“Sorry, Rosie. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Don’t look at me,” Rosie says. “I managed to stay unhitched, too.”
“Close call, though, last week, huh?” says Greg. “That’s the closest you guys’ve come, right?”
“Yeah, what was up with that?” says Hinton. “We were all invited to a wedding, and then suddenly we weren’t?”
“Hinty!” says Suzanne. “I told you. We’re not going to talk about that today. If they didn’t want to get married, it’s none of our business. They’re fine the way they are.”
“It’s okay,” Rosie says. “There were some teacups in Texas that needed to be looked at, so Jonathan had to go.”
“Yeah, you know how it is, Hinty, when you’ve just got to see some teacups,” says Joe. “You just have to. We’ve all been there.”
Rosie can feel them all exchanging their amused glances. How Rosie and Jonathan
Don’t
Throw a Wedding.
Joe clears his throat and says, “Married or not, the mainthing you need to be thankful for is that you don’t have any kids. No kids is what keeps you two young. You’re going to outlive us all.”
Greta claps her hands. “Enough of this! I’ve made the dinner reservation for us all at Christopher Martin’s for seven. Do you think that’s going to give you enough time?”
Jonathan, back from loading the table onto the truck, doesn’t look worried in the least. “If we can get some manpower out of these wusses, it’ll be great,” he says. He turns to Patrick. “Okay, bro. Let’s do it. Grab the other end of this couch, will you. You other guys, why don’t you sit down and fan yourselves for a while.”
Patrick comes over and takes one end of the couch, and Jonathan takes the other, and then Greg sighs and grabs a part of it, too, and Joe and Hinton take the pile of cushions, and they all start bumping down the stairs, barking at one another and grumbling and groaning. When they get down to the street, they confer on how to load the things into the truck, and then Joe takes over, pointing and directing. And then they’re all laughing and shoving one another and they’re back to the regular guy thing, and Rosie knows that Greta and Joe won’t end up going to the soccer parents’ preseason meeting, and that the guys will move this whole household—teacups, tables, beds, and all of it—to the truck and get soused on beer and filled up with pizza in the process, and at some point Joe will hurt his bad knee and Greg, who’s overweight, will nearly pass out from heat exhaustion, but none of it will matter because they love Jonathan, and tonight they’ll all go to dinner at Christopher Martin’s and drink too much and propose toasts and tell stories about how tough it is to be parents these days, and they’ll be sloppy and sentimental about how much they’ll all miss Rosie and Jonathan, and then forever after this will be another storythat they tell, shaking their heads as they add to the legend of Rosie and Jonathan, this mythical couple who live in some kind of odd world, bumbling along but having things work out anyway. This one will be “The Day That Rosie and Jonathan Had to Be Told That Everybody Gets Old.”
It’s nearly one in the morning by the time Jonathan and Rosie get back to the apartment, to finish up and get the truck.
Joe and Greta have dropped them off, and given them tearful good-byes on the sidewalk, and then they clomp upstairs, Rosie banging around with the crutches, Jonathan in the middle of a long, meandering, whispered monologue about how he’d describe his current state: slightly buzzy but not too inebriated to get on the road and head out. He’s made clear from the beginning that they have to get going in the middle of the night so they can miss the New York City traffic, which he imagines will be awful, even on Sunday morning.
“I shouldn’t have had anything to drink since I’m not going to get any sleep,” he says. “But saying good-bye to friends. The only way to
“Don’t look at me,” Rosie says. “I managed to stay unhitched, too.”
“Close call, though, last week, huh?” says Greg. “That’s the closest you guys’ve come, right?”
“Yeah, what was up with that?” says Hinton. “We were all invited to a wedding, and then suddenly we weren’t?”
“Hinty!” says Suzanne. “I told you. We’re not going to talk about that today. If they didn’t want to get married, it’s none of our business. They’re fine the way they are.”
“It’s okay,” Rosie says. “There were some teacups in Texas that needed to be looked at, so Jonathan had to go.”
“Yeah, you know how it is, Hinty, when you’ve just got to see some teacups,” says Joe. “You just have to. We’ve all been there.”
Rosie can feel them all exchanging their amused glances. How Rosie and Jonathan
Don’t
Throw a Wedding.
Joe clears his throat and says, “Married or not, the mainthing you need to be thankful for is that you don’t have any kids. No kids is what keeps you two young. You’re going to outlive us all.”
Greta claps her hands. “Enough of this! I’ve made the dinner reservation for us all at Christopher Martin’s for seven. Do you think that’s going to give you enough time?”
Jonathan, back from loading the table onto the truck, doesn’t look worried in the least. “If we can get some manpower out of these wusses, it’ll be great,” he says. He turns to Patrick. “Okay, bro. Let’s do it. Grab the other end of this couch, will you. You other guys, why don’t you sit down and fan yourselves for a while.”
Patrick comes over and takes one end of the couch, and Jonathan takes the other, and then Greg sighs and grabs a part of it, too, and Joe and Hinton take the pile of cushions, and they all start bumping down the stairs, barking at one another and grumbling and groaning. When they get down to the street, they confer on how to load the things into the truck, and then Joe takes over, pointing and directing. And then they’re all laughing and shoving one another and they’re back to the regular guy thing, and Rosie knows that Greta and Joe won’t end up going to the soccer parents’ preseason meeting, and that the guys will move this whole household—teacups, tables, beds, and all of it—to the truck and get soused on beer and filled up with pizza in the process, and at some point Joe will hurt his bad knee and Greg, who’s overweight, will nearly pass out from heat exhaustion, but none of it will matter because they love Jonathan, and tonight they’ll all go to dinner at Christopher Martin’s and drink too much and propose toasts and tell stories about how tough it is to be parents these days, and they’ll be sloppy and sentimental about how much they’ll all miss Rosie and Jonathan, and then forever after this will be another storythat they tell, shaking their heads as they add to the legend of Rosie and Jonathan, this mythical couple who live in some kind of odd world, bumbling along but having things work out anyway. This one will be “The Day That Rosie and Jonathan Had to Be Told That Everybody Gets Old.”
It’s nearly one in the morning by the time Jonathan and Rosie get back to the apartment, to finish up and get the truck.
Joe and Greta have dropped them off, and given them tearful good-byes on the sidewalk, and then they clomp upstairs, Rosie banging around with the crutches, Jonathan in the middle of a long, meandering, whispered monologue about how he’d describe his current state: slightly buzzy but not too inebriated to get on the road and head out. He’s made clear from the beginning that they have to get going in the middle of the night so they can miss the New York City traffic, which he imagines will be awful, even on Sunday morning.
“I shouldn’t have had anything to drink since I’m not going to get any sleep,” he says. “But saying good-bye to friends. The only way to
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