I’m about to say,Yes! It’s way too much! Please leave immediately!,but we’re interrupted by Ron strolling up hand in hand with Mom.
“How’s our all-time favorite band feeling?” Ron asks.
My internal organs panic and try to run but instead bump into each other, tangling themselves into impossible knots.
“Oh, hey there, Danny!” Ron smiles and extends a hand toward Dad. “Glad you made it, buddy.”
“Thanks, Ron,” Dad says, looking both sheepish and grateful. “Big congrats to you! And to you, Laurel. Exciting day. Really appreciate you welcoming me.”
I look to Mom, ready for some shit to go down. But to my astonishment, she’s not in cold, bristly mode. In fact, she seemscompletely unfazed. Maybe evengladto see my dad, which is something I don’t think I’ve seen since before the divorce.
“Hey, Danny,” she says as she leans in to give Dad a hug. “You’re not going to believe how mind-blowing Maggie and her band are.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s also a little thrown by Mom’s genuine ease in his company. “I can’t wait. Heard Vivvy led a beautiful ceremony too.”
“Incredible,” Mom says.
“Beyond,” Ron agrees.
“You talking about me?” Vivian says, putting an arm around Dad’s shoulders.
“Hey, kiddo, way to kill it,” Dad says, giving her a hug.
Everyone’s nodding and smiling at each other—it’s a little uncomfortable but mostly a warm continuation of the glowing vibes that have surrounded the entire wedding so far. Mom wasn’t kidding in her vows; Ron really has helped her move forward.
Which means I’m the only one who actually has a problem with Dad being here.
Guess I should get over that.
“Five minutes till go time, Infants!” Misty says, appearing from nowhere, voice booming like she’s our coach.
“Oh god,” I say.
“All right, gang,” Ron says with a couple of hand claps. “Let’s give this band a little time to get in the right head space for the performance of a lifetime. All of us stans absolutely cannot wait.”
Mom and Dad separately wish us broken legs before she drifts away with Ron and he with Vivian—who gives me one more confidence-transmitting nod, a beacon of calm and maturity asalways—and the three of us are left on our own.
“Time to kill,” Shana says, hand on my back. “You okay?”
“I am,” I say. “Everything’s great. Is there any of that drink left?”
“Yeah.” Shana puts the glass in my hand.
I take a deep, disgusting, delicious swig.
“We really don’t have to do that new song,” Ember says, tapping their drumsticks together. “If it feels weird, I mean.”
“Yeah, screw it,” Shana says. “We’ll explode brains even without that song.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, “but we should probably—”
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says behind me as a hand touches my lower back. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d absolutely love to get your autograph.”
It’s Carter, crouched behind me in a full tuxedo.
“Oh Jesus no,” I say.
Carter
