Read Online The Wedding Beat by Devan Sipher - Free Book Online

looked at the menu?” I asked.
    “I was too busy admiring the view,” she said. I stiffened, and not in a good way. But then I humbly noticed she was looking out a plastic window embedded in the tent wall beside us. The lights of Midtown twinkled beneath a clear sky.
    “This is a perfect romantic spot,” she said. It was. We both gazed out the window that gently billowed in the night breeze, while the candles flickered and nearby couples caressed. The moment was everything I had imagined. Except I was with the wrong Melinda.

Chapter Eight
Arrested Development
    “I f it was up to me, we would elope,” said Amy Wu the next morning, sucking down her second grande latte at a Starbucks in Union Square.
    She wasn’t the only one who needed perking up.
    I hadn’t slept well, having spent most of the night mourning the loss of a relationship I never had. The last thing I wanted was to hear someone talk about finding her soul mate, and I hoped Amy wouldn’t use the words “soul mate.” I had also hoped she would be an easy interview, but the pixieish brunette was less enthusiastic about our meeting than I had expected. A fashion editor at
Elle
magazine, she was used to staying behind the scenes and was becoming increasingly agitated being the focus of attention.
    “I spent an hour on the phone yesterday with a vendor for color-coordinated confetti,” said the twenty-eight-year-old as she tugged at the hem of her body-hugging gray sweater. “Six months ago I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I still don’tknow why I need it. Or why I need an article in The Paper. No offense, but I’m not a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize.”
    “If you were, I would have paid for your coffee,” I said, trying to calm the caffeinated bride-to-be.
    A nervous smile played across her angular face as she licked foam from the edge of her cup. She was rather adorable, I noted with a modicum of despair. Somewhere in the city, Melinda might also be enjoying a morning coffee. I banished the thought and concentrated on my near-empty notepad while nursing my Caramel Macchiato.
    “Most people who want to elope don’t invite two hundred people to the Rainbow Room,” I said, changing tacks.
    “Mike wanted a big wedding,” she said. “Sometimes, I swear—he’s such a girl. Don’t quote that. Mike will cry. I mean, freak. He’ll freak out. In a manly way.”
    Mike Russo was a professional dating coach who had appeared on
Oprah
. Possibly in need of his own services, he had taken a month to get a first date with Amy. The question was why. The answer was not forthcoming.
    “You must get tired asking people how they met,” she said, deflecting my query. “Doesn’t every bride’s story start to sound the same?”
    I was tempted to say yes. However, I needed to salvage the interview. “I don’t write about
every
bride,” I said, “but I do want to write about an Ohio native climbing the ladder at
Elle
who gets her future husband arrested for asking her out.”
    “You’re not going to include that, are you?” she asked, her brown eyes widening.
    Of course I was including it. It was how I had pitched the piece to Renée. “Is it not true?” I said, hoping I could coax her into revealing more.
    “I didn’t get him arrested,” was all she said.
    “That’snot what
he
said.” Sometimes my job was a lot like playing Bob Eubanks on
The
Newlywed Game
.
    “I didn’t know I was marrying Chatty Cathy,” she said. “Did he also tell you about harassing me on the subway?” All I recalled was they had met on a crowded R train after work. He stood up to give her his seat, and there was a spark. According to him, it was mutual.
    “I thought he was cute,” she admitted, blushing. “Handsome. Say
very
handsome.”
    A six-foot former competitive skier, Mike’s attractiveness was not in doubt, but she seemed protective of him. I imagined what it would feel like to have someone be that way about me.
    “When I got up at my stop,