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Authors: This Lullaby (v5)
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started the “Prelude” for the ceremony two hours earlier, “please, enjoy yourselves!”
The string quartet began playing, my mother and Don kissed, and finally I let out a breath. The salads had been served, everyone seated. Cake: check. Table centerpieces: check. Bartender and liquor: check. This and a million other details completed meant that now, after six months, two days, and approximately four hours, I could relax. At least for a few minutes.
“Okay,” I said to Chloe, “ now I will have some champagne.”
“Finally!” she said, pushing a glass at me. She and Lissa were past tipsy, red faced and giggly enough to have attracted attention to our table more than once already. Jennifer Anne, who was sitting on my left with Chris, was drinking seltzer water and watching us, a pinched look on her face.
“Great job, Remy,” Chris said, spearing a tomato from his salad and stuffing it in his mouth. “You really made this a good day for Mom.”
“After this,” I told him, “she’s on her own. Next time, she can go to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator. I’m out.”
Jennifer Anne let her mouth drop open. “Next time?” she said, shocked. Then she looked over at my mother and Don, who were now at the head table, managing to eat and hold hands concurrently. “Remy, this is marriage. In front of God. It’s forever.”
Chris and I just looked at her. Across the table, Lissa burped.
“Oh my God,” she said as Chloe began snorting with laughter. “Excuse me.”
Jennifer Anne rolled her eyes, clearly offended at sharing a table with a bunch of peons and cynics. “Christopher,” she said, and she was the only one who ever called him that, “let’s get some air.”
“But I’m eating my salad,” Chris said. He had dressing on his chin.
Jennifer Anne just picked up her napkin, folding it delicately. She’d finished her salad already and left her utensils in that neat cross in the middle, signaling to the server that she was done.
“Sure,” Chris said, standing up. “Air. Let’s go.”
Once they were gone, Chloe hopped over two seats, with Lissa following along behind her clumsily. Jess was missing, having had to stay home with her little brother when he came down with a sudden case of strep throat. Quiet as she was, I always felt things were out of balance when she wasn’t around, as if Lissa and Chloe were too much for me to handle alone.
“Man,” Lissa said as Jennifer Anne led Chris out into the lobby, talking the whole way, “she hates us.”
“No,” I said, taking another gulp of my champagne, “she just hates me.”
“Oh, stop,” Chloe said, picking through her salad.
“Why would she hate you?” Lissa asked as she tipped up her glass again. Her lipstick was smudged, but in a cute way.
“Because she thinks I’m a bad person,” I told her. “I go against everything she believes in.”
“But that’s not true!” she said, offended. “You’re a wonderful person, Remy.”
Chloe snorted. “Now, let’s not get crazy.”
“She is!” Lissa said, loud enough so that a couple of people at the next table—Don’s dealership coworkers—glanced over at us.
“I’m not wonderful,” I said, squeezing Lissa’s arm. “But I am a bit better than I used to be.”
“That,” Chloe said, tossing her napkin down on her plate, “I can agree with. I mean, you don’t smoke anymore.”
“Right,” I agreed. “And I hardly get falling down drunk at all.”
Lissa nodded. “That’s true too.”
“And finally,” I said, finishing my drink, “I don’t sleep around nearly as much as I used to.”
“Here, here,” Chloe said, lifting up her glass so I could tap mine against it. “Watch out Stanford,” she said, smiling at me. “Remy’s practically a saint now.”
“St. Remy,” I said, trying it out. “I think I like that.”
The dinner was good. No one else seemed to think the chicken was a little rubbery besides me, but then I’d lobbied
The string quartet began playing, my mother and Don kissed, and finally I let out a breath. The salads had been served, everyone seated. Cake: check. Table centerpieces: check. Bartender and liquor: check. This and a million other details completed meant that now, after six months, two days, and approximately four hours, I could relax. At least for a few minutes.
“Okay,” I said to Chloe, “ now I will have some champagne.”
“Finally!” she said, pushing a glass at me. She and Lissa were past tipsy, red faced and giggly enough to have attracted attention to our table more than once already. Jennifer Anne, who was sitting on my left with Chris, was drinking seltzer water and watching us, a pinched look on her face.
“Great job, Remy,” Chris said, spearing a tomato from his salad and stuffing it in his mouth. “You really made this a good day for Mom.”
“After this,” I told him, “she’s on her own. Next time, she can go to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator. I’m out.”
Jennifer Anne let her mouth drop open. “Next time?” she said, shocked. Then she looked over at my mother and Don, who were now at the head table, managing to eat and hold hands concurrently. “Remy, this is marriage. In front of God. It’s forever.”
Chris and I just looked at her. Across the table, Lissa burped.
“Oh my God,” she said as Chloe began snorting with laughter. “Excuse me.”
Jennifer Anne rolled her eyes, clearly offended at sharing a table with a bunch of peons and cynics. “Christopher,” she said, and she was the only one who ever called him that, “let’s get some air.”
“But I’m eating my salad,” Chris said. He had dressing on his chin.
Jennifer Anne just picked up her napkin, folding it delicately. She’d finished her salad already and left her utensils in that neat cross in the middle, signaling to the server that she was done.
“Sure,” Chris said, standing up. “Air. Let’s go.”
Once they were gone, Chloe hopped over two seats, with Lissa following along behind her clumsily. Jess was missing, having had to stay home with her little brother when he came down with a sudden case of strep throat. Quiet as she was, I always felt things were out of balance when she wasn’t around, as if Lissa and Chloe were too much for me to handle alone.
“Man,” Lissa said as Jennifer Anne led Chris out into the lobby, talking the whole way, “she hates us.”
“No,” I said, taking another gulp of my champagne, “she just hates me.”
“Oh, stop,” Chloe said, picking through her salad.
“Why would she hate you?” Lissa asked as she tipped up her glass again. Her lipstick was smudged, but in a cute way.
“Because she thinks I’m a bad person,” I told her. “I go against everything she believes in.”
“But that’s not true!” she said, offended. “You’re a wonderful person, Remy.”
Chloe snorted. “Now, let’s not get crazy.”
“She is!” Lissa said, loud enough so that a couple of people at the next table—Don’s dealership coworkers—glanced over at us.
“I’m not wonderful,” I said, squeezing Lissa’s arm. “But I am a bit better than I used to be.”
“That,” Chloe said, tossing her napkin down on her plate, “I can agree with. I mean, you don’t smoke anymore.”
“Right,” I agreed. “And I hardly get falling down drunk at all.”
Lissa nodded. “That’s true too.”
“And finally,” I said, finishing my drink, “I don’t sleep around nearly as much as I used to.”
“Here, here,” Chloe said, lifting up her glass so I could tap mine against it. “Watch out Stanford,” she said, smiling at me. “Remy’s practically a saint now.”
“St. Remy,” I said, trying it out. “I think I like that.”
The dinner was good. No one else seemed to think the chicken was a little rubbery besides me, but then I’d lobbied
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