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Grandfather offers the toast.
To Cora and Liam, and to two
lives together as one.
Who knew he was a poet?
As we clink-and-drink, I offer
my own silent toast to Bryce,
me, and new directions.
The champagne goes down
like a froth of hope. Aunt Cora
refills our glasses, but I’m already
feeling a bit on the “sparkly” side.
My brain fuzzes with thoughts
of the afternoon, and when I catch
Grandfather talking about the relative
merits of orchids versus roses,
I laugh. Inappropriately. Aunt
Cora looks at me. Really looks
at me, head cocked like a pup
at a whistle. Come here a minute.
SHE PULLS ME INTO THE HALL
Thinks a second, then yanks me
all the way into her bedroom.
Okay, give. What’s up with you?
My throat goes thick and my fingers
numb. “What do you mean?”
Your aura. It’s like … ruby.
Oh my God. Freaking gypsy aunt.
“Um …” Can’t confess. “I, uh …”
You’re in love. Who is he?
She’s like a little kid at a pony ride.
