”

Then his voice trails off, and I notice his gaze has as well. We’ve reached Chez Henri, where I’m startled to find, when I turn to look in the direction he’s gazing, Shari sitting on the front stoop.

She climbs to her feet when she sees me looking at her, her hemp tote bag dangling from limp fingers as she stares.

“Well,” Chaz says, dropping his hands from my shoulders. “This is awkward.”

“Hi, Shari,” I say unsmilingly, aware that Shari is close enough to have overheard every word we’ve just said to each other.

“Hi, Lizzie,” she says. Shading her eyes from the sun with one hand, she squints down at us from the stoop and says, “Hi, Chaz. I need to talk to Lizzie for a minute.”

“This is a really bad time,” I say. “I’m in kind of a time crunch. Can we talk later?”

“No,” Shari says and comes down from the stoop. “Look. I’m really sorry about what I said earlier. I was out of line.”

“You were really trying to fix us up the whole time?” Chaz wants to know.

“Please stay out of this,” Shari says to him. To me, she says, “Lizzie, you’re my best friend in the whole world. I would never do anything to hurt you. I should never have said that about the Carvel cake. That was in poor taste, and I owe you an apology.”

“What Carvel cake?” Chaz wants to know.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” I say to Shari, feeling suddenly remorseful over how I’ve treated her. “And I shouldn’t have run out of the café like that. I’m a dork. I’m sorry too. Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do,” Shari says, and pulls me in for a hug. I inhale her Shari-like scent—grapefruit body lotion and Labrador retriever—and then let go of her.

“And now I’m sorry, but I really do have to go,” I say. “I have to design a line of bridal wear for Geck’s.”

“Geck’s?” Shari looks confused. “They sell bridal wear?”

“They do now,” Chaz explains. “Or they will after they see Lizzie’s drawings. Lizzie and Ava Geck are going into business together.”

“Is that really such a good idea?” Shari asks, looking dubious.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I demand. “Yes, it’s a good idea. Now, bye—I have to go get to work.”

I give them both kisses—Shari on the cheek, Chaz on the mouth—and hurry into the shop to find Monique reading the latest copy of Vogue.

“Lizzie,” she says, looking up when I come in. “There you are. God. Finally. Everyone and their brother has been looking for you, it seems.”

“Keep taking messages,” I say. “I’ve got some work to do upstairs. I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.”

“But, Lizzie,” Monique says, looking dismayed. “You do know that—”

“Yes, of course I know all about it,” I say. “I’m doing the best I can to save our skins. So hold all my calls, will you?”

“All right,” Monique says. “But—”

“Thanks!”

I pop out the side door and hurry upstairs to my apartment, crank up the A/C, peel off my sticky, sweaty sundress, grab the last Diet Coke in my fridge—Chaz better hurry with his delivery—and get to work.

Ever wonder why it’s called a “shower”? In the late nineteenth century, a bride would invite her closest friends and relatives over for a little stress relief right before the wedding. Everyone would bring small token gifts that would be placed in an upside-down umbrella or parasol. This would then be raised and turned over the bride, and the gifts would “shower” down on her for luck.

How this charming little tradition transformed into the monstrosities we know as showers today is a mystery for the ages.

Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster

Bathrooms. No one wants to think or talk about them… until there aren’t enough of them, or they’re overflowing… during your reception.

We know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but when choosing a place for your reception, make sure you take into account the little things… like where your guests are gonna go. Because they’re gonna hafta.

Are you going to be the one to tell them to hold it?