“I don’t workina kitchen, Mom.”
“You workarounda kitchen, which islikeworking in a kitchen, and I read online that nonslip shoes are important, and the ones I sent you had the best reviews online. Did you read the reviews when I sent you the link?”
“I honestly don’t remember,” I say. “But I probably won’t needthem anymore because I put in my two weeks’ notice and applied for the social media position CeeCee recommended me for at Doop.”
Mom practically vibrates with excitement the second I finish my sentence. “Oh, Nolan. That’s wonderful. Have you heard about the first interview? Benefits? Next steps?”
“Not yet. I think most of the company had their hands full with this.” I gesture at the grandeur around us.
Doop employees, all camouflaged in formal attire and artfully hidden headsets, are scurrying around like mice in Cinderella’s room, tidying, fixing, and making sure everything is perfect for what is meant to be the ultimate fairy-tale wedding of this century and the next.
The Flamhaff Hotel, a former factory turned boutique hotel and to-die-for wedding venue, is completely decked out for my sister’s big day. A wall of cascading flowers and feathers that reads #DoopThereItIs and #QuakerWedding, which is a hybrid of Qualley (James’s last name) and Baker (CeeCee’s and my last name)—slightly unfortunate because it looks as if this is a wedding for the guy on the oatmeal box—lays the backdrop for our photos.
Dad furrows his brow. “That’s the kind of job you want?”
Mom lightly smacks Dad in the stomach before I can answer. “Of course that’s the kind of job he wants, Carl. It’s full-time with insurance. We don’t have to worry about what he’ll do in a few years when he can’t be on our plan anymore.” I’m already dreading that day. The copay while on their insurance was already astronomical.
“Yes,” Dad says, clearly a bit miffed about the smacking, rubbing the spot with his right hand. “I’m only asking because I know how much the comedy club means to him.” Dad’s understanding eyes land on me. He’s never said it outright, but I’ve always sensed he was a quiet champion of my comedy dreams. He showed me my first stand-up special. Took me to my first comedy show. Like many men from his generation, he isn’t much of a talker, but weshared a language through laughs, the jokes we both found funny, that bonded us more than words ever could.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I don’t even have the job yet, so we’ll see what happens. Maybe it’ll be good for me. At the very least, it’ll inspire some new material.”Even if no one ever hears it, I think before shaking that thought away.
As if sensing my discomfort, Drew jumps in. “I think congratulations are in order, Mr. and Mrs. Baker. You must be overjoyed.” Drew gives good parent to the point of envy. Even in high school, he had a way of wooing everyone’s guardians with a boyish smile and an offer to help with the dishes.
Mom immediately bursts into happy tears, as if completely forgetting the previous conversation. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” Her eyes land on Drew. “And that my little boy brought you as his date. We always thought you two had a special bond. Nolan needs someone sturdy to lean on.”
“I’m not a bicycle, Mom. I don’t need a kickstand.” Even when the kickstand in question looks as fetching as Drew does in the same suit he wore to our high school graduation. He’s always been this tall and lanky and perfect, even if I didn’t see it back then.
“I know, I know. I just worry. We worry.” She says that like it’s breaking news, taking Dad’s arm and stepping in toward his side, using him as a human shield against the gusty springtime breeze so it doesn’t mess up her hair. “Thank you for taking care of our son,” she says to Drew.
“It’s my pleasure,” Drew responds, directing his sparkling smile at me.
That smile quiets my discomfort and makes my knees buckle in a good way.
“The Doop job will certainly quell some of that worry,” Mom adds. “Look around; they did all this for CeeCee. Imagine what they could do for you.”
I know what she’s insinuating. That someday, when the time is right, Drew and I will walk down the aisle together. I like the idea, but it’s a bit premature. We’ll see what happens tonight, after the ceremony and the drinks and the dancing, when I plan to come clean about the love I’ve tucked away for too long.
“I don’t think they’ll be doing something like this again. They clearly blew a big chunk of their yearly budget,” I say, tamping down the nervous excitement gurgling in my stomach.
Dad’s already off on another thought. “Once we’re done with these pictures, don’t let me forget to have one final man-to-man chat with John before the ceremony.”
“Carl, it’s James,” Mom says.
Dad reddens but holds his ground. “That’s what I said.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s fine.”
“I know our daughter’s fiancé’s name, Dana. It’s all over the place.”
“Well, then you slipped up. No harm, right?” Mom looks at me and Drew for backup.
“Right, it happens to all of us.” My offer is met with even more resistance, Dad’s face growing ruddier. He hates being pacified. I get that from him.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t happen to me.” He jabs his thumb into the center of his chest before stalking over to stand behind the photographer.
I don’t remember when the slipups started exactly, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was around the time CeeCee went off to college. I recall Dad setting the table for dinner and putting out a plate and utensils for CeeCee, even though she was away at Penn State.
He’d look at me when I reminded him, as if reappearing from a misty fog, and say, “Right. I knew that. Force of habit. You do something for eighteen years, and it sticks. It’ll unstick sooner or later.”
