IT TAKES A VILLAGE TO THROW A
FABULOUS ENGAGEMENT PARTY
Marriage, Cady had been told, was about compromise. So she agreed to not have their engagement party site tented. The month of May had been exceedingly warm and dry, apparently creating a false sense of security among some as their June date approached.
“My parents and I hate tents,” Jackson said when she had brought it up. “Hate.”
“Well, I hate rain and the forecast is very iffy,” she argued. It was the deadline for reserving a tent, their party just two days away.
“My parents won’t pay for it.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“I’m not going if there’s a tent.”
Birdie had helped her book the sprawling grounds outside the Smithsonian Castle but had been unable to secure the inside space too—it was June, after all, everyone was having parties, and it had already been booked—so Cady had secretly reserved a small tent for over the adjacent Moonstone Garden. The greater expanse of the party at the picturesque, impeccably manicured Haupt Garden would be left open to any and all elements. She would simply hope for the best. Lately, everything had become a battle and she didn’t understand why, but it was too exhausting to keep fighting over.
No matter, Cady was in good spirits with her pre-party playlist blasting on repeat (much of it Rocky Haze since her music wouldn’t be allowed at the party itself, as per Jackson’s instructions for the DJ) when the glam squad arrived at Cady’s apartment right on time, a gift Birdie had insisted upon. Cady had a feeling it all had to do with helping Birdie book Preamble for that Arnold fund-raiser, which had not only brought in millions but had gotten attention for attracting so many young, new voters.
At any rate, by six, Cady pulled up to the castle, hair and makeup perfect and cut-out black Halston cocktail dress looking as though it were made for her. (Birdie had vetoed her first choice: “Look like you’re the star of this show for God’s sake!”) Her parents had flown in earlier in the day with her brother, Sam, sister-in-law, and six-year-old nephew, Zack, the ring-bearer-to-be, supposing they ever got around to setting a wedding date.
The castle’s event planner met her as soon as she flung the car door open, and walked her through everything: the DJ setting up his turntables and iPod dock, lighting technicians lining the walkways and illuminating the garden, furniture rental team creating comfy clusters of white loungey sofas and chairs and dotting the space with sleek high-top tables, florist installing tropical blooms of vibrant pink and green along every surface, lit topiaries sparkling here and there. All of her vendors present and accounted for. All except for one. “We’re just waiting on the caterer,” the woman said, trying not to sound concerned.
Though it was a Saturday, Jackson had gone into the office, toting his suit in a garment bag, and planned to meet her at the garden at partytime.
Cady paced, heels clicking against the stone walkway, phoning him. Above, gray clouds hung heavy, ominous.
“Am I supposed to be there already?” he launched in as soon as he picked up.
“No, it starts at seven but—”
“Then what’s—”
“I need to call the caterer. They’re not here yet. I need your contact, do you have a—”
“Fuck.”
Her stomach dropped. He didn’t need to say another word. “Are you serious right now?”
“I never finished booking it. I started, but there was paperwork I meant to do and then call back and…” he admitted.
“Ohhhhmagod.” Suddenly it felt very hot outside, so much hotter than she’d realized. She pushed through the castle doors, not caring that another event, thrown by people clearly much more organized than herself, was being set up. She took a breath. “Not to get all shrill-harpy about this, but we’ve got 150 people on the way and no food. No drinks. No food or drinks.” She couldn’t snuff the panic out of her voice.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind. What do you want me to do about this?” He stopped, sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant, what can I do about this? There’s a snack bar at the castle right?”
She looked over at it now. “They sell chips and ice cream, Jackson. This isn’t, like, a kid’s birthday party.” She was trying to think. She could call Birdie; Birdie had all the answers. But her gut told her not to return to that well too many times. Plus, Birdie was coming as a guest tonight, and Cady wished so deeply to have the woman in her new friend circle, not be one of many who probably tried to use Birdie all the time.
“I can… I don’t know…” Jackson said, unhelpful.
“Forget it, I’ll figure it out. See you at seven.” She hung up without saying goodbye, paced some more as she Googled and found the number she was looking for.
When the line picked up, it sounded busy and energetic in the background, the hum of a full house: music playing, glasses clinking, laughter and life, voices projecting to be heard.
“Wasn’t it you who once told me Washington runs on favors?” she said.
“Something like that.”
“I think I need to cash in.”
* * *
By 7:15 p.m., music pulsed in the garden, lights glowed, friends and family stood chatting in that controlled business-like way that people do when they haven’t yet had a drink and are anxious to avail themselves of the open bar they’ve been promised. Still, they greeted each other with hugs, told Cady how gorgeous she looked, asked for Jackson. Jeff and her friends from the show arrived together, then came some of Jackson’s officemates (apparently not working that day), then her old friends from home.
It had already been the longest fifteen minutes of her life when Zack, who loved trucks of all kinds, raced toward her. “I got to honk the horn!” he yelled, then proceeded to leap for joy into the fleur-de-lis-shaped hedges before being scooped up. He and Cady’s brother had been dispensed to keep lookout.
In the distance, parked outside the ornate Renwick Gates on Independence Avenue, a beacon: a food truck reading “PREAMBLE The start of great things…”
Parker strolled along the lit path, saluted to her, and she set off to meet him halfway. The wind picked up, billowing her satin dress, and in one fluid motion she swept her hair away from her face. She didn’t notice the darkening sky anymore.
“There’s the bride!” he shouted as they neared each other.
She rolled her eyes. “I have never been so excited to see anyone in my life. I need a drink.”
“You look really pretty,” he blurted out.
“Thanks,” she said, a little embarrassed, tucking her hair back behind her ears again.
“I mean, glad to be at your service, pal.” He punched her shoulder like she was in his weekend kickball league.
“Ow.” She laughed.
“I’ve got stuff to eat and a truck full of booze.” He turned around, pointing to nearly a dozen Preamble-T-shirted staffers climbing out of the truck and two burly guys lifting boxes of bottles from a van behind it. “Your pop-up dive bar has arrived.”
“It’s like a clown car, this is awesome,” she said, watching. “You’re my hero. How’d you round up everyone last minute?”
“Easy, we took our show on the road.”
“Hmm?”
“We closed for the night.” He shrugged, arms folded like it was no big deal, and looked away.
“Oh, no. Oh. That’s really…really nice. I promise we’ll cover it, charge us whatever. You’re saving my life.”
“Like we discussed, I owe you,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“I think we’re more than even.” She watched him a moment, touched by his kindness, distracted by the flecks of gold lighting his eyes.
“So let’s get this party started,” he said finally. “Where do you want me?”
“Right, sorry, anywhere,” she said, surveying the grounds. “But maybe we can get those guys liquored up first.” She pointed and leaned in to whisper, “Soon-to-be in-laws.”
“On it.” He grinned. “Now, go. Mingle. Greet your loyal subjects.” He shoved her. “Go!”
“Thank you,” she said, walking backward as he walked backward to his truck.
Go! he mouthed at her again.
She smiled and headed back to her guests.
* * *
Birdie arrived half an hour late, grabbed a tasty drink advertised as the signature cocktail by the underdressed catering staff (it tasted like a whisky sour), and made a lap. She had thawed the cold war just enough to call Buck and invite his voice-mailbox to the party. Technically speaking, his name was also on the invitation, so it was the right thing to do. He had declined, of course, also via voice mail.
It took her no time to size up that the groom-to-be was MIA. Leaning against a cocktail table in a prime spot nearest the grand castle, sipping her drink, she watched Cady navigate the crowd, making excuses with a smile, administering hugs and kisses. She looked fantastic, no doubt having accepted Birdie’s staff and advice. Birdie caught Cady’s eye as Cady politely wrapped up with a young couple and sashayed over in her strappy gold heels.
“You and your party are equally stunning.” Birdie greeted her with an air-kiss.
“Many thanks to you,” Cady said, bowing.
“Please, it takes a village to throw a fabulous engagement party,” she said. “And now what’s going on over here?” She pointed to the food truck in the distance.
“It’s the hottest new thing in event catering?” Cady said it as a question.
“Old glamour—” she gestured to their garden surroundings “—meets new convenience? I like how you do things.” Birdie nodded. “So, now where is—” she began, but a gaggle of girls descended, talking at Cady in high-pitched chirping squeals. She gave Birdie an apologetic look, as though embarrassed by the interruption, but Birdie waved her off. “We can talk later, you’re in demand, love,” she said.
* * *
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Reagan told Jay, scanning the crowded garden for a seat.
“Too bad, start talking.” Jay grabbed a cocktail from one of the Preamble waiters. “So, Grant?”
“No, ‘so, Grant,’ we were just chatting. I don’t care what Sophie said. I didn’t even see her there.”
“I’m appalled—”
“Jay—”
“No, appalled that you didn’t tell me this when it happened.”
“There is no happened. We were talking, that’s it. This is already more discussion than it deserves,” she said, putting hands on either side of her belly. “Earmuffs! La la la! I don’t want baby hearing any of this.”
“I mean who hits on a pregnant lady?”
“I know, right? And hey, I should be offended by that.” She pointed at him, then focused her attention away toward the nearest sofa. “Ugh, I’m going to glare at those people until they take pity on me and let me sit there.”
“But, then, you guys do have, like, history,” Jay mused, clearly not finished with this subject.
“Please, it was one date a million years ago. A few dates. Next topic. Moving on.”
“What was the problem again? He gave you a current events quiz?”
“Yes, and I mean, I passed, obviously, and actually I knew way more about Afghanistan than he did.”
“Not surprised.”
“But he was an egomaniac and completely obnoxious.”
“Of course.”
“Which is why he’s become so successful in cable news.”
“I forget, does Ted know about your little history?”
“Please stop with that word.”
“Does he?”
“I mean, sure, I think he’s sort of repressed knowledge of it at this point. It’s a small town, it happens. It wasn’t a big deal.” Baby kicked, as though trying to tell her, Shut up, Mom, and she listened.
“Well, I’ll say this. I’m not surprised because you’re totally rocking your maternity style,” he said. “So I get it, but still, you know.”
“I know,” she said, annoyed, her eyes zeroing in on a waitress across the garden. “Are those fries?”
“We’ll find some. But seriously, I have to live vicariously through someone’s flirtation. Sky has been away forever. I can’t take it anymore.”
“You just had a conjugal visit a couple weeks ago,” she said, relieved at the shift in conversation.
“So, I was thinking of surprising him in California.”
Reagan made a face.
“What? It’s romantic!” Jay argued.
“He’s gonna be working, I wouldn’t do it. I did that once years ago when Ted and I were actually spontaneous, impulsive, exciting people. Do you not remember me calling you in tears when I showed up in Austin and he sent me home on the next flight?”
“Maybe. But that was different.”
“It’s not. But it’s your funeral.”
“Can you at least do the math—like, literally—and tell me how much longer until Rocky is out of this?”
She sighed. “I’m not up on all the latest tallies, but basically Rocky has to win Cali to be in contention for the nomination.”
“That’s what Sky says. So if she pulls it off…”
“That’s, like, a super big if… Yes! Quick, come sit down!” They hustled over to the low-slung couch and plopped down, and she continued, “But then again no one’s got the amount they need to just secure it outright, and it could be a contested convention. But that’s extremely unlikely. Don’t tell Ted, but Thompson will probably take California.”
“My brain hurts.”
“Bottom line—I think Sky’s coming home.”
“Is it bad that that makes me happy?”
“Aww, no, love.” Birdie alighted on the sofa beside Jay, pecking him on the cheek.
“Birdie Brandywine!”
Jay always acted as though Birdie was the sun shining on him, Reagan couldn’t help but notice.
“It’s far worse to not want them home.” Birdie laughed. “Am I right?” She leaned over and kissed Reagan’s cheek. “You look divine, love. There are people here, not presently growing tiny humans, who don’t look even half as good as you.”
“Thank you?” Reagan said. “And you’re gorgeous as ever.”
“Have you seen our hosts yet?” Birdie asked.
“Cady, looks like she needs saving,” Jay said, nodding in Cady’s direction.
On the other side of the garden, Cady exerted considerable effort to appear interested in the group of girls surrounding her.
“And Jackson?” Birdie asked.
“We’re just hoping he actually, you know, shows up to his engagement party,” Jay explained.
“The super weird thing,” Reagan said, pointing in the distance, “is that Thompson is here.”
“NO!” Jay said.
Reagan gestured toward the grand Renwick Gates, where Carter Thompson strode in hand in hand with that bombshell national news anchor everyone was calling the next Diane Sawyer.
* * *
The beauty of being the guest of honor at a party of this size—or one-half of the guests of honor—was that you didn’t have to spend too much time talking to anyone. You were expected to float and flutter through the masses, spending minutes of quality time, but zero quantity time. “Exuberant, engaged efficiency,” Birdie had called her strategy for circulation, during their interview before her Iowa party.
For some reason Cady found herself needing an escape from her old friends. They had come all the way from Manhattan and Johnstown and Princeton and were so excited and sincerely happy for her. They asked all sorts of questions about the wedding, for which she had not a single answer because she hadn’t done any planning. They asked about Jackson and didn’t seem to understand why he wasn’t there yet. She wished at least one of them could have bothered to ask her about work, which actually had been going well. But none even knew the name of her show. She feared they had somehow outgrown each other, fallen out of sync, now that they didn’t share a city or workplace or timeline for personal milestones. So when Carter arrived and the party took collective notice, all eyes glancing in his direction like a wave sweeping through, she was grateful.
“Jackson’s boss, I’d better say hi,” she said, sneaking away at last.
* * *
At nearly nine o’clock, a suit-clad Jackson finally materialized, practically running from his cab to plant a kiss on the top of Cady’s head: “Sorrysorrysorry.” His eyes sparkled, in that way that told her it was going to be okay, that he had brought his best self to this party.
She had been talking with Birdie. “Ms. Brandywine, I have heard so much about you from Cady and am so glad to meet you at last,” he said, reverential, shaking her hand with both of his.
Birdie had one eyebrow cocked, as though still reserving judgment.
He went on. “I understand we have you to thank for finding a home for our party tonight. I’m so grateful. Cady might have mentioned I haven’t been the most helpful of grooms.” He gave Cady a bashful, apologetic look that she couldn’t not accept. “And I’m just lucky that she’s far more on top of things than I am and that she’s made such true, caring friends here.”
“Anything for darling Cady,” Birdie said, more warmly now.
Jackson took Cady’s hand and they made the rounds together—greeting her family first with hugs and smiles, friends with handshake-hugs and compliments, kisses on the cheek and sweet inquiries about children. He was on tonight. And when he was on, everyone around him was powerless against it. This was what she had first fallen in love with, the Jackson that could sweep you up and make you feel like you were taking flight, touching the stars.
He pulled away only when he spotted Parker, replenishing supplies at the bar they’d set up.
“The man of the hour,” Parker greeted him as they walked over.
“No, man, that would be you,” Jackson said, shaking his hand and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Owe you, thanks for this.”
“Anytime, not a problem, glad to do it,” Parker said, nodding as he returned to the food truck. “Enjoy the party!”
* * *
At a quarter after nine, they were cutting the cake, both hands together on the knife, when she felt the first cool drop fall from the sky onto her bare shoulder. She ignored it, too happily distracted by how well the evening had recovered from such a rocky start.
After, as Jackson stood encircled by practically his entire office, an exhausted Cady stacked pieces of cake onto a Preamble tray and scurried to the food truck. Parker and two of his staffers were inside, flipping sliders and frying sweet potato slivers.
She knocked on the side of the truck and he turned around.
“What have we here?” he said, adjusting his baseball cap.
“The least we can do is provide you with a sugar rush to thank you for tonight,” she said, holding out the tray.
“We should be professional and politely decline since we’re working and all, but forget it, hand ’em over,” Parker said, smiling. He gave the guys their slices, keeping one for himself, and leaned out the window. “And I was just saying, I should thank you for getting me over this way. I don’t get here often enough. I used to go to the Air and Space Museum, like, monthly when I was on the Hill.”
“I still haven’t been,” she said, embarrassed.
“You gotta go, if nothing else then for the gift shop,” he said, between bites. “My complicated relationship with Astronaut Ice Cream got me into the restaurant business.”
She laughed. “Seriously?”
“It’s pretty good, but I felt like it should taste a little better than that. I wanted to come up with something besides that chalky stuff.”
“How’s that going?” she teased.
Thunder sounded in the distance.
“Turns out, not well.” He laughed. “But you know, the way the space program is, I suspended that project for the time being.”
“It’s NASA’s loss.”
“Thank you, appreciate that,” he said. “Now go, your people need you,” he ordered. “You’ve only got till ten.”
She took a few steps back toward the party. “Thanks again. For everything tonight, Parker,” she said, and the skies opened up, sheets of rain cascading, thunder roaring. She galloped off, yelping, turning back only a moment to shout, “Is this kind of the worst night ever?” Laughing as her hair, dress, skin, instantly became soaked and the sweet rain beat down harder.
* * *
When she and Jackson finally got home that night, having left their parents drenched at the Mayflower Hotel with hugs and the promise of indoor brunch plans the next day, they toweled off and changed out of their wet clothes. The rain, still not letting up, crashing against their windows.
“That tent was helpful,” Jackson admitted as he crawled into bed.
Indeed, the partygoers had crowded under it, finishing their drinks and remaining moderately festive while waiting for cabs to arrive.
She hung their dripping clothes in the shower. “If I don’t get charged for ruining this dress, it’ll be a miracle,” she said, mostly to herself. She pulled some loose change from his pants pockets along with a wet glob of pulpy business cards fused together. A Willa from the Capitol Report newspaper. A John from the Department of Energy.
“Hey, wait, what?” she heard him say as he appeared in the bathroom doorway holding an expertly wrapped box. She forgot she had tucked that into their bed.
“An engagement gift,” she said.
His hand flew to his head, a modified face-palm, sheepish. “I left yours at the office.”
She shrugged and urged him to open the box. “Go on.”
It was a monogrammed flask.
“Because you’ve been working so hard,” she added. “Keep it at work. It’s like I’m buying you a drink even if I’m not there.”
“Thanks, I love it,” he said, kissing her. “I don’t actually have anything—”
She stopped him. “You don’t need to.” And surprisingly, she meant it. Nothing could upset her tonight. The party had been salvaged; she reveled in the sweet relief of having pulled this off, of having averted disaster. And Jackson had been so unexpectedly “on,” charming their guests and, most importantly, her new friends. Tonight it seemed they were a true team again.