“I think I’m gonna throw up, Igor,” she whispered.
The cat thumped his naked, wiry little tail, irritated. Yeah, that was about right. Even the cat found her irritating right now. She gave his ears one final rub and then moved to the window seat with her coffee. A quick peek out into the night showed that it was snowing, and snowing hard. Because of course it was. It was Christmas Eve and no sane person would be up at four in the morning for baking. Snow shouldn’t matter around a holiday because people stayed home in their pajamas, but noooo, she’d just had to have her wedding today of all days. Did Hunter have a snowplow? Why was it she hadn’t thought about snowplows in her contingency plans? She’d thought of everything else, hadn’t she?
Her phone buzzed.
Daphne: I know it’s early, but I can’t sleep. Lemme know if you want some baking company.
She nearly wept at the sight of the text message. It was wonderful having Daphne back, if only so she had one more person to freak out to. She texted back quickly. Not too early, and I’m making panettones so you’re welcome to come join me.
Daphne: Pane-what? Never mind, I’ll come over regardless. You’re up early tho! Can’t sleep?
Gretchen: Anxiety is driving me slowly insane.
Daphne: Aw, it’s cute that you somehow think it was a slow process.
Gretchen snorted.
Daphne: You just gotta get through today, big sis. Be there as soon as I can get a cab.
Gretchen: K—thanks, Daph.
You just gotta get through today. Easier said than done. She set her coffee down and went to go hug her cat, but he ran away. God, she hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. Today was going to be fine . . . wasn’t it?
***
Things got worse with every hour that passed. And given that she wasn’t getting married until two in the afternoon, that left a hell of a lot of hours for shit to go wrong. Next time she got married on Christmas Eve, Gretchen decided, she’d have the ceremony super early so she could relax for the rest of the day.
Gretchen had been so nervous with the wedding preparations that she’d forgotten to add yeast to her panettones and, as a result, she had to throw away all six batches and start over. The snow continued to pour down, the outside of Buchanan Manor a wintry wonderland that would have been perfect . . . if Gretchen hadn’t been expecting over two hundred guests to show up.
At nine in the morning, the wedding cake’s middle tier collapsed.
At nine thirty, she got the call that the minister was stranded in Boston, his flight canceled.
At ten, her hairdresser called and said her car had been buried by a snowplow and she couldn’t make it. Her makeup lady called not ten minutes later citing the same problem.
On a hunch, she tried on her wedding dress. The waist was too tight. After months of trying to diet, she’d gained weight. Gained. It had to be all the cakes and cookies and croquembouches she’d been worrying over. She had to taste them, of course. And she’d been tasting a lot of stuff. And now she was too fat for her dress, somehow, despite having a final fitting two days ago.
After that, she locked herself in her room for a nice, long cry. After all, what did it fucking matter what she looked like? She was going to be a hag under her veil.
She could fit into it, at least.
***
“Should we do something?” Daphne whispered as the soft sound of Gretchen’s weeping echoed into the hallway outside her bedroom door.
“Like what?” Greer, the very pregnant, very tiny bridesmaid gave Daphne a concerned look. “I’m used to dealing with brides and bridezilla actions, but this is just . . . beyond.” She clutched her planning guide and gave a worried sigh. “I know she’s been stressing about things, but she always has a laugh when I ask about it. I didn’t realize she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”
Taylor pressed her fingers to her lips, concerned. “Should we change out of our bridesmaid gowns? Is the wedding canceled?”
“No, don’t change! I’m sure this will pass,” Greer said quickly, and gave Daphne another uneasy glance. “Where’s Audrey?”
“Sick,” Daphne said. Her twin had arrived, baby and gorgeous husband in tow . . . and immediately headed to the bathroom to puke. Apparently she was having a round of both morning sickness and food poisoning, which made her useless for helping out with Gretchen’s nerves. The other bridesmaids were standing around looking at Daphne as if she’d know what to do.
Well, crap. She’d have to try something. They were sisters. If friends wouldn’t work right now, the least she could do was try to coax Gretchen out. So she knocked on the door. “Gretch? Hey, it’s Daph. Let me in so we can talk.”
“Fuck off,” came the weepy voice from the other side of the door. “Everyone fuck off. I’m never coming out.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Daphne said, giving the worried bridesmaids a smile, like she had it all handled.
“Don’t care. I’m just going to die in here old and alone.”
Oh yeah, Gretchen definitely loved her drama. Daphne rapped her knuckles on the door again. “You won’t talk to me about what’s going on? What about Audrey?” Daph would get her a barf bucket and park her in front of the door if that was what it took to make Gretchen emerge. This was the wedding day. There wasn’t time for hysterics.
But the threat of Audrey only made Gretchen cry harder.
“Perhaps Hunter?” Brontë suggested quietly.
Daphne had just come to the same conclusion herself. She nodded and backed away from the door. Sometimes the best person to talk to was the one you had the most invested in, emotionally. Even if what they would say would devastate you, sometimes it had to be said.