Reception

by Kenzie Jennings

  Plate-Licker grimaced at the thought of it. “No thank you. You have fun with your healthy gem powder there—”

  “—and for those subscribing to our Platinum offer, there’s ruby, emerald, sapphire and diamond powder that’ll give you that inner sparkle only celebrities have been able to maintain…until now.”

  “Forget the pearls and rubies. Who was the dipshit who thought kale was tasty and marketed that?”

  They’d been funny all right, their banter reminding me what brought me here in the first place. I looked over at Shay, who was clapping at the sight of the three-tiered, dark chocolate wedding cake being carted in by a couple of the staff in starched evening uniforms. Mom, who was sitting beside Emma to Shay’s right, had on her disapproving scowl when she saw the cake, which surprised me. I would’ve thought they’d have least agreed on the cake, and since it was an evening wedding reception, why not go for something more decadent? Suited me just fine.

  In the middle of chattering with her sister, Plate-Licker gave me a curious once over, and there was something about her stare I didn’t care for. It felt heated and crawly all over. There was something about her eyes, something familiar.

  “You know the bride’s family?” she prodded. “You a relative?”

  I don’t know why, but I then suddenly had the urge to deflect, deny, deflect. Anything to keep my family safe, protected somehow from whatever it was I knew was there. So I just shrugged in response and pretended to be engrossed in what was going on at the other tables nearby. Noisy family groups. Some sun-crinkled great uncles and eyerolling aunts I barely recognized from wayward family reunions and, still, plenty of people I didn’t know.

  I suppose I could’ve taken a good look at the guest roster upon check-in, just to see who all from my family was here, but except for my mom’s sister and brother-in-law, Aunt Lil and Uncle Ray, I wasn’t close with any of them, especially those on Dad’s side, many of whom had, apparently, RSVP’d an “Unfortunately, we’re unable to make the wedding due to (fill in the blank with some obviously fabricated situation), but thanks so much for the invite.” Figured. The Boones were devout Catholics who frowned upon marrying outside one’s religion. Shay had been one of their more recent disappointments, marrying out of the faith, but it must have been expected from us. I mean, Dad was their noted rebel son with his libertarian fantasies and religious skepticism. He loved debating with his family. It actually made him happy to see them squirm in their pews.

  I hadn’t seen anyone else I recognized from the Boone side though, apart from a total skeeze of a cousin—another bearded, flask-sharing douchenozzle—who’d brought a date who looked like she’d had a rough time of it pouring herself into the sequined dress she’d chosen to wear for the evening’s festivities. They were sitting at Aunt Lil and Uncle Ray’s table, along with an elderly couple I didn’t know, both of whom were paying more attention to poking their forks around their barely-eaten food on their plates than they were the bride and groom.

  There were quick flashes as everyone near the main table had out their cell phones and digital cameras, snapping the cutesy image of Shay and Nathan cutting into the chocolate mountain of a cake, both of them laughing with friends and family nearby who cheered them on. Nathan took a huge, crumbling bite and then fed the rest of the piece to Shay, dabbing the frosting on her pert button of a nose. She feigned a look of shock at him and kissed him squarely on the lips so that both of them had frosting on their faces.

  Nathan then said something only people in the immediate vicinity could hear, something undoubtedly naughty and entirely inappropriate because the only people who roared and hooted with laughter were Charlie and their other friends. Mom and Dad both grew red-faced under the twinkling lights. Mom’s mouth drew in a tight, thin line. Delia tittered into her napkin and then chided Nathan while Rex was—well, he seemed to be off in his own world on his end of the table. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring at one of the tables far off in the back somewhere with a half-smile on his face. His hand had its index finger circling his whiskey glass.

  Shay shushed Nathan and playfully pushed him back down in his seat. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on his lap. She crinkled her nose at him in warning, the look she often gave old boyfriends who’d gone too far with their antics, but Nate didn’t notice. I suspect he knew, but he was deliberately choosing to ignore her, instead focusing intently on his best friend. Undoubtedly, it was his first pain-in-the-ass moment as an official husband, and it was all I could do to keep from getting up out of my chair, stomping over to them, taking Shay by the arm and pulling her out of there with me.

  After the groomsman’s speech, Charlie got up and weaved around his date (Nabhitha was it?) to stand beside Nathan as the wedding planner’s harried assistant, who also happened to have taken on the responsibilities of the Emcee, handed him a microphone. He first tested its sound quality by badly beatboxing into it, causing a collective titter to ripple throughout the dining hall. Then he cleared his throat and proceeded to spin a narrative of brotherly nostalgia, one involving a white water rafting trip, far too much weed, and something involving oars, a baggie, and a water moccasin. I could only catch snippets, brief cuts of his story, due to the poor acoustics of the room, but it was evident he was loved by Nathan’s friends and family; even my family members, as few as they were there, seemed enrapt by his toast.

  For a brief moment, barely quick enough to catch, Charlie glanced over at me all the way down the opposite end of the long chain of tables. The area around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, I could see that, but it was so fleeting I had to think back for a moment to gauge whether or not it had been real or just some figment of my imagination. Nabhitha—she of the fluttery lashes, satin skin, and lush locks—must have caught it too because her eyes met mine as well. She then slowly shook her head at me, her expression darkening in recognition. It made me all the more anxious to know if he’d told her about our poorly timed (and my incredibly stupid) late night tryst. Judging by Nabhitha’s frown, I think he may have kept it from her, but she’d put everything together right then in that very moment.

  By then, everyone was raising their champagne glasses to Charlie’s last few words to Shay and Nathan. I quickly overcompensated by standing and lifting my glass. Another foolish move on my part because it suddenly dawned on me that I had the floor and, unfortunately, everyone’s attention. The sisters on either side of me rapidly clinked their spoons against their glasses, signaling for the room to listen, both of them grinning up at me.

  The planner’s assistant/Emcee tottered in her heels towards me, microphone in hand. The effects I normally felt off and on throughout the day were consuming me alive. My throat went arid as I swallowed back the hard stone that had been forming there. My tongue felt like it had just been coated in sandpaper.

  “Speech, girl. Speech!” shouted Plate-Licker.

  Her sister loudly whooped, the sound of it reverberating back like a boomerang, and one of Nathan’s friends howled back.

  I gripped the microphone tightly using both hands, one curled over the other, probably out of fear of dropping it. Or perhaps it gave me something tangible to focus on, what I considered to be probably the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. I didn’t do public speaking, and everyone who really knew me, like Shay and my parents here, knew that little fact.

  Still, I couldn’t just set the mic down and run away like a coward. I’d have to say something, anything of substance that was true and memorable.

  So I took a deep breath and began.

  “Okay, so, I’m sure most of you are aware by now that I’m sister of the bride, her one and only sister,” I said, “and I’m also fairly certain many of you are aware that I’ve spent the last couple of weeks in rehab. As for the how’s and the why’s, well, it’s kind of a long story, much of which involves getting off anti-anxiety meds too fast and an ex impregnating and then running off with another woman he barely knew. A story that would be bette
r told crying while sitting in a circle with a bunch of strangers over Styrofoam cups of awful coffee and a few stale donuts.”

  That got a few uncomfortable chortles, which made me feel a little braver.

  “Anyway, over the past year, ever since Shay and Nate got themselves into the whole getting married trend, I confess that I’d not been paying much attention. See, not only was I a little bit…just an eensy bit occupied, I also don’t do trends. When tattoos were a thing, I didn’t get one. When the Rachel haircut was everywhere back in the nineties, I didn’t get one. When yoga pants were worn all over the place, girl, please. No way. Not with these thighs. When Starbucks served those unicorn Frappucinos, I…Well, okay, I tried one, and it was disgusting.”

  I lobbed that last one in Shay’s direction because she was probably the only one in the entire room who’d tried one and actually liked it. Not only that, I had to keep focused, and Shay was the reason why I was even there to begin with. So I hated Nathan and his family, but it was in that moment when I understood why she was going through with it, that trend that’s come and gone, come and gone. She was happy.

  Shay met my eyes and grinned at me.

  “Shay, on the other hand…she loves trends. You never did have any taste, Shay,” I said, returning her smirk.

  I think that one may have garnered much more laughter than I’d intended, no doubt directed primarily at Nathan’s expense, so I tempered it down a bit, if only for my sister. “This time though, this time, I…This time, I think she’s got a—”

  I just couldn’t finish my train of thought there, in that very moment, because right then, I caught sight of something happening off in the distance through the giant windows, just past Shay’s shoulder.

  If there had been a minute of incredible timing for such an occasion, it was when the sun’s glow had long since dipped down into the rolling dusky hills, melting, merging into the violet horizon. The picture windows overlooked the scene from the back zen garden that had been designed to create a pleasant byway one could traverse between one side of the building to the next by capturing the line between land and sky. It also only served to enhance the goings-on inside the dining hall.

  It wasn’t the beauty of the evening glow over those hills that had initially distracted me though. There was a blur of movement happening outside on the opposite corner of the U-shaped building we were in, on the other side of the garden. One of the catering staff members—a blocky little rock of a guy, sweating in the light of the fairy lights outside— was attempting to get a cart of used plates unstuck from the narrow, winding cobblestoned path, the wheel obviously jammed, and he didn’t see the lone, thin figure there, smoking a cigarette, watching, barely noticeable in the shadow of an awning. Smoke curled in front of the figure, cloaking whomever it was in a veil.

  The figure stepped into view. It was a man in a fitted pinstriped suit. He had a pale, gaunt face, sunken eyes, and twitchy fingers on one hand. I didn’t recognize him, but judging from the suit and boutonniere, I assumed he was a part of the wedding party, the only guests all gussied up around, really, and we all seemed to have taken over the entirety of the resort. The guy flicked his cigarette into the night and slunk his way over to the dining hall employee who was kicking the jammed wheel by that point.

  The gaunt man then just stood there, directly behind the catering employee, staring a hole right through the poor guy’s back, almost as if he was willing the employee to turn around.

  I shook my head, trying to break away from the scene, turning back to the dining hall guests and Shay. “I think I may be wrong about marriage. A friend of mine once said to me that when you found the one, that perfect person who matched you in the best ways you’d never once—”

  A swift jerk of movement outside caught my eye again, tearing me away from the audience once more. The gaunt man had just leapt onto the back of the caterer, smacked a hand over his victim’s mouth, and was then tearing out the poor guy’s throat with his teeth. Blood jettisoned in jet-black spurts, covering the gaunt man’s face and the rocks around them in the garden. From a different angle in dusk’s violet shadows, the two of them probably looked like a hunchbacked creature in mid-waltz with himself, staggering to the left, to the right, swinging back to the left right before collapsing onto the pebbled ground, a disheveled pile of grubby, stained clothing and heaving beast.

  Yeah, I could’ve chalked it up to the meds.

  In fact, at that time, before I knew, I did. After all, of the list of possible withdrawal symptoms, there’s…

  Blurred vision (I’ve perfect vision, thanks. No specs—I’m sorry, Mom, spectacles, no contacts, no laser eye surgery, none of it).

  Delirium (Emotions running high but perfectly normal all things considered. I mean, it’s often high during family get-togethers, right? I think I’ve already established this plenty.).

  Derealization (Okay, I was there, right, and things physically felt real. The mic was growing slick with sweat in my hand. My skin felt pinprickly. The air around, chilly due to the fact we were near one of the vents. Don’t think I hadn’t checked that.).

  Hallucinations, auditory and visual.

  Stop.

  That. Right there. That. I tested that theory, see. Hallucinations, like memories, shift and change, morphing into something else entirely, disappearing altogether, and then becoming something you probably feel that you need and hope to see. Leon had once instructed our therapy group to come back to the present, to the here and now, by looking away for ten seconds, then returning to what we’d seen. I looked away, too rushed to carefully count, then looked back.

  Away, then back again.

  It was a reflexive lurch forward that snapped me away from the grizzly vision outside, not anything to do with what Leon had instructed. The whole dining hall had gone silent, everyone nervously, uncomfortably, glancing around at each other. A couple of utensils clattering against the china. Throats rattling phlegm, clearing. A few murmurs, the soft hum of it breaking the stillness a little. My heart kept on thumping in my ears.

  I looked over at Shay, thinking her beautiful, happy face, still rosy warm and candlelit, would provide me some calm and bring me back to my train of thought, something to ease the ice water running throughout my body, spreading to my arms and chest. Like everybody else’s around though, Shay’s expression had gone hard. Her eyes narrowed at me. Her lips pursed like Mom’s. That look, that whole getup was Mom’s.

  Like mother, like Shay.

  Block out everything else around you. They don’t matter, girl. They’re not important. Breathe, Leon whispered in my thoughts.

  I took in a deep breath. Pretended I wasn’t standing there like a dolt, the center of attention for once.

  And, stupid me, I looked again.

  The gaunt man, no longer pale but coated in a film of the sticky stuff, had a couple of friends hunched over and tearing into the body of the catering employee alongside of him, their mouths and chins stained, their eyes glinting in the lantern lights. It was the elderly couple with the visors, the ones who’d been checking in with their odd requests.

  Something about plastic sheets, something about clotting.

  Not so odd now that I think about it.

  The microphone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Its feedback shrieked throughout the dining hall, reverberating off the walls, causing the guests at and nearby my table to wince, a few of them holding hands over their ears at the piercing wail.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” I hadn’t meant for anyone to hear that; it just came out.

  I felt the bile forming its sour heat in my throat, threatening to force its way out.

  It had been loud enough to grab hold of my dad, who’d been seething over at Shay’s end of the table the whole damned time. He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping across the wooden floor, and he stood, red-faced and blustery, his hands curling, aiming his anger in my direction.

  “No. Not here. Not tonight. That is unacceptable
behavior, Ansley, and I will not tolerate it happening here,” he said over the din. I could hear every word. Every, single word he said, even while there were people out there, right outside, eating one of the catering staff.

  “Your mother and I have had enough. You do not disrespect your elders. You do not disrespect our guests. Most importantly, you do not disrespect your sister on her wedding day,” he continued. “We have tolerated the breakdowns, the theatrics, the shame of it long enough. It…You…will no longer be an intrusion in our family. I have had enough,” His words sliced through the silence.

  This, all of this happening in front of the gaping dining hall patrons. This, while, just outside, just beyond my Dad from where he stood, a couple more people, two resort staff members in fact, judging from their uniforms, had joined the gore-spattered threesome in the zen garden. The five of them were crouched there, tucking right into dinner. The caterer’s arms had been torn almost completely from his corpse, the limbs still barely connected by tendons, red sinewy ribbons of meat. The gaunt man in the pinstripes was even wearing a coil of intestines around his neck like a morbid lei.

  Dad shook his head, his heavy brow furrowing his anger. “You’re not the slightest bit affected by what I’ve said, are you? Did you hear me, Ansley, or does my message need repeating? Are you even paying attention? Of course she isn’t. My eldest.”

  Something was either vacuuming all of the oxygen out of the room, or it was just me as it often was. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, standing there. Darting circles of yellow light blinked in and out of existence in front of my eyes, momentarily blinding me, causing me to squint. The dining hall started to spin and blur, the colors whirling, blending together through a watery lens.

  And through the bubble, I could still see it happening out there, right there. I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. My thoughts, however, were screaming for me to shout, willing me to take action and point out what was occurring outside, right outside that window.