"Put the centerpieces over there," she says hurriedly. "It's clearly not going to rain, and I want to do the reception outdoors."
They nod, rushing to fulfill her requests. And then she realizes -
"No!" she barks frantically, stopping them in their tracks. "Those flowers don't match the tablecloth! Put them by the door."
Another nod of acquiescence.
"We should've just eloped," she mutters to herself, oblivious to the staff rolling their eyes at her.
She checks her watch, blowing her hair out of her eyes as she does so. Her father and Vaughn (Michael, Sydney, call your husband Michael) have been gone for almost two hours. The ceremony is in five.
She sighs, wondering if she should go after them. She knows Michael was merely trying to spare her feelings, to not stain her happiness today with such a sad way to begin the morning. She isn't sure whether she should be touched at his concern or irritated he thinks he can be deceptive when the wrinkles on his forehead give him away easily.
Idiot. Good thing he's cute.
So she had asked her father to go after him, subtly of course. They should bond, after all. And given their history, it probably wasn't wise for her foolish beloved to be alone and unaccounted for on such an important day.
Besides which, Jack had needed air. If he yelled at the wedding planner one more time, she had every intention of snatching Vaughn (Michael) and marrying in Vegas.
She checks her watch again, with all the frenzy of a bride-to-be counting down the hours and knowing there isn't enough time for anything. If they're not back in an hour, she'll go after them. And maybe even leave her gun at home when she does so. Probably not.
She stops short. Five hours. The ceremony is in five hours.
"Mom!" she explodes, sprinting desperately for the house. "Mom, my hair!"
She stares out the window, her steady gaze uninterrupted even by blinks. And she loses herself in memories.
She should be happy, she knows. Ecstatic. Today is the day her precious mon petit fully enters independent adulthood, by wedding the woman he adores more than anything else on Earth.
Including hockey.
Amélie Vaughn allows herself a smile. Even a chuckle. She is happy. Ecstatic. But that doesn't stop the memories, or the bittersweet feeling she's being robbed of one of parenthood's greatest joys.
Watching her husband's reaction as their son weds his true love.
I miss you, William. You would have loved this.
And then suddenly, she can't stop the liquid pooling in her eyes. This is why she chose a taxi, rather than attempting the two-hour drive from her home to Los Angeles alone.
You would have been so proud of him!
The driver glances at her questioningly. He's no stranger to tears, of course. He once joked to friends that only a bartender and God hear more tales of woe than he does on a daily basis. But somehow, the too-bright blue eyes of the elegant woman in his backseat strike him differently.
"Hey - " he starts, somewhat awkwardly. "Hey ma'am, you all right? I've got Kleenex in the back there, but don't touch that. Lemme get you some from my private stash."
Without slowing down or taking his eyes off the road, he opens up his glovebox with his right hand, exposing a box wrapped protectively in a clear plastic bag. She laughs at that, a full genuine-dimpled grin appearing briefly.
"Thank you," she murmurs, and he relaxes even more as her soft accent floats through the car.
"Anytime," he replies, briefly returning her grin in the rearview mirror as he proffers the tissue over his shoulder. But the moment passes, and he sighs as she starts to lose herself again in the passing view.
And then both fall silent, though with a peacefulness not present before. Amélie absently caresses the tissue in her hand, easing to a light dose under the green-eyed security of her driver.
"I love her, Dad," Vaughn says quietly. "We tried to fight it for so long. Everything had to come before us. But that's over now. I wish you could've met her."
Despite his best efforts, a tear escapes his closed eyes.
"You know what's funny?" he says suddenly, wiping the tear away. "You wouldn't have liked her. And not just because of her mother and all that. She's too much like you."
He laughs to himself.
"She's got that determination to do good no matter the cost, and no matter whom she has to punch, just like you did in all your journal entries. Same loyalty, too. And not just to people she knows. To people she'll never meet, who will live a better life because of her successes."
He swallows hard. "I look at her and I see the man she thinks I am, the man I am only when she stands beside me. And Dad, I don't know if I should be scared or proud of that."