“How’s that sound, Aunt Lou?”
Louise nods, the glasses wobbling on her nose. “Whatever you want is fine, hun. I just want an extended family photo to print for the piano.”
“Done!” Pen claps her hands. “So productive! What’s next?”
“Um.” I squint back at the print out, turning the page in Louise’s hand. “Band.” I skim Miri’s bullets. “There’s two options. She’s recommended the one that has more classics. Fourteen pieces, including a sax, an R&B flair, and confirmed experience with ‘Hava Nagila’ and ‘Siman Tov’.”
Pen stares blankly.
“The songs they play during the hora?”
“Oh,” Pen huffs, “right, yeah.” She catches Louise’s eye. “The chair dance, Aunt Lou.”
Louise scoffs. “Penelope Leigh Ainswright, I grew up in Hyde Park. I know what a hora is.”
Pen clears her throat, red creeping up her neck. “And the second option?”
“The second one looks to have a pop specialty. They actually…” I lean forward over Louise’s shoulder. She has a distinct miasma of Chanel No. 5 surrounding her. “Started as a Taylor Swift cover band.”
“That’s perfect,” Pen gushes. “Joshie and I both love country and pop. In that order.” She winks.
“Hmm.” I read further. “It looks like Miri specified an issue that they’ve never done a Jewish wedding.”
Calliope interjects for the first time since the meeting started. “The other band sounds like they have music that appeals to all ages.”
“But this is about what Josh and I want.”
“Where was that when you were picking the photographer?” Calliope mutters.
I recall my cousin Sammy’s wedding a few years ago. They found out two days before the wedding that their DJ didn’t have the license to play “Hava Nagila.” We ended up doing a rather frenetic hora to “Sandstorm.”How could they not have checkedabout ‘Hava Nagila’?My mom railed in the car on the way home.It’s the one must! A must!
“I’d be worried about a band that’s never done the hora before,” I speak up. “They can go on for a while, and you don’t want the band to cut it short because they’re not sure what to play.”
Penelope picks at something under her nail.
“I’m sure they can play Taylor Swift too,” I add.
“That sounds like it makes the most sense to me.” Calliope nudges Pen. “Given you’re having aJewishwedding.”
Pen rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes, let’s do that.”
“Great,” I say, though it doesn’t feel great. This feels like walking on eggshells, trying to corral a practical wedding out of the haze of Pen’s vision.
The florist is, thankfully, the easiest of the three. Penelope looks at bouquets, Louise looks at prices, and we go with the Baby’s Breath Bridal gilded package, which includes a budget of between $50,000 and $90,000 (I manage to keep a neutral expression when I read that figure out loud).
Once we’re done and the printout is back in my pocket, Pen reaches for my hand.Thank you, she mouths with a dazzling smile. I preen. It’s nice to feel needed. To be there for other people. Nothing makes you appreciate that like being unable to walk a mile for four months.
“Two gentlemen are here,” Alma enters the parlor to tell us.
“Joshie is here! And he’s brought his best man.”
Josh walks in, followed by a man with familiar fluffy hair clamped down by a crisp white backwards hat. His seaglass eyes glow in the diffused parlor light, competing with Lake Michigan herself.
It’s Mystery Man.
chapter
six
