Not Another Family Wedding

by Jackie Lau

She was relieved he didn’t want to go with her, actually. Some time apart would probably be good after what happened last night. It would help her get her head on straight.

  “Sure,” she said. “We can meet up later in the afternoon.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek before she walked out the door, and the feel of his lips on her skin lingered for a long time afterward.

  Chapter 11

  Kara’s two-year-old daughter was throwing her sippy cup around and had yogurt smeared all over her face. She kept trying to smell—or was it kiss?—the golden retriever’s ass. Literally kiss its ass.

  “She sees dogs sniffing each other’s asses, and she gets ideas,” Kara said to Natalie.

  “Doggie’s ass!” said the two-year-old.

  “Mommy said a bad word.” Kara pulled her youngest child toward her and wiped her face with a paper towel. “Doggie’s bum.”

  The two-year-old ran around the den, screaming, “Doggie’s bum! Doggie’s bum!” The three-year-old joined in a moment later.

  Natalie was sitting on the couch beside Kara, and she could feel a headache coming on.

  The idea of having three children under the age of six was positively terrifying. And why would anyone want to bring so many children into this godforsaken world? The place was going to shit. You only had to read the comments section on any news article to know that.

  Then there was climate change, which had somehow become a political issue that you believed in or didn’t believe in. Many people didn’t care what the experts thought, didn’t care about scientists’ analyses of the data. If there was a snowstorm in April, they considered it proof the planet wasn’t warming up.

  Natalie was one of the experts, and she was very worried about the state of the world.

  Of course, she couldn’t wax poetic about the good old days, either. If she’d been born a hundred years ago, her life would hardly have been easy. For starters, she wouldn’t have been able to vote. Although women were given the right to vote in 1919, that wasn’t all women. Chinese Canadians didn’t get the right to vote until nearly thirty years later, and while Rebecca might be able to pass as a white woman, Natalie could not.

  It was probably for the best that she’d been born when she was. She’d had lots of opportunities. But that didn’t mean the world was a great place.

  If you were a mother, people attacked you for working, and they attacked you for not working. They attacked you for breastfeeding in public, and they attacked you for not breastfeeding at all, even if it was impossible for you to breastfeed. They complained about child obesity rates, yet they called the cops if they saw two eight-year-olds walking home without an adult. You were under so much pressure to do everything perfectly. People judged your every move.

  And if you weren’t a mother, everyone was constantly asking when you would become one. Like her extended family at Rebecca’s wedding, pointing out that she was getting old.

  Kara didn’t ask, though, because she was a friend and she knew Natalie’s feelings on having children.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” she asked instead.

  “No.”

  Kara’s eyebrows shot up. “You hesitated.”

  “I did not.” But Natalie might have. Just a little.

  “Come on,” Kara said, sliding closer to her on the couch.

  Natalie glanced at the children. The five-year-old boy was building something out of Duplo, and the two girls were chasing each other. She felt a little weird talking about this when there were three kids in the room, but she decided to tell the truth. “The guy I brought to Rebecca’s wedding. We, um, hooked up. It didn’t mean anything, though. I was just in a weird place after the wedding reception.”

  She was brushing it off as though it were no big deal, but it kind of was a big deal.

  “You and your exciting single life.” Kara sighed, then pulled her three-year-old daughter into her arms and tickled the bottom of her feet. “But I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”

  That’s what parents always said. Natalie believed her friend truly meant it, even if Kara might wish for a day off to go to the spa, where she would inevitably worry about how her three screaming munchkins were behaving for her husband.

  Sometimes, however, Natalie felt like parents said that more to convince themselves than anything else. You couldn’t say you wished you didn’t have kids, especially right in front of them. Plus, it seemed like some people had children because it was just one of those things you did. They wanted to fit in. Which seemed like a terrible reason to have a child, but Natalie kind of understood. When you got to your mid-thirties and nearly everyone you knew was popping out babies, you started to feel left out if you were childless.

  She believed Rebecca really did want children, but she hoped her sister would wait until she and Elliot had been married for a couple of years. They’d gotten married after nine months. Nine months was nothing. And she was only twenty-five years old! That seemed too young to be sure of what you wanted.

  Of course, their parents had had children when they were that age.

  And look how well that had turned out.

  “Is the news about Rebecca’s wedding all over town?” Natalie asked.

  “Our next-door neighbor rushed over to tell me just before you got here. According to her, one of your grandmothers whacked the other on the head with a cane and she started bleeding, but I’m guessing that’s an exaggeration?”

  Natalie chuckled. “Ngin Ngin did lunge toward Grandma with a cane over her head, but my brother pulled her back.”

  “The gossips in town aren’t overly concerned with getting the details right.”

  “No, they are not.”

  “So,” Kara said, “tell me more about the guy you hooked up with.”

  “We’re just friends.” It felt like a lie, but it was the truth. “You know Connor? I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before. He—”

  “You slept with Connor? You guys have been friends for ages. Was he good?”

  Natalie’s face heated. “He—”

  “Mommy, what are you talking about?” the three-year-old asked.

  “Grown-up stuff,” Kara said.

  “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  “Okay, sweetie. I’ll start making the frittata.” Kara stood up and turned to Natalie. “It’ll be nice to cook for someone who appreciates real food. I even bought arugula.”

  Natalie got on the floor with the children.

  “What are you making?” she asked the five-year-old, gesturing at the Duplo.

  “A stable for my unicorn.” He held up a white-and-yellow stuffed unicorn that looked well-loved.

  “Natalie!” The three-year-old tapped her shoulder. “Will you make me a crown?” She held up a sheet of yellow construction paper.

  “Sure,” Natalie said. “Do you want to be a princess?”

  The three-year-old shook her head solemnly. “I want to be a queen. Queens are more powerful.”

  “I want a crown!” The two-year-old rushed over. “I want to be a princess!”

  “If you get me another sheet of paper, I’ll make you each a crown.”

  Natalie spent the next fifteen minutes cutting out and taping two crowns. The little girls were thrilled when they each got a crown placed on their heads. Then the golden retriever started eating the two-year-old’s crown, and Natalie had to make a third one.

  She could enjoy this for a few hours. But she didn’t want it to be her life.

  * * *

  After leaving Kara’s, Natalie went to her parents’ house and rang the doorbell, feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t stayed here last night.

  Dad answered.

  “Is it just you?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t expected them both to be home.

  Her parents together? That was a thing of the past.

  She followed her father into the living room, where presents wrapped in white and pink and silver paper covered th
e coffee table. Standing up against the far wall was an oil painting of a garden. Natalie walked over to examine it.

  “Where did this come from?” she asked.

  “Bernard,” Dad said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “He paints, you see, in addition to being a successful businessman. Judy was going to say she bought it at an art fair when she gave it to Rebecca, but now...” He shrugged. “No use lying.”

  “Are you jealous of Bernard?”

  A foolish hope sprang up in her chest. Her father could win her mother back with a grand romantic gesture!

  Jesus, what was wrong with her?

  “Jealousy is not what I would call it,” Dad said.

  “Have you met him?”

  “No.” Dad put his hand on her shoulder and continued to look at the painting. “It wasn’t so much that we didn’t want to deal with our mothers’ reactions, but even before Rebecca announced she was getting married, we didn’t want to disappoint her.”

  “What about me and Seth?”

  “You’ve been world-weary since you were a child. You can cope with anything.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He turned toward her. “Seth will be fine. He always is. Rebecca, however... She’ll be fine, too, I guess. I hate that it ruined her wedding, though.” He shook his head. “Dammit. I never liked Louisa.”

  “She’s always been a bit much.”

  “I put up with her because she was the only one who stood by your mother when we got married. But she’s a borderline alcoholic who can’t commit to anything.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Mom has Bernard,” Natalie said. “Do you have someone, too?”

  “I do not.”

  “Are we still having brunch tomorrow? Will you both be there?”

  “That’s the plan.” He paused. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you?”

  “I stayed at the bed and breakfast with Connor.”

  “Yet you’ve been keen to emphasize that he’s just your friend, not your boyfriend.”

  Her mind wandered back to what they’d done last night, to how he’d kissed her as they’d danced under the stars, then made her soar in bed afterward.

  “Just my friend,” she repeated.

  “As your father, I shall not ask for further details or inquire if the definition of ‘friend’ has changed since I was young.”

  Natalie laughed, even though things would never be the same again.

  “Mom told me you were making Rebecca’s present,” she said. “What is it?”

  “I’ll show you.” He motioned for her to follow him down to the basement.

  * * *

  When Rebecca was four, Dad had made her a little table and chair. He’d painted them purple—her favorite color—with stenciled pink hearts and stars. Then he’d built her a matching wooden chest and filled it with construction paper, markers, crayons, and stickers.

  When she’d opened her present on Christmas morning, she’d given him the biggest grin in the world.

  “Daddy!” she’d cried. “I love you!”

  “Your father built it himself,” Mom had said.

  “Really? It didn’t come from the store?”

  “No.”

  “Can you teach me? I want to make something for you!”

  God, Rebecca had been cute.

  “When you’re older,” he’d said, and she’d scrunched up her face. He’d brought the table and chair and chest to the den. “Just for my little artist.”

  Drawing had been her favorite thing to do. For the week after Christmas, every picture she drew—and she did several a day—was for him, half of them of smiling butterflies. Then she’d gotten into a flamingo phase, and it was all flamingos for a while. She’d given many of those pictures to Natalie, who still had a couple of them.

  When Rebecca was older, he did teach her a bit of carpentry. They’d built a bookshelf together, and for Dad’s fiftieth birthday, she’d made him a bedside table.

  And now, Natalie was looking at the pair of bedside tables that her father had made for Rebecca as her wedding present. They were stained a warm brown.

  “They’re nice,” she said, and then she glanced over at the little purple table and chair, gathering dust in the corner of the basement. She wished she could go back to a simpler time, when Rebecca was small and innocent and her parents were still together. When her father’s black hair was not streaked with gray.

  Actually, now that she took a closer look, she realized it wasn’t just streaked with gray—most of it was gray. Her father was getting old. When had that happened?

  She turned toward the storage shelves. The cream-colored box that contained her mother’s wedding dress was still there.

  Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in her childhood home anymore.

  Besides, it was time to meet Connor. She’d told him she’d be finished around three o’clock, and it was just about three. She couldn’t go back in time, but she could go to Connor. The thought of being in his arms again put a smile on her face, even though she’d panicked when she woke up in his bed this morning.

  With Connor, she could let her guard down; she could be herself, and it was okay. She often felt a little on edge, even around people who cared about her, but not with him.

  She released a breath. For this weekend, she would just let whatever happened...happen. They could sleep together again, and that would be fine. It would be a lot of fun, in fact. She’d treat the weekend in Mosquito Bay as a break from their regular life.

  What happened in Mosquito Bay could stay in Mosquito Bay.

  When they returned to Ottawa, it might be a little difficult to return to the way things were before, but she knew they’d stay friends.

  She could count on Connor.

  Chapter 12

  Connor sat by the lake, his arm slung over the back of the bench. It was the same bench where he and Natalie had sat last night after the reception.

  Hard to believe how much had changed in the past twenty-four hours.

  His ex-wife hadn’t liked Natalie much. Natalie wasn’t his only female friend, but she was his only single female friend who wasn’t also friends with Sharon. Sharon had trusted Connor, he knew that, but she’d always been a bit suspicious of Natalie. Not that Sharon had had anything to worry about back then.

  But now his feelings for Natalie seemed to be evolving. At first, he’d thought it was just sex between friends; now, he wondered if it was more than that.

  He kept looking at his phone, waiting for her to text him to say she was leaving Kara’s. He couldn’t wait to see her again, even though he’d only seen her a few hours ago, and it wasn’t just because he wanted to sleep with her, although that would certainly be welcome. He wanted to know how she was. He wanted simple touches, like clasping her hand in his.

  A simple touch could mean a whole lot.

  Maybe it had something to do with seeing Natalie in her hometown. Seeing her with her family, the people who meant a lot to her. And after all the years he’d heard her talk about her sister, from the time Rebecca had been a child, it was nice to actually meet her.

  His phone beeped. It was Natalie, saying she was done and asking where she should meet him. He texted her back.

  Ten minutes later, she slid onto the bench beside him with a sigh. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “Oh, it was good. Exhausting, though. When there are three young children, they’re never all happy at the same time. Someone’s always fussing. But they’re cute. I made them crowns. The older girl—she’s three—said she wanted to be a queen instead of a princess because queens are more powerful.”

  He laughed softly, imagining Ariana saying the same thing, but at the same time, he felt an inexplicable sadness.

  He shook his head to clear that feeling away.

  “Then I went to see my father,” she said. “I didn’t stay long, but he confirmed that yes, brunch wit
h the whole family is still happening tomorrow. Should be tons of fun.”

  “Wow, that didn’t sound sarcastic at all.”

  “Who, me? Sarcastic?” She grinned at him, and it sent pleasure coiling through his body.

  He never used to feel like this around Natalie. Well, maybe he had when he was eighteen or nineteen, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

  “What did you do?” she asked. “Explore the town?”

  “Yep. It took me all of twenty minutes.”

  “That’s why I don’t come back very often. There’s nothing to do, and it’s a long way from Ottawa. Plus, it burns a lot of fossil fuel to get here.”

  He took her hand in his. “It turns me on when you talk about fossil fuel emissions.”

  “You have a serious problem,” she muttered as he bent to kiss behind her ear.

  It was the same between them...and yet it was completely different. He was holding her hand and kissing her, and those things were not meaningless.

  “Why did your parents settle in Mosquito Bay?” he asked.

  “This is where my mom grew up. All of her siblings and her mother still live within half an hour of here. My parents lived in Toronto after they were married, but a year after I was born, they moved back because my mom missed it.”

  “Your dad grew up in Toronto, right?”

  She nodded. “My grandparents had a restaurant on Dundas Street. They came here in the early fifties, a few years after Canada lifted the Chinese Exclusion Act, which had banned Chinese immigrants. They’re from southern China.”

  He’d known Natalie for seventeen years. He knew lots of things about her, but that wasn’t enough now. He needed to know everything, including her family history.

  “I thought your family spoke Toisanese,” he said, “but Simon mentioned Ngin Ngin talking to his parents in Cantonese.”

  “Toisanese is what they spoke in their village. It’s somewhat similar to Cantonese. Many people who speak Toisanese also speak Cantonese, like they speak in Hong Kong, where Simon was born. His family lived in England for a number of years before coming to Canada, if you were wondering about his accent.”

  “But you don’t speak Toisanese or Cantonese.”