If I’m this attached to a fur-baby after only twenty-four hours, I’m guessing the future probably doesn’t bode well for me should I ever decide to pop out an actualhumanbaby.
It’s just a puppy,I tell myself.What’s so cute about apuppy?
Oh,right.
Literallyeverything.
Determined to regain some of my aloof cool-girl aesthetic, I turn my back on Fenway with considerable effort and walk into my bedroom. The day is slipping away rapidly. I have to be at the venue for Phoebe’s rehearsal dinner by three, and I haven’t even begun gettingready.
As if she hears my thoughts, my phone begins to buzz in the bowels of my Mansur Gavrielbucketbag.
“Hello?”
“It’s a disaster. A disaster!” She’s talking a mile a minute. “Remember how two days ago I was zen and chill about this wholegetting married to the man of my dreams thing? Yeah, that’s over. The zen has vanished. I officially have nochill.”
“Phee, take a deep breath or you’re going topassout.”
“I don’t have time to breathe! The flowers are a mess. And by that, I mean the flowers arenonexistent. As in, they did not show up. I called the florist and no one answers, it just rings and rings and rings. And I don’t have time to go over there and fight with the little old lady who owns the place in person, because I have to do my hair and makeup.” She lets out a small scream of frustration. “Plus, my face is all splotchy and I think I have back fat in my rehearsal dress and there’s a twenty-three percent chance of rain for tomorrow which,okay, I know doesn’t actuallyseemlike a lot, but that’s basically a one-in-four chance that it’s going to be awful during the moment I sayI doto the man of my dreams, and totally ruin our reception afterward. The very elaborate, very expensive, veryoutdoorreception that I’ve spent basically my whole life planning, right down to the damngroom.And—”
“PHEOBE!” I yell into the phone before she can list one morething.
There’s a brief lull in her panicked babble; I capitalizedonit.
“Listen to me — everything is going to be just fine. The ceremony itself is inside. So we’re really only talking about the dance floor, right? Last I checked, they have these rad new inventions calledtentsthat, when erected, shield those standing beneath from theelements.”
“But—”
“And,” I cut her off. “A twenty-five percent chance of rainmeans—”
“Twenty-three,” she correctslowly.
“Even better. Atwenty-threepercent chance of rain means there is aseventy-sevenpercent chance it’ll begorgeous.”
“But—”
“And speaking of gorgeous, that’s exactly what you are in your rehearsal dress. I’d lie to you about many things, but I wouldneverlie to you about back fat. That I promise you, on my honor as yourbridesmaid.”
“Thanks.” She sniffles. “That meansalot.”
“Anytime. Now, for the flowers — call Nate. The man is a freaking private investigator, for god’s sake. I think he can track down an elderly florist with a crummy phone connection. He can handle it. Plus, it will give him something to keep busy with, before therehearsal.”
“That’s actually not abadidea…”
“I know. That’s why I thought of it.” I roll my eyes. “As for the rest, if you’ll just take a deep breath and stop freaking the hell out oververy manageable problemsyour face will cease being a blotchy mess and return to that normal, perfect porcelain most girls wouldkillfor.”
I hear her take a deep breath on the other side oftheline.
“Phoebe.”
“Yeah?”sheasks.
“Just tell me what’s really got you sofreakedout.”
She sighs. “You know metoowell.”
“I’m aware of that.” I pause. “Spit it out, I have a rehearsal to get ready for and I hear the girl is a realbridezilla.”
She laughs. “I’m just nervous, Iguess.”