Page 35 of Love Letters to Christmas

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Elodie

“September? Like… September September?”

That’s… two months. To plan a wedding.

I always thought I’d be the one whose mind would crack, but as I watch Ruby Vann’s adorably scowly face move up and down in a nod, I have to hand it to her.

Today, sitting across from me at a seen-better-days wooden table in Sweet & Salty – the café where I work alongside her brother – she’s out-cracked me.

My fingers hit the bridge of my nose, pinching the lightly speckled skin there in an effort to stave off the headache my bestie’s mental break is bringing on.

I mean, sure, Will’s been practically married to her for a decade and a half. This is no surprise on his end, even though they’ve only officially been together for five months. But for Ruby, those five months have been just that. Five months.

And not an easy five months, either, as my grumpy, stubborn friend has spent them learning the delicate arts of compromise, affection, and trust with her beloved and beleaguered boyfriend-fiancé-husband-person – William Vann.

No one was happier for her than me when she finally came to her senses and had a steamy make out session with the man in the elevator at their work – one I sincerely hope was rated higher than PG-13, but that Ruby will give me no deets on, so I cannot confirm the steam levels exactly. A pity.

“September,” Will chirps from his spot beside Ruby, blond hair flopping as he munches happily on a blueberry scone in the after-hours calm of Sweet & Salty. “Isn’t it wonderful?” He smiles, and a stray bit of blueberry juice dribbles down the corner of his mouth.

He’s such a besotted little puppy, totally in love with my best friend and determined to wife her up immediate-like.

And who can blame him after 15 years of steadfast devotion and loyalty, never once so much as looking at another woman – though his obsession with my brother has, at times, been questionable. Still.

Will loves Ruby more than anything in this world.

Is it fast? Yes. Sort of. But is it something bad?

Something they’d regret? Is Will going to finally have her next to him only to discover that, hey, actually, the way she brushes her teeth is wrong and her hair routine takes too long and by the way it’s really not cute when she picks up a new hobby or tries out a new thing and maybe she could try being a little less spontaneous because it’s starting to look more annoying and less endearing ?

Um.

No. No, Will is not that type of guy.

I sigh, dropping my hand and ignoring the pang of horrible, selfish jealousy that shoots through me. I have to work double time to squash it when I see Ruby’s freckled face soften, her usually tense jaw relaxing as both corners of her mouth tip up in a rare Ruby smile.

She’s happy.

My bestest best friend in the entire world is happy, and I’m fighting off jealousy.

I say an internal goodbye to the Best Friend of the Year award and redouble my efforts to be nothing but joyful and supportive of Ruby and Will.

“September doesn’t give us a lot of time to plan,” a deep voice rumbles to my left, interrupting my struggle to be a decent friend.

My nose wrinkles. “Who is us ?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Roman, Ruby’s brother.

He narrows his back. “You and me,” he answers.

“You.” I point at him. “And me ?” I ask. Because… absolutely not.

Absolutely, 100 percent, unequivocally not .

“Sweet, I’m not about to let you plan my best friend’s wedding by yourself. For one, you’re more likely to hire a gregorian chanter than a DJ for the reception, and for two, it’s a lot of work. More than any reasonable person would take on by themselves.”

“Are you calling me unreasonable, Salty?” I growl.

“Of course not,” he replies. “Because you aren’t taking it on by yourself. We’re doing it together.”

“I would rather fling myself off the side of a mountain than plan a wedding with you,” I snip.

“I’ll be handling the DJ,” Ruby cuts in. “And any other planning that needs to be done should be simple enough, since Will and I don’t really care about the wedding aesthetics. We just care that it happens.”

Will nods beside her, wiping blueberry juice off his chin.

“Yes, what my beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, smart, funny, incredible wifey said. Except also I care about the vows, but you guys don’t need to worry about that.

I have plans .” He grins, eyes going just the wrong side of manic.

“Oh! And I’d like to have lots of do-it-yourself projects incorporated into the wedding.

Personal touches. We did so many crafts for the Valentine countdown – bless that countdown for bringing my love to her senses – and I’d like to honor that time in our lives.

” His grin goes goofy. “Plus, I love a good arts and crafts time.”

Uh.

I glance at Ruby, who apparently has zero input on arts and crafts time, despite the downturn of her lips.

Seriously, the character growth on that girl.

Six months ago she would’ve been whacking him with her cane and calling him an idiot for even suggesting a DIY heavy wedding.

But, then, six months ago she was whacking him with her cane and calling him an idiot for breathing , basically.

And now look at her, shrugging as the silence stretches taut following Will’s request and saying things like, “I’ll handle the DJ.

Will will handle the arts and crafts. Problem solved, wedding planned. ”

Somewhat aghast, torn between pride at my friend’s personal development and horror at the idea of classy, fancy, rich Ruby and Will having a DIY wedding, I look around for some form of support.

I find it, to my great horror, in the man sitting beside me.

Roman’s eyes lock on mine, green to blue, and we have a never-before-experienced moment of solidarity as we think in tandem: WTF?

“Liam wanted to be involved in the planning also,” Will comments around another bite of scone, drawing our attention.

“I’ll put him in charge of planning the projects.

I don’t want to plan, obviously, which is why we’ve asked you, but I also don’t want you being overworked on this.

You can just tell him what areas are ripe for an artsy touch, and he can arrange supplies and project plans.

” He hums thoughtfully, eyes roaming the ceiling as he pushes another half a scone in his mouth.

Crumbs fly as he says, “Maybe Brian can help him. He’s great at this kind of stuff. ”

I inhale, exhale, and count to ten.

Roman, having done zero chill out exercises, speaks before I reach the end of mine. “Again, September doesn’t exactly give us a lot of time to plan this. Have you guys considered pushing it? A little? Maybe a winter wedding?”

Ruby sniffs. “I’m not getting married at a time that’s riskiest for me for falls. That’s just asking for disaster.”

“Not to mention,” Will mentions. “ Technically , we’re already married. This is just the ceremony and the reception and the ‘Hey, everyone on planet Earth, she really did say yes!’, and I’d like that to happen as soon as possible and also at a time when traveling doesn’t suck for people coming in.”

Right. That part. The technically they’re already married part.

Months ago, Will somehow managed to con or coerce Ruby into legally marrying him.

I didn’t ever get the details, but I did gather there was kissing involved, and perhaps a bit of bribery.

Within twenty-four hours of this agreement, the four of us – Ruby, Will, Roman, and me – were at a courthouse and signing papers to bind them forever to each other.

It was the least romantic wedding I’ve ever been to, even if Will did shed several tears as they kissed amongst the clerks and other soon-to-be- wedded couples.

Despite not being the most romantic thing in the world, the wedding was life changing. Ruby and Will’s, of course, but also mine .

Marriage meant Ruby moving out of Roman’s house, which meant Roman losing the rent money he was getting from her, which happened to coincide with my brother, Sol, abandoning me to move to freaking West Virginia to work at an offshoot branch of Sweet & Salty – despite the fact that we had a perfect set up working together at Sweet & Salty Downtown, living in an apartment together across the street and getting to see each other every day.

All of this culminating in Roman needing a housemate and me being unable to afford Sol and my apartment on my own and doubly unable to manage the emotions being there or at the café where we worked together brought up in me.

The solution, sadly, was obvious. To Ruby, anyway.

It took her a month to convince her brother and me to swallow our pride, stop being stubborn morons, and have me take over Ruby’s old room.

I made the move, reluctantly, and transferred to Sweet & Salty Uptown – the location where Roman works – so that we could carpool and I wouldn’t have to think about Sol or how much I miss him every time I walked into work.

Jokes on me, I think about it anyway, because, hello dummy, the different Sweet & Salty locations look exactly the same .

The sole difference is that Uptown has a bigger kitchen space, since it’s where Roman develops all of the recipes for the menu.

Whenever I need a break from the Sol sadness, I’ll sneak back there under the guise of needing some water.

It means seeing Roman, but sometimes that’s just the distraction I need.

Hard to cry over missing my brother when I’m busy arguing over half-prepped café food with a big, giant jerk.

“I get not wanting the wedding to be in winter,” the big, giant jerk says, a tinge of exasperation covering his words. “Perhaps spring?”