gets here we need everyone’s help with a surprise gift.” At this, a collective “Ah” sounded in the room. “Sierra,” Olivia pointed to Tall and Skinny, “will be coming around with a camera to film your words of marriage wisdom for Elise and Dominic.”
Olivia surveyed the room. “We’ll start back there,” she said, pointing at my table. Then she put her glass down and disappeared from view.
I stood up to go find Mom. “Oh, no you don’t,” a redheaded woman seated at the table said to me. “If we have to be on camera so do you.”
“But I don’t—”
“So who’s first?” Tall and Skinny, a.k.a. Sierra, asked as she approached the table.
“She is.” The redhead pointed to me.
“Okay, when the red light is on, go ahead.”
“But I don’t even—”
“I know, I know, I hate being on camera too. But do it for Elise,” Sierra said, sounding slightly agitated.
I felt a whole bunch of eyes on me. I think I even heard someone whisper, “Who’s she?”
“Listen, I’m just here for the cake,” I said, trying to explain.
“Aren’t we all,” the redhead said with a laugh.
I opened my mouth to try to clarify, but Sierra spoke up first. “Listen, you’re holding up the program.”
“Okay,” I relented. I cleared my throat, and watched for the red light.
“Hey Elise,” I began. “The words I would like to offer are . . .” My mind went blank. I had nothing. Why did I have to go first? Or at all for that matter? I didn’t even know the girl. “I would like to say . . .”
My mind raced through some quotes. An apple a day . . . No. People who throw stones . . . No. Turn off the water while you brush your . . . No. I felt myself starting to sweat.
Then I saw Mom.
She was walking into the room with Bev. Her hair was brushed behind her ears and her smile was radiant. “Look Elise, I don’t think you even know me, but I can tell you this: I know two people who have been married for a very long time. And from what I can tell, love looks a lot like friendship. It’s sitting on the couch playing Scrabble together. It’s eating stew on a Monday night. And it’s sweeter than a big spoon of buttercream icing.” I smiled, feeling myself starting to tear up. “Okay that’s it,” I said quickly, before my blubbering was caught on tape.
Sierra turned off the camera. “Okay, who’s next?” she asked, moving on to the redhead.
I looked for Mom, but she had disappeared. So, interested in what was on the drink menu, I made my way to the drink table. Three silver fountains were flowing with frothy drinks. Tall glasses filled with ice cubes with raspberries frozen into them stood next to the fountains. And sure enough the drinks were labeled by calligraphy cards.
I took out another receipt, this one for a stick of deodorant I had bought before my dinner date with Isaac. I copied down the names of the drinks. They were probably alcoholic, but the alcohol could easily be omitted, making the drinks better for the body and taste buds alike.
After I wrote the names of the drinks on the receipt, I pulled the rest of my receipt-notes from my handbag. I was looking over them and fixing my t’s and i’s when I was aware of the whizzing woman coming up behind me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m just . . .” I looked up and immediately recognized the woman. It was Brenna, the event planner.
Suddenly I had a flashback to getting caught writing a note to Melissa Mission during class in fourth grade, and though I’d like to think I am much brighter than my fourth grade self, I hid my receipt-notes the same way I hid my note to Melissa—I put them down my shirt. Unfortunately, although my ten-year-old self wore her shirts tucked in, my twenty-four-year-old self did not, and the notes went directly to the floor.
Brenna picked them up before I could. She surveyed my messy handwriting. “You’re taking notes? Why would you . . .” Brenna looked up at me. “Wait a
Olivia surveyed the room. “We’ll start back there,” she said, pointing at my table. Then she put her glass down and disappeared from view.
I stood up to go find Mom. “Oh, no you don’t,” a redheaded woman seated at the table said to me. “If we have to be on camera so do you.”
“But I don’t—”
“So who’s first?” Tall and Skinny, a.k.a. Sierra, asked as she approached the table.
“She is.” The redhead pointed to me.
“Okay, when the red light is on, go ahead.”
“But I don’t even—”
“I know, I know, I hate being on camera too. But do it for Elise,” Sierra said, sounding slightly agitated.
I felt a whole bunch of eyes on me. I think I even heard someone whisper, “Who’s she?”
“Listen, I’m just here for the cake,” I said, trying to explain.
“Aren’t we all,” the redhead said with a laugh.
I opened my mouth to try to clarify, but Sierra spoke up first. “Listen, you’re holding up the program.”
“Okay,” I relented. I cleared my throat, and watched for the red light.
“Hey Elise,” I began. “The words I would like to offer are . . .” My mind went blank. I had nothing. Why did I have to go first? Or at all for that matter? I didn’t even know the girl. “I would like to say . . .”
My mind raced through some quotes. An apple a day . . . No. People who throw stones . . . No. Turn off the water while you brush your . . . No. I felt myself starting to sweat.
Then I saw Mom.
She was walking into the room with Bev. Her hair was brushed behind her ears and her smile was radiant. “Look Elise, I don’t think you even know me, but I can tell you this: I know two people who have been married for a very long time. And from what I can tell, love looks a lot like friendship. It’s sitting on the couch playing Scrabble together. It’s eating stew on a Monday night. And it’s sweeter than a big spoon of buttercream icing.” I smiled, feeling myself starting to tear up. “Okay that’s it,” I said quickly, before my blubbering was caught on tape.
Sierra turned off the camera. “Okay, who’s next?” she asked, moving on to the redhead.
I looked for Mom, but she had disappeared. So, interested in what was on the drink menu, I made my way to the drink table. Three silver fountains were flowing with frothy drinks. Tall glasses filled with ice cubes with raspberries frozen into them stood next to the fountains. And sure enough the drinks were labeled by calligraphy cards.
I took out another receipt, this one for a stick of deodorant I had bought before my dinner date with Isaac. I copied down the names of the drinks. They were probably alcoholic, but the alcohol could easily be omitted, making the drinks better for the body and taste buds alike.
After I wrote the names of the drinks on the receipt, I pulled the rest of my receipt-notes from my handbag. I was looking over them and fixing my t’s and i’s when I was aware of the whizzing woman coming up behind me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m just . . .” I looked up and immediately recognized the woman. It was Brenna, the event planner.
Suddenly I had a flashback to getting caught writing a note to Melissa Mission during class in fourth grade, and though I’d like to think I am much brighter than my fourth grade self, I hid my receipt-notes the same way I hid my note to Melissa—I put them down my shirt. Unfortunately, although my ten-year-old self wore her shirts tucked in, my twenty-four-year-old self did not, and the notes went directly to the floor.
Brenna picked them up before I could. She surveyed my messy handwriting. “You’re taking notes? Why would you . . .” Brenna looked up at me. “Wait a