I’ll have to talk the whole thing through with my friend Liam, who laughs at me for asking stupid questions but at least does it in front of my face rather than behind my back. There’s a lot to be said for that.
Liam was supposed to find me a date for the wedding—and he did, but she bowed out after meeting me. In my defense, I had no idea she wasn’tactuallyinterested in the science behind the ball-throwing and retrieval robot I’d designed for my dog. If she’d been honest, I would have cut myself off.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says, cluing me in on the fact that I missed the whole ceremony.
My father tips Mrs. Applebaum backward. Her lofty hair nearly takes out the pedestal the officiant was using for notes, but the older woman who married them beams as my dad mauls his new wife with his mouth.
“Is there anything more wonderful than love?” she asks.
All the guests respond by bursting into applause. The vibe is congratulatory, as if everyone thinks my dad and Mrs. Applebaum are doing an extraordinarily good job of making out, and my father seems to puff up.
I’m not sure why, but my gaze seeks out Nora’s. She pulls a face, nearly making me laugh, but I look away in time, pushing my glasses up by the bridge. They got messed up at my friend’sboxing gym several months back, and they’ve never fit the same since.
My gaze drifts to the other bridesmaids—one young and dark-haired, the other middle-aged. They both have the weird bread hairdo too, so maybe itisin style. Nora is the only one with normally proportioned hair.
“Dear me,” the officiant says joyfully as the kiss continues, and Mrs. Applebaum’s hair finally makes good on its threat and swipes over the papers on the pedestal, scattering them. “What a special moment. Let’s all get some drinks and give them a little time to themselves, don’t you think?”
She says it with a wink-and-nod expression, like she hopes my dad and Mrs. Applebaum, now Mrs. Applebaum-Peebles, will have sex in the special events room as soon as we leave.
Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past them. They seem to have forgotten that anyone else is present. My dad practically has her bent over the pedestal now, and the cheap wood is creaking.
While I’d rather not watch my father make out with my elementary school teacher, I feel a surprising pang of…
Loneliness.
Despite my doubts about marriage as a construct, my father is clearly deeply in love. I’ve never felt like that about someone, as if the rest of the world could melt away and I wouldn’t notice. As if everyone could be watching, and I’d see only her.
For me, one thought tends to tumble into another, leading me down tangents that capture my attention. It happens all the time, often when I’m with other people, which makes it difficult to form real connections.
Someone tugs at my arm, grounding me back in the present—warm room, soft lighting, my father making out with Mrs. Applebaum, and a hand on my arm.
Nora’s hand.
I meet her dark brown eyes beneath those sharp, slantedbrows. “Are you actually enjoying this, Cormac? I worry about you.”
I glance around, realizing that people have steadily been drifting out of the room. The officiant is gone, as well as Hannah, the other groomsman, my bandmates, and the bread-boule-hair ladies. Most of the wooden folding chairs, decorated with strands of miniature roses woven over the tops, are now empty.
Don’t need to tell me twice.
“Let’s go,” I say, prompting an eye roll from Nora.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for at least thirty seconds. But you were staring off as if you were seeing your life flash before your eyes.”
“Maybe I was,” I mutter as I head for the door. “Seems like this is how it’s going to be from now on. Our parents making out and you getting on my case.”
Kneeling in front of me.
We exit through the door, a few people filtering out after us, and to my surprise, Nora yanks me down the hall, away from the tasting room, where everyone else is headed for the reception. Seconds later, we’re standing in front of the closed door to her office again.
My heart starts beating faster as I glance down at her, waiting for an explanation. “Are you going to get down on your knees again?”
My voice sounds deeper than it should. Strange. But she doesn’t seem to notice.
She rolls her eyes again and opens the door. “No, but I need to have a private word with you.”
“Didn’t we just do that?” I scratch my chin as I stare at the open door—feeling like I’ll be eaten alive if I step inside. It’s a small room, with a desk, an office chair, two visitor chairs, and an aggressive overhead light. Its only real sin is that it stillsmells like the pink dress woman’s sickly sweet vanilla perfume. But if I walk in there, I know I’ll be portalled right back into a better memory—Nora on her knees, smiling up at me.
I swallow against my dry throat. “I have to meet up with the band.”
