“He’ll be impressed,” I said at the end of our last practice session.
“He’ll be in shock,” Pamela said. “I’ll see to that.”
* * *
I was at home Saturday morning helping Les pack. Both of us had spent the night in our old bedrooms, and now he was shifting stuff around in his suitcase, ready for the honeymoon. I ironed a couple things for him and kept finding a lump in my throat more often than I liked. Even though he didn’t live there anymore, and Sylvia had turned his room into a guest room, his closet shelves still held a lot of his stuff. Just seeing the old college sweatshirt hanging askew on a hanger and the top hat he’d worn one New Year’s Eve as a joke made me wish for a moment I could stop time—or at least dial it back a little.
I sat on the edge of his old bed, folding the things he’d just brought up from the dryer, handing him the ones he wanted to take. I thought about how he would now have a wife with him whenever he came back to visit and wondered if we would ever have the private talks we used to have, just him and me.
“Les,” I said, “how did you know that Stacy was the one for you?”
He put another shirt in his suitcase. “Bells rang, my pupils dilated, my palms perspired.”
“Really. I want to know.”
“Well, you know what they say: What’s important isn’t whom you marry but when.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Think about it. If you marry when you’re young and immature, chances are you’ll just choose someone who’s cute and makes you laugh. But when you wait till the grand old age of twenty-eight”—he cleared his throat—“you’re more sure of what you want.”
“But how did you know it was Stacy?”
“There wasn’t a green light flashing, that’s for sure,” he said. “Mostly, I felt I’d met a person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That I didn’t need to look any further.”
“But how can you be sure?” I persisted.
“You can’t. There’s not just one person in the world who’s your type. There’s a whole group with the same likes and dislikes. But you want to spend your whole life looking for all of them? You just feel that everything’s right. You’re at peace with yourself.” He looked over at me. “Why? Would we be talking about you, by chance? Are you in love?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dave? I think I met him once.”
I nodded. “I really like him a lot. There are times I think I love him.”
“And Patrick?”
Had I ever, in so many words, told Les that Patrick had dumped me?
“I haven’t seen him in so long, Les.”
“He doesn’t write? Call?”
“Neither of us writes or calls anymore. I think it’s better this way. We’re both seeing other people. And he’s in Madagascar, remember.”
“True. Just take it slow and easy, Al. Enjoy being with Dave and see what happens.”
“I am,” I said, and grinned.
Les paused a moment, a quizzical raise of an eyebrow. Then he continued his packing. “As I said,” he repeated, this time with a smile, “take—it—slow.”
* * *
Saturday morning it rained, but then the weather changed, and by evening the November sky was clear once more. I had been invited to the home of one of Stacy’s friend’s parents’, where she and the maid of honor were getting ready. Actually, I think I’d been asked primarily to keep my eye on the flower girl, the four-year-old daughter of the maid of honor, whose husband would be chauffeuring people from their hotels to the church.
Natalie was a little brunette charmer, still wearing her pajamas from her nap until it was time to put on her dress. The child was in constant motion, and trying to keep the rollers in her hair was nearly impossible. But what just about drove us all crazy was her endless chatter.
I followed her around from room to room as she checked everything out, and there seemed to be not one picture or plant or knickknack that she didn’t want to touch or smell or sometimes even lick if it looked especially shiny.
“When is Momma going to come out?” she kept asking, and I knew now why the bedroom door stayed closed.
“She’s helping Stacy with her makeup and her hair, and when she’s done, they’ll both come out,” I explained.
“I’m going to have curls,” Natalie said. “I’m going to have curls here and here and here.” She pointed to her forehead and temples. “And when I walk, I have to take tiny steps, like this”—she demonstrated—“and even if somebody waves at me, I can’t wave back, because the petals will fall off the flowers if I do, and even if you run a vacuum sweeper, it won’t pick them up, because you know why? They might be wet. And once I went outside and there were petals on our driveway and I slipped and fell down and there were flowers stuck to the bottom of my shoes. . . .”
I’d left my heels at the door and had been following Natalie around barefoot—trying to read a story to her between the chatter and playing a game of old maid and listening to her plink out “Happy Birthday” with one finger on the piano. I was as relieved as she was when at last she was called into the bathroom by another of Stacy’s friends to be cleaned up and ultimately delivered to the church.
“ ’Bye, Alice!” she called as she traipsed up the stairs. “I’ll see you at the wedding! And remember not to wave.”
I slipped into my beautiful periwinkle, tea-length dress, then collapsed on the sofa and rested my feet on the coffee table. I think I actually fell asleep for a moment or two before I heard a rustle from overhead and opened my eyes to see Stacy coming slowly down the stairs in a silk dress all soft and shimmery, like a candle flame.
“Oh, Stacy!” I said, going over and helping her down the last few steps as her maid of honor lifted the material off her feet. Stacy showed me that underneath, the entire dress was lined with a pale shell of pink fabric that made it seem to glow. It had a full skirt and a sleeveless top with a plain neckline to show off her grandmother’s string of pearls.
“It’s perfect,” I told her, admiring the short silk organza veil with a pearl-studded tiara against her short brown hair. “Lester will love it.”
“It was only the second dress I tried on,” she confided, “and I knew this was the one.”
I got to ride in the limo with her to the church, and I went in first to make sure that Les wasn’t around when she came inside.
Once Stacy was safely in the bridal room, I took my place at the podium in the vestibule. I loved standing there by the guest book, meeting all of Stacy’s and Lester’s friends, and greeting the many people who knew Dad from the store or Sylvia from school. Uncle Milt and Aunt Sally had not been able to come, due to my uncle’s health, but their daughter, Carol, my beautiful cousin, came with her husband. She and Larry were living in Pennsylvania now and had driven down for the day.
“Carol!” I cried, throwing my arms around her.
“Gosh, Alice, you look great!” she said. She didn’t look so bad herself. She had a short, breezy haircut and wore an olive-colored dress showing just the right amount of cleavage. “Did you ever think we’d see this day?”
“Nope. And neither did Les,” I said, laughing.
It was time for the families to be seated, so Carol and Larry went in next, then Stacy’s mom, in her lacy mauve dress.
Dad and Sylvia looked almost like a bridal couple themselves as they went down the aisle to their pew, Dad handsome in his tux and Sylvia looking exceptionally lovely in a pale blue dress with a corsage of white roses and lily of the valley.
When I got the nod that the ceremony was about to begin, I left the guest book and was seated next to Dad and Sylvia. I passed Liz and Gwen and Pamela on my way down the aisle, and we exchanged smiles. All three had come in black as we had planned, with various little jackets and colored scarves.
I slid in beside Dad, and he gave my arm a squeeze.
Candles were lit in every window, and bouquets of pink chrysanthemum, rose-colored gladiolus
, and white orchids lined the altar.
The music changed now to the processional, and a door on the right-hand side opened. Out came the minister, followed by Lester, looking absolutely terrifically handsome in a midnight-blue tuxedo, a rosebud in his lapel, his face serene and happy and confident, just the way a bridegroom’s should be. He had chosen one of his roommates from their house in Takoma Park to be his best man. Paul Sorenson, tall and bespectacled, was smiling almost as broadly as Lester. They stood sideways to the altar, looking expectantly up the aisle, as the maid of honor, in a rose tea-length dress, came down.
I’d thought I’d heard Natalie’s chatter out in the vestibule a moment before, but now the music drowned it out. I was glad to be seated on the aisle so I could see everything, and as I swiveled around in the pew, I could tell by the smiles on the faces across from me that the flower girl was on her way.
I leaned forward a little, and there she came, in her ankle-length dress, her dark hair gently curled and lapping her shoulders, face intent, her feet in her white Mary Janes, taking slow, cautious steps along the carpet. At this rate, I thought, she’d still be in the aisle when the bride came in. Something, however, seemed amiss, and as I looked at her more closely, I realized she had something in her mouth, and she was trying hard to contain it. On first glance, it appeared her tongue was going from left to right, but as she came closer, more hesitant still, the lump was too large and too round to be her tongue. A thin blue liquid was just forming in one corner of her lips, and her eyes found mine and widened in panic.
As she came close to me in the aisle, I leaned forward and put my hand under her chin, palm up, and obediently, gratefully, she spit out a huge, once-blue gumball. It must have been someone’s insane idea to keep her from talking during the ceremony, but now she soldiered on, step by step, and I caught Lester’s grateful eye just long enough to know that I had played a major part in the ceremony after all. I had a sticky hand for the rest of the service, of course, but Dad loaned me his handkerchief and all was well.
Neither Les nor his bride could contain their wide smiles as Stacy came down the aisle. As they drew closer to each other and her dad released her arm at the altar, Les’s expression alone seemed to enfold her in his arms. I found myself swallowing, and swallowing again. Her gown was just as beautiful from the back, for there was a huge bow at the waist with ties all the way down to the hem.
The vows were simple and personal, and one of the things the minister said to Stacy was, “Throughout your married life, remember that inside every man is a little boy.” And to Lester he said, “Inside every woman is a little girl.” You never know what they’re going to say at a wedding.
Dad was holding my hand and also Sylvia’s. I glanced over at him once and saw his eyes glistening, and I swallowed some more so I wouldn’t cry. I can only guess what he was feeling, but I think he was wishing that Mom could be here to watch her boy get married.
“One down, one to go, Dad,” I whispered jokingly after the last “I do” to help him pull himself together.
It was after Les and Stacy had been pronounced man and wife, and a half second before Les released Stacy from their long kiss, that a deep sigh came from the groupies, and everyone broke into laughter and applause. I don’t think it bothered Les in the least, because his happy smile as they came up the aisle extended all the way to Liz and Pamela and Gwen.
* * *
The reception was held in a Bethesda hotel, and we all stood around with our glasses of champagne while the DJ announced the entrance of the parents, then the happy couple. They danced to “You’re My Everything,” and Les looked at Stacy as though she were the only one in the room. Then he danced with Sylvia while Stacy danced with her father, and I was surprised when, at the next number, Les danced with me.
“Wow!” I said, looking up at my brother, a married man. “Can this be happening?”
Les grinned down at me. “Better check out Dad. He still standing?”
I laughed. “Everything’s going great, Les. The ceremony was beautiful.”
“Next time it’ll probably be you,” he said.
After we were ushered into the adjoining room for our dinner, the band took a break, and we had canned music for a while as Les and Stacy made the rounds, greeting guests and meeting old friends. But after the salad course, when Les and Stacy were back at the head table, the DJ announced the toasts, and Paul Sorenson was first. To me, he always seemed the most serious of Lester’s two roommates, but once he’d become the owner of a sailboat he called “Fancy Pants,” I never saw him in quite the same way.
George Palamas, the other roommate, was there with his wife, and he laughed and applauded loudly when Paul told what it was like living with Lester—the man who never met a sport he didn’t love, a beer he wouldn’t taste, or a chance to discuss philosophy with anyone who could stand to get in marathon sessions with him.
Then it was the DJ again. “Let’s hear it for Stacy’s brother, Kenny Houghton, who will give the next toast. Kenny Houghton, everybody!”
People clapped as a short man I recognized as one of the ushers got up and made a warm tribute to his sister, then to Stacy and Les as a pair.
Dad was next. He jokingly told of his surprise that Les was settling down, “but after I met Stacy, I wasn’t surprised at all,” he said. “It seemed as natural as the return of spring, and I couldn’t be happier on this day to welcome Stacy into our family.”
“And now,” the DJ intoned, “we will hear from Lester McKinley’s delightful sister. Put your hands together, everybody, for Alice McKinley!”
Maybe it was the champagne, but I felt just as beautiful as the lovely Stacy, in my periwinkle dress and my four-inch stilettos. I took the wireless mike and stood facing both the head table and the other diners. “I just want everyone to know how much this day means to me,” I said. “I’m getting rid of a brother and gaining a sister-in-law, finally.” Everyone laughed. I turned directly to Les. “Seriously, Lester, this is really a marvelous day, and at last there’s another girl in the family. You’ve seen me through the terrible twos, the awkward eights, the freaky fourteens . . .” Les was nodding emphatically, to more laughter from the crowd. “. . . And now you have someone else to listen to your philosophizing.” Stacy smiled as though she understood exactly what I was talking about.
“But I want you to know,” I said, “that the departure of Silver Spring’s most eligible bachelor has left a lot of grieving women behind.” I saw the smile on Lester’s face suddenly freeze. “And it’s only right that three of them are here today to receive public acknowledgment of their sorrow. Our apologies to Gershwin.”
At that, Pamela, Liz, and Gwen rose from their chairs, the colorful scarves and jackets now removed, and with small black veils covering their hair, they soberly made their way to the microphone as laughter cascaded from table to table and Lester’s mouth dropped in astonishment. The strains of “The Man I Love” filled the room, and with Pamela in the middle holding the mike, Gwen and Liz leaning in on either side, they enunciated each word perfectly as they sang:
“One day he came along,
The man we loved”
They turned their eyes mournfully toward Lester, who now sat with his hands over his face.
“And though it was all wrong,
The man we loved.
But when he came our way,
We did our best . . . to make . . . him . . . stay.”
The crowd was obviously delighted, and I could tell that Les and Stacy were getting a kick out of it too, because Les had lowered his hands now and was watching, very much amused:
“We looked at him and smiled,
We freaked him out [more laughter]
‘We love you so,’
He heard us shout.
We feared he’d get engaged
While all of us . . . were . . . underage.”
A roar of laughter. Now Pam and Liz and Gwen turned imploringly to Lester, and he watched, arms resting on the
table as the music changed tempo:
“Maybe we shall meet him someday,
Maybe later, maybe not.
For he’s getting married this day
What a sad day, he was really hot.”
Laughter rocked the room, and the girls hammed it up, leaning on each other for sad support:
“He’s got a bed for two,
This man we love.
That’s why we are so blue,
The man we love.
He’ll never look our way,
We’ve lost . . . the . . . man . . . we . . . love.”
They stood dramatically with bowed heads as the crowd burst into wild applause, then smiled and raised their arms to the audience. Before Les could get to his feet, they went to the head table and, laughing, kissed him on the cheek before going back to their chairs.
“Leave it to Alice,” Les said, taking the mike. “I never know what my sister will do next. But thank you very much, Alice. I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun. And to Pamela, Gwen, and Elizabeth, I’ll see you guys on Broadway.”
9
FOREVER TWENTY-ONE
Les and Stacy went to Costa Rica for their honeymoon, and when they came back, Les e-mailed me with tales of snorkeling and rock climbing, of zip lines and caves and jungles and sandy beaches in the moonlight.
Sigh, I replied. All I had was La Plata Beach, a big grassy area where students played Frisbee and soccer in nice weather and held impromptu snowball fights in winter.
When you’re deep in statistical analyses and psychological theories, it’s easy to compare your life with that of other people’s who are living more adventurously than you, and I’ll admit I checked on Patrick’s Peace Corps blog more often than I should have:
Things are going great here—now I understand what people mean by saying your second year is “the good part.” Busy with a U.N. food program grant to raise chickens, ducks, and fish. Also trying to plan a camping trip in the forest for the environmental club. Can you imagine me in the forest with six teenagers? I’ve been working on getting a tree nursery started and building a fuel-efficient cookstove. It’s starting to get hot as we go into our summer, and Thanksgiving came and went. No kolokoloko (turkey—my favorite word in Malagasy). But it’s almost mango season.