by Sarina Bowen
Before I’ve sorted it out, she steps back. “Let’s go, Copper. Boat’s waiting.”
I follow her on board like a hungry dog. Just like she knew I would.
23 Weird Silence
Meg
Okay. I have been to a lot of weddings. Sometimes as a guest, sometimes as a performer, but mostly as a server. But I have never been cruising around Grand Haven on a giant paddle boat that’s festooned with flowers, mylar balloons, and sparkling disco balls. This has Aubrey written all over it. She’s like some kind of unicorn pixie, sprinkling love dust and magic everywhere she goes...which is funny because her own love life is a disaster.
Anyway.
Tucked among the flowers and sparkling streamers are tiny white lights, as if we’ve stepped into a small floral universe under twinkling stars. I’m not lying when I breathe, “This is amazing!” I squeeze Mac’s arm for emphasis.
I can feel his muscles flex. Damn his muscles. I sort of wish we could skip the reception and head straight to bed. Actually, I don’t even need a bed with him. Just a dark corner where he can push me up against a wall, hoist my dress and leg up, and…
Mac kills the mood a little when he whispers, “This may sound paranoid. But I think Rosie put her reception on a boat entirely so that I can’t escape.”
At that moment, I catch Rosie’s eye in the receiving line. Both she and her husband give us matching cheesy thumbs up. First of all, this confirms they’re soul mates. And secondly, I realize Mac is totally right. Rosie did plan this boat reception as a way to force the family together.
Rosie is an evil genius.
She’s fucking fantastic.
We make our way through the receiving line. “You are a beautiful bride!” I tell Rosie. Because it’s true.
“As will you be someday!” she sings. The girl is clearly high on wedding-day exhilaration. Or maybe she inhaled some of the helium in the balloons. Either way, I wait while her brother gives her a squeeze. And then Mac and I go up to the top deck, where the dining tables are beautifully set. There will be dinner and then dancing. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a spectacular sunset too. This whole reception-on-a-boat thing is starting to really grow on me. Not that I’ll ever get married. But if I did...
At the sound of Mac’s sigh, I turn my attention to the table in front of us. I don’t even have to read the names on the place cards to know what’s coming. Family drama. But that’s okay, because I know my role. This is what Mac brought me here for, after all: to be the girlfriend buffer.
Serve it up, Maguire family! This girl is ready.
Our table is just in front of the wedding party, and with a view of Lake Michigan sparkling over the railing. It’s the Family Table, and it’s just me, Mac, Mac’s parents, and Morris and Julie.
“How cozy!” I say with a smile, while Mac scowls.
We’re not the first to arrive at our table, though. Mac’s parents are already seated. His dad, God bless him, is wearing a red crocheted sweater vest over his shirt and tie. And either Bob has really odd shoulders, or Mac’s mom has incorporated shoulder pads into her design. Bob gives me a little finger wave and a smile. I finger wave back. And then I wait. Mac is frozen about two paces from the table.
So. This is awkward.
After a moment or two of weird silence, Eleanor, Mac’s mom, says, “For Pete’s sake, kiddo, pull out her chair!”
Mac shakes himself. “Sorry, darling,” he says.
For a second I wonder who the darling is. Then I realize it’s me. So Mac is in full-on This Is My Girlfriend mode.
I have to admit, I sort of like it.
After he pulls out the chair for me, I feel his hand trail down to the small of my back. I shiver and then slide into the seat.
Okay, fine. I don’t just sort of like it. I love it. So much. It’s a subtle way of telling everyone that you’re a couple. I wonder if he even knows he’s doing that. I hope it’s just a reflex. Maybe that means I’m growing on him.
A moment later, Mac drops into the seat next to mine. His jaw is as tight as spandex on a pig. “Breathe, Copper,” I whisper to him.
He adjusts his collar.
“Meg,” Eleanor says in a dreamy voice. “I am so glad you’re here. I thought for sure you were going to be a one-time fling, but here you are! I’ve dreamed of this day!” Then she whirls on Mac. “So….” She leans forward. “When are you going to pop the question?”
“Mom! Come on!” Mac says. Maybe a little too forcefully.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’ve found out I’m really good at being a grandma. And Rosie should be pregnant soon. Give her a four months’ start, and then you two should get started. I’ve been knitting booties.”
“Booties,” Bob echoes. I’m pretty sure that’s a hint of despair in his voice.
I wonder if he’s wearing a pair of booties right now. I don’t get the chance to ask, though, when I look up to spot Mac’s double, and Julie’s Double Ds. The two of them slide into seats opposite us.
And, okay, it’s a little bit like a Twilight Zone episode. Morris looks so much like Mac. And yet not the same at all. His face is rounder, his eyes a little tired and squinty. Maybe that’s what happens the year after you have a baby, though. Or after you stab your twin in the back.
Then there’s Julie. I have nothing nice to say about her at all. This is probably just a reflex. I can’t possibly like a woman who betrayed Mac. That must be why I have a dozen mean thoughts about her immediately. Her dress is ill-fitting. Her breasts are about ready to make a run for it and pop the buttons right off her dress. She has lipstick on her teeth. I’m a terrible person for judging her so superficially.
But fuck it. She probably kicks puppies for fun.
“Nuts!” Julie exclaims suddenly. And I’m confused. Does she want to eat nuts, or is she regretting the way things ended with Mac? She better not be checking out Mac. Mac is mine.
Ohhhhh damn. Possessive much, Meg?
Just a bit, I tell myself.
Luckily it’s not Mac that Julie is fixated on. A moment later I realize that it’s the nuts on the table that have caught her attention. Bending over, she begins digging furiously through the bowl. She pulls out a fat Brazil nut, holding it up in the air like it’s the Hope Diamond. Then she starts to nibble at it like she’s eating a piece of baby corn.
I try to swallow the laugh that’s bubbling up. Because Julie is sloshed. I squeeze Mac’s thigh and he leans a little closer to me.
God, I love weddings. All that natural, unscripted drama just calls to me. I’m on the edge of my seat. It’s only a little past seven, and already the tension at this table is as thick as tar, and Julie is floating above it like she’s in La La Land.
This will only get more interesting, I decide as salads begin to land on the table, one in front of each of us. Morris hands Julie the bread basket. “Have a roll,” he says to his wife.
“Too carby,” Julie snips.
“I think you need to make an exception this time.”
“What are you saying?” She swings her head toward her husband like a horse changing direction. “You’re the one who thinks I need to lose the baby weight.”
Eleanor flinches. “You look beautiful, dear. Try the rolls and let me know how they are.”
Julie holds up a hand, as if she’s about to swear an oath. “No, I shall refrain. And I won’t tell you what I think about the rolls, or anything else. That’s what the Maguire family does, right? We just hold it all inside. That’s our way.”
There is a deep silence. Everyone looks at his plate. Except for me, of course. I’m practically taking notes. It would be rude to pull out a pen and jot this down, right? This is drama gold.
Everyone picks up his fork and begins to eat salad. Even me. And it’s a good salad, with candied pecans and sour cherries. “I love dried cherries,” I say with a sigh. “Such a Michigan thing.”
“Mmm,” Bob agrees.
“Dried up like lil’ raisins,” Julie says.
“Like our sex life, right, honey?”
Morris chokes on his sip of water.
The awkwardness congeals around us, like shredded cheese left out in the sun.
The tension is only broken when a waiter glides up with a tray full of champagne flutes. “It’s bubbly time!”
“Excellent.” Bob claps his hands together. “Champagne for my real friends. Real pain for my sham friends!”
“That one hits a little too close to home tonight,” Mac mutters under his breath.
Now everyone who has ever been to a wedding knows you’re not supposed to drink the champagne until after the toast. So we all set our glasses down on the table and wait.
Except for Julie. She tips hers into her mouth and glugs back the whole glass in a big fat hurry. Then she plunks the empty glass onto the table and belches. “Megggggh,” she slurs. “I know this is awkward,” she says, enunciating every word. “But I just want you to know that I’m so happy you’re here. For Mac. He looks good with you. And I look good with Morris. And since they’re identical, does that mean we look good together? By the transitive property. Isn’t that weird?”
There’s a silence at our table that practically throbs.
“It is weird,” I agree, because fucking hell. It is.
“Have another drink,” Morris says. He sounds tired. Maybe because he is. He stops a passing waiter and commandeers a fresh glass for his wife.
Julie immediately raises her glass. “Here’s to a night off from the baby and nursing and all those late night Netflix binges. And here’s to family harm.” She giggles. “I mean, family harmony.”
There’s a pause when I don’t know what his family is going to do. But then everyone picks up their glasses and clinks them together. Because, hey, what else do you do with your dysfunctional family but go along with the flow?
The dinner is your typical wedding affair. Lots of toasts and speeches. Courses of food, and it’s actually pretty tasty for 1) being served on a boat and 2) this being a wedding. There’s Michigan whitefish that’s been dredged in flour and then pan seared in locally churned butter. A summer medley of vegetables. And the biscuits! I don’t understand how they did it, but they’re so fluffy that it’s clear someone’s got some weird voodoo magic going on. I think I actually moan when I take a bite.
And then there’s crème brûlée and tiramisu and chocolate cake, all served on individual spoons so you get just a bite. I could handle about a hundred bites, though.
“Do you think I can slip one of these into my purse?” I whisper to Mac.
“That would be stealing,” he says without thinking.
“Then I guess you’d have to arrest me. Did you bring your cuffs?”
That brings a smile to his lips. He surprises me when he says, “I might have. Hold that thought.”
“Oh, I’ll be holding it.”
Mac is bearing up pretty well, given the pressure. It helps that there’s a lot of great food, and speeches, and eventually music.
What there isn’t a lot of is conversation.
Mac’s mom and dad look blissfully unaware of the tension. Or maybe they’re just in denial. Julie is swaying to the instrumental jazz that’s playing. Or maybe she’s just swaying. Morris glances at his phone from time to time, but it’s obvious that he can’t figure out where to rest his gaze.
And Mac? He’s just staring straight ahead, tense like a cable that’s pulled taut, and about to snap.
“Sooooooo….” I say loudly to the table. Then I realize I’ve got nothing. No material. You’d think my training in improv would help with this sort of silence, but not so much. Everyone turns to look at me, and I have to admit, I panic a little. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “It’s time for that dance you promised me.”
There is a beat of silence. Then Mac says, “Right! Let’s do it.”
I almost fall out of my chair, I’m so surprised. But I scramble to my feet, not wanting to waste the moment. Catching Mac’s hand, I pull him onto the dance floor, taking care to put some space between us and the Table of Doom.
“So this is what it takes to get you to dance?” I ask Mac as we come together, cheek to cheek. The band is playing “As Time Goes By.”
“Apparently,” he says, that gruff voice setting off fireworks all over my body. Maybe this is a fake date, but we’re dancing for real. And the weight of his hand at my waist is divine. The sun is beginning to tint the sky pink.
“This is so nice,” I hear myself say. “And look at Rosie. She looks so happy!”
Mac shifts to glance at his sister. “She does,” he admits. “I guess a few hours of discomfort are worth it for Rosie.”
“You’re not uncomfortable right now,” I say, pressing my luck. “You’ve been fed and you’re dancing with me. So your life is basically perfect.”
He chuckles, and the vibration does buzzy things to my belly. “You’re a hell of a date, Meg.”
“Well, you make it easy.”
He smiles against my cheek, and I’m so happy. This is the perfect moment.
“Excuse me. Can I cut in?” There’s a tap on my arm. And the tapper is Julie.
“No,” I snap. “No. Just no. I was promised this dance, and I will finish this dance.”
Julie’s head jerks back, like I slapped her. “I thought we were going to be friends.”
“Why did you think that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Well…” She looks confused. “We’re both with men who share the same face.”
That’s not all you shared. Luckily, I manage not to say that out loud. “Julie, go back to your man. We’re busy here.”
“No!” She actually stomps her foot. “Don’t take that tone with me. I need to talk to Mac!”
“Seems like you had plenty of chances to talk to him, and then decided to give that up,” I point out.
“Meg…” Mac gives me a wry smile. I can tell he doesn’t want me to escalate the situation.
But God. I’d like to escalate my fist into her throat. If only we were somewhere more private...
“I’m getting my chance to talk to him,” she says, her eyes unfocused. “This night isn’t over.” She stomps away.
“Good grief,” I whisper. “She isn’t keeping her shit together.”
“She never did,” Mac says. “Always whining about something. Always trying to take more than her share.”
“Then why were you going to marry her?” The question just pops out. And I feel Mac go still in my arms. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
“Nah, it’s funny,” he says, gathering me closer again. “I don’t remember. I mean, I know I loved her.”
“Of course.”
“But I’ve forgotten why.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I say, backpedaling like crazy. The last thing I want is for Mac to remember why he loves Julie. I step a little further into his embrace.
But then the song ends, and then the band announces that they’re going to take a short break. Reluctantly, Mac and I move apart.
“Thanks for the dance.” I bat my eyelashes at him, feeling suddenly shy. When the farce of this wedding is over, I’m the only one here who will be sad.
“Dancing isn’t so bad,” he says sheepishly. “Like rolling off a log.”
“We haven’t done the pachanga yet,” I point out.
“Oh, we’re doing that naked later.”
I laugh. “Okay, but now what?”
“Want a beer?”
“Maybe…” I hesitate. “That depends on which of us is driving home tonight. It’s okay if you’d rather drink. I don’t mind being the designated driver.”
“No way,” Mac chides, cupping my shoulder. His thumb sweeps across my skin, and I fight off a shiver. “A man always gets his date home safe and sound. That’s just how I roll.”
This guy. I truly hate Julie right now. Who could turn away this guy? “I appreciate that,” I tell him. “But tonight, I’m here for you in your ho
ur of need. If your hour of need requires copious martinis, I’m down for that. I don’t mind helping you.”
Actually, I like it way too much.
“There’s no need,” Mac says, shooting me down. But then he puts his hand at the small of my back again, so it’s almost okay. “I don’t think drunkenness would really improve this party for me. And this boat doesn’t dock for at least another hour, so I can have a beer.”
We go to the bar, where the overworked bartender is busy dishing out drinks to the thirsty crowd.
“Macklin!” Eleanor booms while we’re waiting for our drinks. “How’s that promotion coming along?”
Mac makes a face. “No news. I expected to have a decision by now, but I think the chief is enjoying the process too much. Tommy is kissing his ass so hard his lips are going to be stuck there permanently.”
“And you—what’s your strategy?” his mother asks.
He shrugs. “I’m the best guy for the job. My strategy is good work and trying to stay out of the elevator with the chief. Because I’m no good at small talk.”
“You want me to help you strategize?” Eleanor asks. “Hey—I could make him a gift!”
“No need,” Mac says quickly. “Although I do appreciate it.”
She looks mildly offended as she walks away.
“Oh, lord,” Mac says with a sigh. “If she knits him a sweater vest I can kiss my career goodbye.”
“Can I just say something?” I ask. Although who am I kidding? I am going to say it anyway. “You’re better at small talk than you think.”
“I bet you’re wrong.”
“Not hardly. Just try this one thing, okay? Do you watch TV?”
“Sometimes.”
“Great. So tell me this—what’s a character from a show that you find charming and a little bit slick? Pick someone who’s charming, but you still respect.”
Mac thinks this over. “I guess I’d go with Danny from Downtown Blues.”
“Mac!” My heart flutters even more than it usually does when he’s nearby. “You too, huh? I adore Danny. We should be watching this show together.”
“Wasn’t there a point you were trying to make?” He plucks our drinks off the bar and hands me mine.