We kept our original wedding date, slashed the guest list by two-thirds, and with the exception of Simon’s friends from Pennsylvania and his old neighbors the Whites, everyone was local. At least local to Northern California. Viv and Clark were there, with Will in attendance as well, cute as a button in a tuxedo onesie. And Chloe and Lucas were there too, in town visiting Sophia and Neil. And get this, Chloe and Clark were cousins. How’s that for six degrees of Wallbanger? I was happy to have them all here on this very special day. This very special casual day. Because in the end, it wasn’t the lace and the tulle that made a wedding—it was about the couple saying their I do’s, and their friends and family being there to celebrate it with them. We threw a barbecue, opened up a bunch of wine and cold beer, set up a makeshift soda fountain to make egg creams and sundaes, and had a party. We dragged Simon’s old record player out onto the terrace, he did some audio nerd stuff with the speakers, and big-band music filled the Sausalito night.
Instead of having a wedding cake, I’d spent two solid days this week in the kitchen with my mom, my girlfriends, my aunts, and my cousins, and we made pans and pans of Ina’s Outrageous Brownies. She would have been proud. But for Simon, I made him is very own apple pie, which he smeared all over my face in place of wedding cake. We had wedding pie. Fitting.
I sat on a bench at the edge of our lawn, eating brownies with Mimi and Sophia and watched as our guys played Frisbee with Benjamin and Simon’s high school crew. I’d been holding Mary Jane until Sophia had to take over. Someone was hungry.
“Not really the wedding I pictured you having, Caroline,” Sophia said, switching boobs. “But it’s pretty fun.”
“Fun, I’ll take. Fancy, I’ll leave to you. How’s the planning coming along?”
“It’s coming along great! The binder is really filling out nicely,” Mimi said, interrupting. She was seriously considering starting a second business, and she should. She was damn good at it. “Speaking of the binder, I’ve got pictures to go through with you on ideas I had for your hair, Sophia. I’ve been cutting out stuff from magazines for weeks now. Did you know that Grace Sheridan has your exact same hair color and length? Hers is a little more curly than yours, but it’s essentially the same.”
“Who’s Grace Sheridan?” Sophia asked, and Mimi and I both looked at her in surprise.
“You totally know who she is,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s on that TV show.”
“I totally do not know who she is. Sesame Street and Neil’s broadcasts, that’s all I ever watch anymore. My brain is mush,” Sophia said, shaking her head right back at me.
“Okay, I got this,” Mimi said. “She’s Jack Hamilton’s girlfriend. You know, the—”
“—the Brit? Hello, now I’m right there with you. Holy shit, he is hot. We have to go see the new Time movie when it comes out; we’ll let the boys stay home with Mary Jane while we go have some sweet British hunky time,” Sophia said, already plotting her girls’ night out.
“Yes yes, she’s with Jack Hamilton, but more importantly, she’s got great hair. And it’s exactly the same shade of red as yours. So I found this picture of her on the red carpet and—”
Sophia interrupted Mimi again, unable to stop herself. “—when she walked with Jack down the red carpet? Ahhh! I fucking loved that! Remember how everyone was gossiping about who he was dating?”
“But wait, we were talking about her hair! Listen to me, I’ve got the perfect updo based on—”
“Oh updo this, let’s talk about Jack Hamilton’s hair instead. It always looks freshly fucked, you know what I mean? I wonder if they do it in the limo on the way to appearances . . .”
“Stop it—just stop it! We’re talking wedding hair here, dammit, and—”
I tuned them out mostly, drinking my beer and listening with one ear as Sophia and Mimi began a heated conversation about updos versus long and flouncy. The other ear was tuned to the Glenn Miller currently crackling through the speakers. And within seconds, Simon appeared.
“Mrs. Parker?” he said, extending his hand.
“Mr. Reynolds.” I winked and stood. “Bye, girls.”
“Bye,” they said in unison as I followed my husband out onto the impromptu dance floor. Taking a cue from our original, if not technically legal, ceremony we had lanterns hung all over the backyard, bringing a little bit of fairy tale home with us from Ha Long Bay.
“Are you happy?” he asked as he spun me across the brick patio.
“Ecstatically. You?”
“Oh yeah. Especially since I got some news from my doctor today.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, babe. I’m good to go,” he whispered, pulling me tighter into his body. Oh boy. He wasn’t lying.
“Well lookie here,” I murmured, sneaking a hand down to cop a feel around what was pressing into my thigh. “Um. Wow. You’re, like, really, really hard, Simon.”
“Hmm? Oh jeez, that’s a bottle in my pocket. Literally.” He laughed, pulling out a glass bottle from his front pocket and showing it to me. Thank goodness. Not only was he frighteningly hard, the bottle was also . . . hmm . . . how do I say . . . considerably thinner than Simon was.
“Why are you carrying around a bottle?” I asked.
“I thought I’d grab some dirt, maybe from the edge of the dance floor over there, put it with our other bottles. I know it’s technically not sand, but there should be something there for tonight.”
I grinned and told him it was a very sweet idea. Years ago, Simon had started collecting sand from the beaches he’d visited all over the world, storing them in little labeled bottles and displaying them on a narrow shelf. We’d started a second shelf for beaches we’d visited together. I’d brought some home from the beach where we were married in Vietnam, and I was touched that he’d thought to commemorate tonight as well. But back to his pocket. . . .
“I’m liking where this night is going,” I said, deliberately bumping my hips into his, where there was something else taking shape. Definitely bigger than a bottle. “How fast do you think we can get everybody out of here?” I asked, only half joking.
“As soon as the ribs run out they’ll leave, right?”
“We are so classy. Serving ribs at our wedding.”
Instead of having a wedding cake, I’d spent two solid days this week in the kitchen with my mom, my girlfriends, my aunts, and my cousins, and we made pans and pans of Ina’s Outrageous Brownies. She would have been proud. But for Simon, I made him is very own apple pie, which he smeared all over my face in place of wedding cake. We had wedding pie. Fitting.
I sat on a bench at the edge of our lawn, eating brownies with Mimi and Sophia and watched as our guys played Frisbee with Benjamin and Simon’s high school crew. I’d been holding Mary Jane until Sophia had to take over. Someone was hungry.
“Not really the wedding I pictured you having, Caroline,” Sophia said, switching boobs. “But it’s pretty fun.”
“Fun, I’ll take. Fancy, I’ll leave to you. How’s the planning coming along?”
“It’s coming along great! The binder is really filling out nicely,” Mimi said, interrupting. She was seriously considering starting a second business, and she should. She was damn good at it. “Speaking of the binder, I’ve got pictures to go through with you on ideas I had for your hair, Sophia. I’ve been cutting out stuff from magazines for weeks now. Did you know that Grace Sheridan has your exact same hair color and length? Hers is a little more curly than yours, but it’s essentially the same.”
“Who’s Grace Sheridan?” Sophia asked, and Mimi and I both looked at her in surprise.
“You totally know who she is,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s on that TV show.”
“I totally do not know who she is. Sesame Street and Neil’s broadcasts, that’s all I ever watch anymore. My brain is mush,” Sophia said, shaking her head right back at me.
“Okay, I got this,” Mimi said. “She’s Jack Hamilton’s girlfriend. You know, the—”
“—the Brit? Hello, now I’m right there with you. Holy shit, he is hot. We have to go see the new Time movie when it comes out; we’ll let the boys stay home with Mary Jane while we go have some sweet British hunky time,” Sophia said, already plotting her girls’ night out.
“Yes yes, she’s with Jack Hamilton, but more importantly, she’s got great hair. And it’s exactly the same shade of red as yours. So I found this picture of her on the red carpet and—”
Sophia interrupted Mimi again, unable to stop herself. “—when she walked with Jack down the red carpet? Ahhh! I fucking loved that! Remember how everyone was gossiping about who he was dating?”
“But wait, we were talking about her hair! Listen to me, I’ve got the perfect updo based on—”
“Oh updo this, let’s talk about Jack Hamilton’s hair instead. It always looks freshly fucked, you know what I mean? I wonder if they do it in the limo on the way to appearances . . .”
“Stop it—just stop it! We’re talking wedding hair here, dammit, and—”
I tuned them out mostly, drinking my beer and listening with one ear as Sophia and Mimi began a heated conversation about updos versus long and flouncy. The other ear was tuned to the Glenn Miller currently crackling through the speakers. And within seconds, Simon appeared.
“Mrs. Parker?” he said, extending his hand.
“Mr. Reynolds.” I winked and stood. “Bye, girls.”
“Bye,” they said in unison as I followed my husband out onto the impromptu dance floor. Taking a cue from our original, if not technically legal, ceremony we had lanterns hung all over the backyard, bringing a little bit of fairy tale home with us from Ha Long Bay.
“Are you happy?” he asked as he spun me across the brick patio.
“Ecstatically. You?”
“Oh yeah. Especially since I got some news from my doctor today.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, babe. I’m good to go,” he whispered, pulling me tighter into his body. Oh boy. He wasn’t lying.
“Well lookie here,” I murmured, sneaking a hand down to cop a feel around what was pressing into my thigh. “Um. Wow. You’re, like, really, really hard, Simon.”
“Hmm? Oh jeez, that’s a bottle in my pocket. Literally.” He laughed, pulling out a glass bottle from his front pocket and showing it to me. Thank goodness. Not only was he frighteningly hard, the bottle was also . . . hmm . . . how do I say . . . considerably thinner than Simon was.
“Why are you carrying around a bottle?” I asked.
“I thought I’d grab some dirt, maybe from the edge of the dance floor over there, put it with our other bottles. I know it’s technically not sand, but there should be something there for tonight.”
I grinned and told him it was a very sweet idea. Years ago, Simon had started collecting sand from the beaches he’d visited all over the world, storing them in little labeled bottles and displaying them on a narrow shelf. We’d started a second shelf for beaches we’d visited together. I’d brought some home from the beach where we were married in Vietnam, and I was touched that he’d thought to commemorate tonight as well. But back to his pocket. . . .
“I’m liking where this night is going,” I said, deliberately bumping my hips into his, where there was something else taking shape. Definitely bigger than a bottle. “How fast do you think we can get everybody out of here?” I asked, only half joking.
“As soon as the ribs run out they’ll leave, right?”
“We are so classy. Serving ribs at our wedding.”
