“What thefuckhas gotten into you?”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Chip, who leaned on the backs of their chairs with a genial, “Hey,” then seemed to belatedly realize they were arguing. He grimaced as if to sayoops, then carried on: “Mom wants to make sure all of us go up and congratulate the brides. She says if it goes past ten o’clock and we haven’t yet, we’re officially rude.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to be rude,” Carver said, finishing his drink and getting to his feet. He offered Lillian his hand. “Let’s go do our duty, lovely wife. Let’s be polite.”
Lillian took his hand and rose to her feet, forming a terrible smile that didn’t even reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.
Chip looked between them with a disturbed expression. “Uh, great,” he said, and walked away.
Letty and Sana were in high spirits, seated in the middle of the wedding party’s long and flower-laden table which looked like it came straight from one of the Godfather movies, giggling and obviously tipsy. They greeted Carver and Lillian with excitement as they walked up, although Carver saw something in Letty’s face as she looked at him — some nervous recognition that he didn’t like.
“Beautiful wedding,” Lillian said. She was once again composed, the picture of serenity.
Carver loathed the sight. He was jealous of her and he knew it; he had felt this way many times before, but it had never been so potent. There was an awkward physical gap between them, and friction filled it.
“Thank you,” Sana gushed. “We’re so glad you guys could make it. It was so nice to meet you both.”
“Of course,” Lillian said. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”
Sana began bending Lillian’s ear on the topic of her enjoyment. Carver continued watching Letty, who kept glancing between him and his wife, bringing her thumbnail to her mouth seemingly without realizing.
“Letty,” Carver said, in a falsely chipper undertone, and she looked him in the eye. “Do you know something?” he said between his teeth, low enough for only them to hear.
Letty shrugged as if caught and beckoned him close. He leaned in, bending over an arrangement of white gerpom daisies and green hanging amaranthus. She whispered in his ear, “If you’re about to lose it, I get it, but please just not here.”
Carver was simultaneously comforted and offended. He stiffened, then whispered back, “Don’t worry about that. Enjoy your night. It was a beautiful wedding, congratulations.”
Letty patted him on the back, and he straightened up. Then Lillian all but elbowed him aside so she could hug Letty, too, and he walked away.
He passed the dance floor with the vague idea of going out to the balcony to bum a cigarette off someone, but he didn’t get very far before running into his father, who was sitting at a mostly-deserted table drinking a glass of scotch. Doug spotted Carver and lifted his hand to beckon him, at which point Carver’s gaze slid over to the guy sitting next to him: Silver Fox.
His heart dropped. Silver Fox looked back at him, and his face froze in clear horror. Carver walked over to them, feeling like he was in a dream.
“Hey,” Doug said, reaching up to pat Carver on the arm when he got close. It was clear he’d had a few drinks — he was rarely physically affectionate with either of his sons. His casual touches went to Nora and Conway. “Carver, this is my buddy Pete McHugh. Pete, this is my younger son.”
“This is Pete?” Carver said, glancing at the Silver Fox. “From Morgan Stanley?”
Pete gave him a tight smile. “Yep.”
“Hey, man, nice to meet you,” Carver said, extending his hand to Pete, who gave him a limp handshake. Now that his initial shock had passed, he was amused by the way Pete was squirming.
“You too,” Pete said, without eye contact. “Carter?”
“Carver. Howarethings at Morgan Stanley? I’m hearing you guys are about to have layoffs.”
“Uh… no, I’m not hearing anything about that.”
“Really?” Carver said. “Maybe you should put your ear to the ground, make sure your ass is covered.”
“Carver,” Doug reproached.
“Sorry. Make sure yourbuttis covered.”
Doug shook his head. Pete inhaled and said, “I’m guessing everything’s going well for you at… where are you?”
“Blackbrick. Yeah, we’re solid.”
“I bet,” Pete said, his tone almost accusatory.
