“Oh, uh — I don’t know,” Carver said. He felt like he had a head injury or something. “Yours?”
“Good,” she sighed. “Busy.”
Nora, from the other side of Doug, leaned forward and handed Josie a bobby pin. Josie took it and whispered a thank you, then turned back around and started doctoring a loose lock of hair.
“Doug,” Lillian whispered across Carver, “can I get a piece of gum?”
Doug broke one out and handed it to her.
“Any updates from Marcus?” Carver said, watching her daintily place the gum in her mouth and chew it with her back molars.
Lillian shook her head, and he got hit with the sharp floral scent of Dior’s Holy Peony, which she used as a hair mist. “He’s golfing with Phoebe and Vikram right now, and they’rediscussing it. After that he’ll get the rest of the committee on a call so they can reach a final decision.”
“Jesus.” Carver’s leg started to bounce. “Any chance they want to drag this out to Sunday, maybe? It’s not like we’re in any kind of a hurry here.”
“I’m handling this,” Lillian whispered. “So chill out.”
“I’m chill.”
“They’ll approve it, it’s a solid opportunity and the IRR would still be within the mandate. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried if we go back for more equity, we’ll be seen as caving to DB and that we’ll be burning more dry powder than we wanted to.”
“If that’s what it takes to resolve the situation, let’s just get it the fuck done.”
Doug cleared his throat and leaned over. “Hey, guys?” he said in a friendly whisper. “We’re at a wedding.”
“Sorry,” Carver said, his cheeks warming.
“It’s okay, I’ve been there.” His dad patted him on the arm. “Just saying.”
Lillian went quiet too, somehow managing to chew her gum in complete silence. Carver kept shifting in his seat, trying to ignore the soreness inside him. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was being so exacerbated by this hard chair that the sensation — and its associated memories from the previous night — were ballooning in scale inside his mind. He couldn’t bear to look across the room at Scott, but he also couldn’t escape the pretty music Scott was producing. He felt suddenly claustrophobic. He leaned on his willpower, along with the 1.5 milligrams of Xanax in his system, to stop him from leaping to his feet and toppling his wife and father in a mad dash for the exit.
The ceremony started the exact minute it was scheduled to. Staff shut the doors to the reception hall and announced that no one would be allowed in or out, then Scott and his bassistbegan to play an instrumental rendition of Can’t Help Falling In Love. Pairs of bridesmaids glided down the aisle in matching garnet dresses, beaming. In front of Carver, his aunt Josie was already dabbing her eyes with a tissue. He impulsively reached up to squeeze her shoulder, and she turned to give him a grateful smile.
Carver finally looked back over at Scott and saw he was switching to an acoustic guitar and amp. He lifted the guitar and began to play solo; it took Carver a moment to recognize Pachelbel’s Canon. It had a spare, intimate quality on guitar.
Scott looked up unexpectedly and locked eyes with Carver, who went cold in his stomach. Scott held his gaze for a moment, his face remaining still as his fingers moved, and then he looked down again.
Suddenly everyone was turning in their seats and going, “Oh,” in reverent and loving tones. Carver turned too and saw Sana walking up the aisle on the arm of her mother Maryam, looking beautiful in a veil and ivory slip dress. Delicate henna wove around her hands and wrists, and she was smiling irrepressibly, her dark eyes shining with tears. Though Carver had only met her yesterday, he was getting choked up looking at her.
Maryam deposited her daughter at the altar, squeezing her hands and kissing them. A moment later everyone turned and made soft noises again, and then Letty entered Carver’s field of vision, looking more elegant and feminine than he’d ever seen her. But there was still a streak of the tomboy in her face. She was grinning as if about to embark on the most thrilling challenge of her life. Both of her parents were walking her down the aisle, and she was nearly tugging them along, rushing toward the altar.
The lump in Carver’s throat thickened, and his eyes started to prickle with tears. This was actually fucking crazy. He’d nevercried at a wedding before — not Chip’s, not his own. He cleared his throat, but that only made the situation worse. He wondered how to ask Josie for a tissue without being heard by Lillian or Doug.
Their officiant was a friend, not a professional, who delivered her unpolished remarks in a nervous rush that Carver wasn’t very moved by, giving him the chance to calm down. But then Letty and Sana began exchanging their vows, with such raw depth of feeling in their voices and on their faces that he was moved fully to tears. They streamed down his face, big and wet and sloppy. All he could do was freeze and hope no one was looking at him.
He tried to breathe through his mouth so he didn’t sniffle, staring down at his lap, his vision obscured and his face hot. He felt even more claustrophobic now. His father glanced at him, and Carver could tell he had noticed, could feel the dark shame of it. A moment later, Doug bumped Carver’s shoulder with his and said almost inaudibly, “Get ahold of yourself.”
“Sorry,” Carver hiccuped.
Lillian glanced over. “Since when do you cry at weddings?” she whispered, digging in her clutch and handing him her handkerchief. He didn’t know. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried.
The brides were exchanging rings now. Carver mopped his face and drew a shaky breath. Josie turned and smiled at him; she was crying too, although she looked much happier than he felt.
It all went in a blur from there — the brides kissed to wild applause, then exited with wild smiles, holding their clasped right hands in the air like they had each won a wrestling competition. Everyone stood, still applauding, while Scott and company played them off with a Stevie Wonder song that Carver couldn’t remember the name of.
“That was my first gay wedding,” Doug said over the noise.
“What’d you think?” Lillian said.
