by Meg Perry
Ali arranged us for a series of formal photos, with the ocean as our backdrop, while Mel kept filming the live action. When we couldn’t think of any more poses or combinations of people to photograph, Neil clapped his hands. “All right, everyone, let’s get off this mountain and go drink some beer.”
We walked into Neil’s house to find a kind of reverse receiving line. The rest of our friends and family were lined up from the foyer to the back deck. When we walked through the front door, everyone cheered raucously. Pete looked supremely embarrassed; I gave everyone the Queen Elizabeth wave and got them laughing.
Jack was first, his usual laconic self; he shook my hand and slapped Pete on the shoulder. “Congratulations, boys.” Then my uncles and aunts - Doug and Dennis - hugged me and shook hands with Pete; Linda hugged us both vigorously, and Toni hugged me - somewhat timidly - and gave Pete the two-handed extra-meaningful handshake. Doug and Linda went to the back with Dad to supervise the lowcountry boil; Pete and I moved on to Carly and Mike, then Aaron and Paul, then Elliott and Stewart. A handful of my rugby mates were next, and they surrounded us in a mini-scrum, hooting and hollering. Carly, Mike and Aaron joined in; Elliott, Stewart and Paul looked on in fascination, and Aunt Toni fled to the back of the house. I had to laugh.
Clinton was waiting for us next. He took both of our hands at the same time and said, “Congratulations, my friends. The word of the day is anfractuous.”
Pete laughed. “What does that mean?”
Clinton smiled. “Full of windings and intricate turnings. The path of your life will twist and turn, but it will lead you to unexpected and marvelous places.” He squeezed our hands and let go. “Enjoy the journey.”
I was then grabbed by Liz; I picked her up and whirled her around a couple of times until we were both laughing and dizzy. I set her back down and said, “Where’s Jon?”
“In the back, tending the fire. I think he’s discovered his inner caveman.”
“Did you know that Kristen was picking us up this morning?”
“No. That hussy.” Liz grinned. “Wait until I find her…”
Neil and Mark finally began herding everyone toward the back yard, where the boil was nearly ready. We all gathered in clumps around the tables, and Neil tapped a fork on a beer bottle to get everyone’s attention. “We have about three minutes before the shrimp is done for our grooms to say something. Pete, Jamie?”
Pete and I looked at each other; no one had told us we’d have to speak. I said, “First, we want to thank Neil and Mark and Ali and Mel for hosting this fantastic reception.” I began applauding and everyone joined in. “We also want to thank all of you for being here. It means more to us than we can say that all of you have come to see us off into our married life.”
Everyone applauded again. Pete opened his mouth, paused for a moment, then said, “Ditto.”
More laughter and applause. Kevin pressed a beer into Pete’s hand. “I think you need a drink.”
Dad, Uncle Doug, Uncle Dennis and Jon carefully dumped the boil onto the newspaper-covered picnic tables, and we dug in. After a minute or two Pete elbowed me. “Look who’s meeting the family.”
Kevin and Kristen were at a table with my dad, Barb, and Jeff and Val. I said, “Crap. I hope neither of them is moving too fast. They’ve each only been free for a month or so.”
“I think they’re both smarter than that.”
I hoped he was right. I looked around the tables at my friends and family, and my heart swelled with love for all of them. Pete must have been feeling the same; he leaned over to me and whispered, “This is the best day of my life.”
I grinned and squeezed his hand under the table. “Ditto.”
Acknowledgements
Jamie’s wedding poem is partially adapted from the Crowded House song, Don’t Dream It’s Over.
Thanks to Janson Jones for the name of the Venusta String Quartet. Venusta is Latin for beauty.
Thanks as always to my fiction writing group: Becca, Bryan, Chris, Dustin, Maggie, Michael, and Michelle. Thanks as always to Stephanie Reppas at October Design Co. for the cover. Thanks as always to my editor, Chris, the best there is.
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