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“These are too open,” Gigi said, poking at a rose like it had personally offended her.
“They’re full bloom for the ceremony aesthetic—”
“I don’t want ‘aesthetic.’ I want perfection.”
Zoey stepped in before the florist could respond. “Maybe we can mix in tighter buds for contrast?” she suggested. “So it still looks full, but not overly mature.”
The florist’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Yes, that would actually balance it really nicely.”
Gigi considered it for half a second. “…fine. But I don’t want it looking messy.”
“Of course,” Zoey smiled.
By the third arrangement, a pattern had formed.
Gigi criticises.
Staff panic.
Zoey translates.
“Too much green.”
“She’s looking for something more floral-heavy.”
“This feels empty.”
“We can add more texture and layering.”
“I hate this ribbon.”
“We can swap it for silk instead of satin?”
Every time, the same result. Relief. Adjustment. Crisis averted.
At one point, one of the assistants approached Zoey directly. “Um—would you prefer the ivory or the soft blush wrap for the bridal bouquet?”
Zoey blinked. Not Gigi. Her. She glanced over. Gigi was across the room, scrolling through her phone, barely paying attention. Zoey hesitated for half a second… then answered. “Soft blush. It’ll tie everything together better.”
“Got it,” the assistant smiled, already moving.
The relief in the air was almost palpable, and Zoey could almost hear the florist's internal sigh of gratitude.
"So are you planning my wedding or your wedding?"
Zoey snapped her head toward Gigi, who stared at her, arms folded to her chest. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, the people here are coming to you instead of me, you know, THE BRIDE," she said with a shrug. "And it's already bad enough you hijacked my future in-laws."
Zoey's grip on her patience was starting to fray. "First of all, I didn't hijack anything. I'm just simply translating your wedding vision from bridezilla to—I dunno—the opposite of bridezilla."
"Bridezilla?" She repeated the word like it was a bad smell clinging to her silk dress. "I'm not bridezilla. I have standards."
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "Well, standards don't usually come with emotional and verbal abuse. Just saying."
Gigi rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. You're acting like I'm being a diva for wanting my wedding to be perfect."
"Yeah, but no one wants to be yelled at and bossed around every five minutes." Zoey pointed out.
“It’s not yelling," Gigi argued, her tone becoming forceful. "It’s correcting. There is a difference."
"There's correcting," Zoey said, gesturing vaguely to the terrified florist, "and then there's making a grown woman cry because she didn't know 'cerulean' wasn't the same shade as 'royal blue'."
Gigi waved a dismissive hand. "She seemed fine to me. Besides, if they can't handle a little pressure, they shouldn't be in the wedding business."
Gather yourself, Z. She ain't worth it. Gather yourself, Z. She ain't worth it. She repeated the mantra in her head.
"Anyways, I just confirmed dinner for you with your parents."
Zoey froze, slowly turning to face Gigi. "You what?"
"I confirmed dinner with your parents," Gigi added, like it was nothing, "this weekend. Seven o'clock."
Zoey’s jaw dropped.
"What the fuck, Gigi?!" Zoey exploded.
“Okay, first off, don’t yell at me," Gigi said, wrinkling her nose as if Zoey had just sworn in a cathedral. "Second, what's the big deal? It’s just dinner with your parents. And at least I told you ahead of time this.
"No, no, no," Zoey snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. "You don't get to make decisions for me without my say-so. That was out of line."
Gigi's expression shifted like a storm rolling in, suddenly cold, eyes glacial.
"Oh, so now you have a problem with me making plans? The same person who ran like a coward the moment she saw her parents walk into my future sister-in-law’s yard and has been micromanaging every single detail of MY wedding because apparently I'm incapable?" Her voice stayed low, controlled, but the venom was there. "Pick a lane, Zoey."
“Okay, first off, I am your maid of honour. I’m supposed to be helping you make sure nothing gets caught on fire. Secondly, you invited them to Tati's brunch without giving me a heads up. And you're doing it again by setting up dinner with them, and you expect me to be fine with that?"
Gigi threw her hands up in exasperation. "For fuck's sake, Zoey. Can you just let me do one nice thing without making it into a huge drama? I'm trying to help you mend fences with your parents." Her voice rose despite her earlier control.
"I never asked you to 'mend fences'!" Zoey shot back. “For crying out loud, I’m a grown woman who can make her own choice and can decide for herself.”
“Then act like it,” Gigi raised her voice, startling Zoey. “Your parents are family to me, and it’s already bad enough that you embarrassed me when you took off and ran like a dog with a tail between its legs.”
"I never—"
"I don't want to hear it," Gigi cut her off. "Be there. Bring your gym rat boyfriend for moral and emotional support if you're too much of a pussy to go by yourself.”