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But I didn’t like arriving ten minutes after five. Caroline frowned up at me as if it’d been my fault, and I pointed at Gemma with one hand, holding the other up in innocence.
“Snitch,” she hissed, batting at my stomach.
“Let’s get this rehearsal started, then,” Caroline said, gesturing to a woman in a light-pink pantsuit, although rehearsal was a loose term.
The real ceremony was slated to last only thirty minutes or so, but they spent over an hour staging the entire ceremony, poring over every word, line for line, and each tiny movement, before practicing the kiss a few times to make sure it wasn’t “too showy.” As Caroline and Frank spoke with the officiant, Gemma and I were banished to the corner to fold programs.
I creased the corners at exact angles while she gave up after one minute and found a pen to play tic-tac-toe, poking me every few seconds to make my X mark.
“These look great,” Caroline said, finally finished up. “Thank you both.”
“No problem.” Gemma smiled up at her mother, and I yanked on her hair. She fluttered her eyelashes at me.
She thought she was cute.
“Oh, but look at this,” Caroline said, motioning to the table settings which had already been put up for the following day. “These napkins are all wrong.”
Frank stepped in, struggling to release the taupe cloth napkin from Caroline’s death grip. “I know you want everything to be perfect, but you have to let the people here do their job. I don’t want you stressed out.”
“These ugly folded napkins are stressing me out. They’re supposed to look like a rosebud, not a cone.”
“I think they look okay,” Gemma said, but her mother was determined.
“Honey, honey.” With one last hard tug on the cloth, Frank wrestled the napkin from Caroline’s death grip and tossed it me. “We’ll be late for dinner.” He kissed her temple. “I love you and I respect your wishes for a napkin to be folded like a rose, but if you want a groom with both of his arms, you better leave now because I am ready to chew one off.”
“Oh, you.” She rolled her eyes in a rare display of impatience, but one I’d seen her daughter wear on multiple occasions. “Let’s go. Where did you make the reservations?”
“Somewhere real nice. Very lively.”
We found ourselves in front of a massive stone building with a neon orange-and-blue sign.
Caroline scrunched up her face. “Who are Dave and Buster? I thought we were going to hibachi.”
Gemma slapped a hand over her mouth and tucked her face into my shoulder, hiding her snort-laugh. I dragged a knuckle over my top lip, much smoother about it.
“I think we could all use some old-fashioned amusement, especially you,mi vida,” Frank said, opening the door. “Let’s eat some greasy food.”
Caroline stepped cautiously inside. “I don’t know about the grease. Oil and satin gowns do not go well together.”
We were shown to our table, where the bride-to-be decided on a liquid diet. One-and-a-half fruity drinks later, she joined an air hockey game with a middle school kid. She tugged up her skirt, trying and failing to bend far enough over the table, balancing on one foot, her other shoe somewhere under the game table.
When she scored, she whirled around, waving. “Gemmie! Gemmie, look, I made it!”
I elbowed Gemma. “She looks like you.”
“Like me?”
“Messy hair, shoes off, tipsy. That’s you.”
She feigned anger, wielding a piece of edamame—one of the few vegan options—at me. “Are you accusing me of being a bad influence?”
I stole the pod from her. “You were the one who convinced her to order the second drink.”
“And,” she started, motioning to her mother, “she no longer cares about rosebud napkins. Ergo, we don’t have to care about rosebud napkins. You’re welcome.” Then she flicked another stalk at me and got up from the table to meet Caroline.
I squeezed the beans out with my teeth and tossed the empty pod down into the basket, watching as Gemma slung her arm around her mom’s shoulders. Even though they argued a lot, the bond they had was strong. Anyone could see it.
Across from me, Frank chomped on a big bite of his burger. “Things are going good.”
