When love calls

She groaned in frustration-and to be quiet honest, alot of pain-unable to believe her poor luck. It was difficult to wrap her head around the fact that this was actually happening to her. Never could she have thought it was possible. Feeling her emotions become even more tempestuous, she swallowed hard and shut her eyes tight, throwing her head backwards to push back the storm before it overwhelmed her. The hours spent in therapy must have meant something.

She couldn't let an issue like this ruin all the hard work she'd done this year to learn how to regulate her emotions better, not to mention all the significant progress she'd actually made so far. No, she wasn't a psycho on a short fuse who had to take anger management classes, so she wouldn't lose her mind. It was the complete opposite, actually. She'd been holding so much inand had become afraid that if she didn't learn how to let it all out in healthy, manageable bits, she'd someday explode. Yeah, being a wedding planner for the past eight years of one's life could do that to your mental health.

She shook her head as memories tried to drown her, intent on keeping them at bay. If anyone thought wedding planning was a glamorous job, then they certainly had never had a reason to deal with Lagos brides. Those women? They would drive even sweet Jesus crazy with how wild some of them got during the entire wedding preparation period. And one had to swallow and smile through it all because 'customer is king', right? Clara paused, stopping herself. Not that she would ever badmouth her clients, absolutely not. After all, she wholeheartedly lover her job. And though many of them could be safety pins knocked out of place inside her dress, she understood what the pressure of wanting the biggest day of one's life to be perfect, could feel like-or at the very least, she liked to believe she did. Because how could she possibly truly know? She'd never been married. Whilst she derived immense pleasure from witnessing the unfiltered happiness and fulfillment on her brides' face as they step into their wedding venues, and go on to enjoy their Dreams ceremonies, the quintessence of love was one that continued to elude her.

Another heavy sigh left her lips. Besides, there were severas excepcional brides who were cooperative and pleasant to work with. She even had a couple of favorites with who she'd stayed in touch, over the years. Her latest brides, Abisola, would have been top of the list as well-if she hadn't called clara earlier that morning to inform her that they'd decided to postpone a wedding barely two weeks to? Trust fund Kids with old money, that's who.

"Clara, hope you won't be mad at us?" Abisola's soft voice had pleaded. It was the kind you couldn't refuse. "We just figured that with Grandfather's health failing fast, it would be nice to have one last Christmas where it's just us, family, without the noise and funfair... You know, take a long moment to soaks it all in before we have to say our final goodbyes? We worry that the wedding activities would be too much hullabaloo, and we wouldn't be able to spend much time with him. It wouldn't be a trouble to move things around, would it? Oh, I know!" Excited clapping. "We could have a spring wedding instead! In Ibiza! I've always loved how beautiful it often is there, that time of the year!"

Of course, what could clara have said other than, "I'll make it happen."? A client who used the word hullabaloo so smoothly in everyday conversation was exactly the kind of client that had kept her in business, all these fine years since she said heartfelt farrwells to Sapphire Events, and tried to make a name for herself in the same industrial, as a hopeful twenty-six-year-old. Fifty-eight months down the line and she was well on her way to building her own dynasty, with a beautiful home, her dream car, two company sedans plus one really cozy staff bus, a glamorous office space, and a full team of brilliant employee to show for it. Life was good and it was thanks to clients like Bisola.

That aside, it wasn't like it was a sweet Bisola's fault. She was about to lose a grandparent. Clara understood that pain all too well. So yes, Clara had smiled, murmured reassurances, and sent her well-wished to the family. Then, she had spent the entire day making cells, muttering apologies, and promising compensations, as she tried frantically to reschedule change in plans would make a lot of brides happy, she was certainly, and the vendors wouldn't really run at a los. Nonetheless, that didn't mean it had been any less hellish.

And what about her?

Tears stung her eyes as she looked at her P.C screen. The pain in her heart curled into a tight first once more. How could there possibly be no single fight available to Enugu? Even Asaba! In fact, after much ado, she'd tried Port-Harcourt and Awka-Ibom, but her luck remained elusive.

"What!? I've never seen such a thing before," she wondered aloud. "Inside the Timbuku economy everyone keeps complaining of dollars and petrol? People are still flying, even with the exorbitant cost of fight ticket?"

Restless and unsatisfied with the way things were unfolding, she hunger her Mac to her chest and nestled into her confortable beige sectionañ sofa. Since the morning call, she had been in her downstairs living room. Once she found a confortable position, she crossed her legs around her thighs, and as soon as the heat of her MacBook warmed those same thighs, she tapped the refresh icon umpteenth time, hoping that something would change. Minutes passed and there were still no available flights. Her fraustration worsened.

"People have money in this country!" she ranted again. "We just lie all the time! Clara couldn't think of anything more upsetting. She'd finally gotten a work-free Christmas for the first time in five years, thanks to this postponement. Alas, at this rate, there was no way she would make it home to the family she'd missed so much!

Just then, her Iphone rang, granting her momentary reprieve from the 'a lot' she was going through. Even better than the name that flashes across her screen belonged to someone she would always be thrilled to hear from. Smiling, she picked up her phone and swiped left.