by Cecy Robson
Wren had a mind-blowing ceremony, I’m not going to lie. Shit, it’s been two weeks and my brothers and I can’t talk about it without choking up. That tribute Wren did—the one where Danny Boy himself ripped out our hearts only for Wren to place them back in our chests—was epic, her way of saying, “I was the only girl, but all of you helped me become the woman I am.”
All that said, her wedding followed the rules. Finnie, who also kicked us in the nuts with his vows, broke every last rigid tradition and Father Flanagan let him.
Out of all of us, Finnie had it the toughest. It didn’t matter how hard we tried to protect him. We couldn’t save our little brother. That’s all right. He saved himself. He and that incredible woman he danced down the aisle with was the rock he needed.
Declan and Melissa, they had an intimate wedding. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “precious” in my life. I’ll make the exception for them. They made something sweet out of circumstances that downright suck. But Valentina and Andres? What the fuck is this shit?
We walk through the foyer of the Montana Elite. God help me, Allie’s hand in mine is the only thing keeping me in this circus filled with clowns.
I’m not joking. There are fucking clowns doing flips near the entrance.
“I guess she wanted a circus theme,” Allie says, eyeing the aerialists twisting down from the ceiling on giant pieces of fabric.
Like me, she’s probably hoping to heaven and back they don’t land on us. Jesus, that woman’s just holding that shit with her teeth. “Yeah,” I agree. “Nothing says, ‘I love you,’ better than a freak show.”
Allie covers her hand with her mouth, a choked squeak lodging in her tiny throat. It’s cute, not that she looks that way. Allie is slamming it tonight, putting all the uptight B-list celebrities we’re walking past to shame.
There’s that redhead, what’s her face? The one who used to be on that hit show until she shaved her head and mailed the pieces to Charlie Sheen. Babe, Charlie’s already nuts. Why give him something else to lose his shit over?
Oh, and there’s Deanna Bernstein. Former top model turned animal hater. You have to hate animals to wear a dead flamingo wrapped around you. A few of the hot pink feathers that make up her skirt flutter to the floor. “She must be molting,” I say.
“Seamus, stop,” Allie says through her smile. She’s trying not to laugh. But she’s not trying hard enough. I’m just getting started.
The former model turns, eyeing us with her nose turned up as she strokes the bird’s beak, its neck wrapped around hers like a choker.
“I don’t think she likes your dress,” I tell Allie. “Told you, you should have worn that dead panda—”
Allie yanks me ahead. In truth, if I dug in my heels, she couldn’t make me budge. But I’m starting to laugh, too. It feels good to laugh with my lady, and it feels even better to stand here as her man.
I’m in the dark tux and gold tie I wore as a member of Finnie’s wedding party. Allie’s in a strapless dress that falls just above her knee. I’m not sure where she found this sexy little number, but the subtle gold tone matches my tie to a tee.
She sees me eyeing her, glancing down and coming to walk beside me when she feels she’s put enough space between me and the bird killer. “I hope you don’t mind that we match,” she says.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I assure her.
What I would like another way is us, except I’m not sure how to make us happen.
This whole thing started out as an arrangement, this little agreement so we’d get what we needed. But Allie, being the amazing, fun, and smart woman she is . . . what can I say? She was just what I needed, even though I’d never pictured myself with someone this perfect.
When I saw her in Mary Therese’s dress, I knew I was done for. But it’s like everything I thought I should say didn’t come out. My brothers had to go and think I was proposing—and then announce it, too! I was sure Allie was going to bolt. So instead of holding her in my arms like I wanted to at the end of the ceremony, I held her at arm’s length worried she’d dump me right there. We had fun. We danced up a storm. We went home. Separately. Yeah, we’ve had dinner at my place and hers. But’s it’s like we’ve reached a standstill. Some place where friends, just friends, hang out.
Allie jumps when some asshole, his body painted in green scales, spits fire just a few feet away from her. I snatch her to me and point at the guy. “You set my woman on fire, I’m going to rip off your tail and shove it up your ass.”
“I’m a professional,” the man in a speedo with lizard parts sticking out between his butt cheeks says, all offended-like.
“You’re going to be professional with a tail sticking out of your ass,” I warn.
Allie hauls me away from the black and white stand the guy’s perched on. Dragon dude scowls, but damn well moves back, leaving some space between him and the guests.
We pass a woman dressed in a plain brown dress that hangs to her ankles and a long white apron that’s not that much shorter. Her face is painted like a porcelain doll. And, yeah, it’s as creepy as it sounds.
She steps out from behind an old-fashioned peanut cart and smiles, offering us a paper bag. “Would you like some peanuts to feed the elephants?” she asks, attempting to fake an Irish accent. “They’re in the garden just past the solarium.”
Allie and I exchange glances. “Perhaps later?” Allie says, sounding about as dumbstruck as I look.
“Oh,” creepy doll lady says. “Now is the prime time to feed them. The zoo is coming to collect them within the hour.” She drops her voice. “They want to avoid the giant beasts stomping any drunks who may try to ride them later.”
“I’ll bet,” I say.
“Thank you, anyway,” Allie says.
As we make our way further in, the crowd of forgotten stars grows more pronounced, fighting to draw the attention of the camera crews that have arrived. Most are local stations, except for the reporter from one of those sleazy entertainment shows.
“Let me guess the caption,” I say. “Valentina Mendes rushes down the aisle with secret elephant love child growing in her cavern of desire.”
Allie grins. “That’s enough out of you,” she says.
“The hell it is,” I say. “How ‘bout, Rhinos, monkeys, and gazelles cause mass destruction at bizarre vampire-circus style wedding?”
“Seamus.”
“Hot local carpenter saves all.”
“Seamus!”
“Swings through curtains a lá Tarzan.”
She throws back her head, laughing.
“With sexy Jane in gold dress. Footage at eleven.”
Allie nudges me playfully, laughing at my stupid remarks. She stops laughing as more of the freaky shit comes into view. Man, I don’t know where to look to catch any hint of normal.
We pass a bearded lady telling fortunes. A little person on a bike doing tricks. Like the clowns near the front, the aerialists, and the lady with the peanuts, their makeup is a combination of Goth meets Bride of Frankenstein.
“Valentina must have spent a fortune,” Allie says.
I huff. “No, Andres did.”
“Yes, he did.” Allie isn’t jealous. She sounds confused. Like me, she probably can’t understand the why of it all. I get Valentina wants to show off and be remembered. But the best way to describe this whole thing is unnecessary. Then again, I’m talking like someone with nothing to prove.
“Seamus,” Allie says. “You know what’s odd?”
“Ah, everything?” I ask, motioning around this hot mess.
She turns her head in the direction that we came. “I’ve seen who’s present, but I haven’t seen who should be present.”
“What do you mean?”
“My relatives, my cousins, my family. No one is here. I don’t even see Andres’s family in attendance and his family is almost as large as mine.”
I shrug. “My guess is V
alentina has them stowed someplace reserved for family or close friends.”
“I hope,” she says. “But knowing Valentina, it would make more sense to have them mingling here so she can show off her success and who she knows.”
“But it’s not real success. It’s Andres’s.”
“I know,” she adds. “Look . . . I’m not trying to pretend to know Andres. Especially when I’ve determined I never really knew him. But this is the exact opposite of anything that resembles his former persona. If he had a Star Wars theme wedding, yes, as nerdy as it sounds, it would fit. This doesn’t make any sense. It’s completely foreign from anything he may have wanted.”
“That’s because he probably didn’t want it. I give them six months,” I say, not bothering to whisper. I give Allie a one shoulder shrug when she looks at me. “It’s for show, Allie. Just like their marriage.”
“I know,” she says, sounding sad.
“Why does it bother you so much?” I ask.
She smiles a little when I tickle her chin. “As much as I don’t believe they’re in love, I wanted to be wrong.”
My arm slips around Allie’s waist as the crowd thickens. I angle my body, shielding her against the slew of drunks. Women in top hats, black and white makeup, skimpy outfits, and fishnets pass us with silver platters piled with drinks. Even more pass us with empty glasses. The so-called elite guests are taking advantage of the free booze and the reception hasn’t even started.
“Did you hear me?” Allie asks.
I practically snarl at the idiot and his date who stumble forward, leading Allie away until we’re almost to the large hall and the crowd thins. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear anything. I was too busy trying to keep you safe.”
“Thank you,” she says. She quiets and adds, “I never wished Valentina or Andres harm. As much as I find their actions distasteful and selfish, I really hoped they could somehow be happy.”
“Why?” She tilts her head, evidently questioning why I’d ask such a thing. “I get that you’re a good person, but even good people have their limits.”
I tug on her hair when she averts her gaze to the floor. Like some kind of magical gesture, she grins. “I suppose if they were happy and managed to have a long and wonderful marriage, their actions would be worth the hurt they caused me.”
“I don’t agree,” I say. “If roles were reversed, neither would wish the same for us.”
“Us?” she asks.
Okay. This is it. “Yeah, Allie. Us.”
Some skinny guy in even skinnier pants, dressed like a ring master and wearing enough makeup to shame a drag queen, clears his throat, interrupting a moment I’ve waited too long for.
I’m not bothered about the makeup. Hell, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants. I’m bothered by the interruption and the next few words that fly out of his mouth.
“Would you like a dove?” He lifts the bird he’s holding and shoves it in my face, proving this isn’t a joke, and that yes, he is an asshole.
“To eat?” I ask.
I don’t think this guy is going to get many men like me in here. For that, and probably more, he’s grateful.
His eyes round, but he recovers quickly. “No, sir. The bride and groom are offering doves to release as opposed to the exhausted tradition of throwing rice.
I give Allie a look that says, “Can you believe this crap?” A look I have no doubt she’ll be getting a lot tonight.
“No, thank you,” Allie says, taking in the row of white birds cooing behind their wooden cages.
“They don’t peck,” the dude assures us.
Like that’s the damn problem.
“And you don’t have to hold them. You just have to write a note, wishing the bride and groom well,” he tells us. “We’ll tie it to the dove’s foot and send the message into the heavens.”
See? There’s that look again.
I glance toward our right where another woman in a gothic clown suit offers the Channel Twelve news anchor a sacrificial dove. The animal rights activists should be all over this place. Where the hell is PETA when you need them?
“It would mean a lot to the bride and groom,” ring master guy insists when we try to walk away.
“Looks to me like most of the crowd would have preferred to throw rice,” I say, pointing to the two sole doves with notes tied to their legs.
“Very well,” Allie says.
The guy steps aside, making a show of presenting yet another she-goth clown behind a small ornate podium. She straightens a ribbon of paper and reaches for a black quill. “What would you like the note to say?” she asks.
“Don’t shit on the bride,” I offer.
Allie snatches my hand, trying not to laugh when she sees me trying to do the same. “How about, wishing you well?” she recommends, instead.
“That’s it?” the ring master asks.
Now, I’m really annoyed. “If you don’t like it, you can go with my first suggestion.”
“Wishing you well works, sir.” He adds the “sir” when I glare at him. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should feel sorry for him. Seriously, what does he tell his family every Thanksgiving when they ask him what he’s up to? “The usual. Dressing up like a freaky ring master and playing with pigeons. How’s Uncle Lou? I hear he’s got gout.”
“Why don’t we head in?” Allie suggests.
“If that’s what you want,” I say.
It’s a good idea and maybe it will give us time to talk and—holy shit! We’re inside of a circus tent.
This isn’t an ordinary tent. The ceiling goes up a good fifty feet. The large hall is only partially lit, which is odd. Considering the size of the lightbulbs crisscrossing above us, there should be enough light to get a tan. As it is, there’s barely enough for guests to find their way to their seats and not fall on their faces.
Each chair is covered in alternating fabrics of black and white, and tied with the opposite color ribbon. I take in the tightrope running from one corner to the other and a trapeze configuration opposite it.
I don’t see a net. Not a good sign. “Maybe we should hang outside and feed the giraffes.”
“Elephants,” Allie corrects, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s looking further down the aisle where several women are clutching a crying woman.
I don’t recognize Mamacita. Allie does, releasing my hand as she hurries down the aisle. “Excuse me,” she says.
Mamacita is hunched over, the tan dress she’s in causing her to blend in with the background.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Allie asks, bending to speak to her crying mother.
I reach them, holding back to give them some privacy, but close enough to have Allie’s back. I wait to hear something about Valentina jumping ship on Andres. I don’t expect what comes next.
“They’re ignoring your mother,” one of Allie’s aunts says.
“Who’s ignoring her?’” I ask.
They look up at once, appearing to notice me for the first time. Instead of bristling like a pack of porcupines, like Allie’s family usually does around me, they seem relieved to see me.
“Everyone here is ignoring her,” another aunt answers. “Either they don’t believe she is the mother of the bride or they don’t care.”
Allie frowns. “Are you speaking of the guests, the staff, or . . .”
“Take your pick,” another aunt bites out, causing Mamacita to cry harder.
Allie shakes her head like she doesn’t understand how anyone could do this. Probably because she’d never treat anyone this way.
“We were left out of the planning and arrangements from the start,” the oldest aunt says. “We tried to understand. It’s in Valentina’s right to refuse us. But your mother . . .”
“I just wanted to help,” Mamacita says. “I was worried Valentina might need something done or handled. But she hasn’t talked to me in weeks and didn’t let me attend any of her fittings or me
etings. This isn’t like her.”
Sure it is. Mamacita’s just never been on the receiving end.
The aunt with the silver hair who looks the most like Mamacita wrings her hands. “Every time we’ve asked to speak to someone in charge, or tried to speak to one of the attendants, they’ve ignored us. The one man who didn’t demanded to see our invitations. Even then, he still wouldn’t help us.”
“They won’t tell us where Valentina is,” the first aunt says. “We don’t want to bother her. Your mother just wants to help her dress and offer a blessing.”
Mamacita looks up. I didn’t feel bad for her when I first met her. She was being mean to Allie and too busy kissing Valentina’s ass to see how hurt Allie was.
I feel sorry for her now. Mamcita’s face doesn’t carry the cockiness I’m most familiar with. She’s pale in this light, but there’s more. This isn’t a woman who’s offended. This is a woman who feels abandoned by her child. “It’s like they’ve been instructed to keep us away and silent,” Mamacita says. “There’s no other explanation.”
Allie’s aunts step aside when she kneels and places her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “The wedding theme was a bit of a surprise.”
“To us too,” one of the aunts says. “Valentina wouldn’t speak a word about it to anyone. Did you see the clowns?”
Allie’s gaze softens, recognizing her family’s unease, but mostly her mother’s embarrassment. “Mom, have you considered that perhaps Valentina wants everything to be a surprise? Something special for you and everyone to remember?”
Allie is saying all the sweet things good daughters should. But Valentina isn’t the good daughter Allie is. Today proves as much.
The lights flicker off and on, alerting the guests it’s Showtime. Allie reaches for a tissue from her purse and wipes her mother’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Mommy. It will be all right,” she says. “Let’s get you cleaned up so everyone will see your smiling, pretty face when you walk down the aisle.”
“There’s no need.” The aunt with the gray streaks in her hair clasps her hands, her lips pursing in reflection of her anger. “Your mother won’t be walking down the aisle,” she says. “Valentina won’t let her.”