Summer at Sunset: (The Summer Series Book 2) Page 22

  What more could a girl ask for on her wedding day?

  Don’t answer that.

  I take a deep breath. It’s all good. My wedding is just one more scene in this comedy of errors that I call my life. I’d be a fool to have thought there wouldn’t be McNuggets involved. And while the old Summer would have walked down the aisle hoping this to be the final scene in that comedy of errors—

  Wait. That makes it sound like I wished I were dead. Not true.

  While the old Summer would have foolishly hoped that once she were married she would no longer be subjected to these types of bizarre situations, the new Summer realizes that the old Summer was kind of an ungrateful little shit. The new Summer—the one who now appreciates her mother and father, despite their eccentricities—is learning to embrace this comedy of errors that is her life.

  Besides, trying to avoid it has only made things worse.

  “Dad?” I whisper.

  “Yes?”

  “How many tubs of dipping sauce did you get?”

  “Thousands.”

  “Nice work.” I squeeze his arm.

  “I packed them all into The Duffle,” he adds.

  And that is how I came to be thinking about The Duffle, as I walked down the aisle on my wedding day.

  I smile at Graham, but in my mind I’m picturing The Duffle—stuffed full of barbeque, honey mustard, and sweet and sour sauce, the tubs all rolling around between Mom and Dad’s socks and underwear. Then I picture Mom and Dad carrying it out of the SUV, one on each end, like they’re moving a bureau. As the great Stephen King once said—Life is like a wheel. Sooner or later, it always comes around to where you started again. Indeed, two short years ago, Mom and Dad carried The Duffle through a cruise terminal, and today they shall carry it through my wedding reception.

  Life is a wheel.

  Graham smiles back at me, naturally assuming that my smile is for him and not for the goofball comedy running through my mind. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. As I walk up the aisle, I look around at the friends and family who have made the journey down to Florida, acknowledging that one good thing about all of this, is that there are very few people here to stare at me.

  John and Babette’s Sunset Havens friends are taking up two entire rows, and that includes Janice and Francine. It’s aggravating that they’re here after having—with ninety-five percent certainty—burned down my wedding venue, but what could I do? Sometimes there is no justice in the world. Sometimes, the only way to get justice, is to make it yourself. But, seriously. What woman wants to make justice on her wedding day? Instead, I simply avoid eye contact as I pass by their row.

  As we reach the end of the aisle, I give Dad a kiss on the cheek before he hands me off to Graham. I hand my bouquet to Tanya. It’s a bit bizarre seeing Mom standing there in front of us, in the officiant’s spot, but she does look beautiful in her mother-of-the-bride dress with the shoulder pads. She’s holding a familiar stack of stapled pages; somehow she got the copy of our ceremony from the late Arthur Spanley. I wonder if Nadine went over to his house? Hmm. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad wedding planner after all. Either that, or she killed him herself.

  Anyway, poor Mom. She must be nervous getting ready to speak in front of all these people. I wonder, briefly, if she’s having a nervous breakdown.

  “You look beautiful,” whispers Graham. “I like the dress and the—” He twirls his hand around the top of his head, indicating my up-do. I remember the first time he did that. I was wearing yoga pants and had my hair in a who-cares-I’m-traveling-with-my-parents kind of ponytail, about to board a cruise ship to Bermuda.

  Yep, life is a wheel.

  Behind Mom is the Duke’s Landing fountain. The water, shooting up in a gentle spray, makes for a very pretty backdrop. With the police and fire trucks finally gone, it’s actually very peaceful out here on the common. Beyond the rows of chairs that our guests are seated in, is the bandstand where Tyler Maxwell will be performing. Graham called Squirrelly Dan and The Nuts earlier this afternoon and offered him five hundred bucks if he’d take a hike and let Tyler Maxwell have the stage. We may not be able to keep random retirees from crashing our wedding reception, but at least we’ll have control over the music.

  Graham and I face each other as Mom begins to speak. He looks so handsome. A part of me was afraid that he’d show up wearing the Beast’s yellow and blue tuxedo (I know that he ordered one, even if he won’t admit it to me). Instead, he’s wearing the light gray tux, white shirt, peach tie, and peach boutonniere that we picked out. He looks very Florida cool, although the muted colors must be killing him. Fortunately, he’s also got on the world’s loudest pair of boxer shorts. The fact that I alone have this tidbit of information makes me smile again.

  “Oy,” says Mom, into the microphone, as she comes to the end of the page and turns to the next. “How long is this thing?”

  A titter of laughter goes through the audience.

  “Almost there, Mrs. H,” mutters Graham, giving me a wink.

  Mom does have a point, this ceremony is taking forever. And it’s seriously hot out here. I wasn’t even listening to half of what she said.

  “...played ‘Fur Elise’ so beautifully at a piano recital...”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Did she really just bring that up during our wedding ceremony? I didn’t realize she’d made her own revisions to the script. Maybe I ought to start paying more attention.

  “...always hoped he would someday, somehow, become a part of our family. Such a lovely, lovely, young man...”

  Geez. With all the old women down here having the hots for Graham, I almost forgot that my own mother’s been half in love with him for the past fifteen years. If I’m not careful, she might try to marry herself off to him. I don’t think she’s even mentioned my name once. I sigh a bit louder than is becoming for a bride, and Mom looks up at me sharply.

  “What?”

  “What what?” I whisper.

  “You gave me a look,” she says loudly, and directly into her microphone, cuing another titter of laughter from the crowd. “And now you’re getting an attitude!”

  “I am not,” I hiss. Am I seriously arguing with my mother at the altar? Of course I am. “Just finish the ceremony and...and I’ll teach you Facebook.”

  Mom clears her throat, gives me my last Joan Hartwell look of death as a single woman, and continues with the ceremony.

  As Graham repeats his vows, my mind drifts back to the old days when he would come by the house to see Eric, and stop by my room just to chat. I think back to the time that I almost took him to my prom, and I wonder if maybe we wouldn’t be here right now if things hadn’t played out the way that they did. I picture our future Blenderman children, full of blonde hair and energy. Then I picture Mom and Dad as grandparents, and it totally fits. The sweaters and the junk food and the inability to use Facebook. It’s the role they’ve been waiting to play their entire lives.

  They’re going to be amazing at it.

  “And do you, Summer Eve Hartwell, take Graham Michael Blenderman to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you...oy.” Mom pauses again to turn the page. “Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  “To commemorate this union, you may now exchange rings. Let these rings remind you always of your eternal love and commitment to one another,” says Mom. “Will each of you please repeat after me?”

  We repeat after her. We exchange rings.

  “By the power vested in me, by the Universal Life Church and America Online, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  I’m briefly horrified by the thought of kissing Graham in such close proximity to my mother. Graham looks at me and smiles one of his mischievous smiles that means, I know what you’re thinking and I’m about to make
things much, much worse. Then he pulls me in, wraps his arms tightly around me, and kisses me without a single ounce of restraint. To my surprise, I don’t even care. Mom melts away, and it’s just me, Graham, and the very first moment of the rest of our lives. We did it.

  38

  “But why does he have to keep taking their requests?” I ask Tanya, taking a sip of champagne. “Can’t we do something?”

  She shrugs. “It’s a public place, and these people were expecting Squirrelly Dan and The Nuts tonight. We had to compromise.”

  “They’re hi-jacking my band,” I say, stubbornly. You would think that they’d notice a bride, a groom, and a whole mess of wedding guests standing around and maybe rethink their decision to butt in and request the Cupid Shuffle. But, no. These Sunset Havens residents have paid their monthly entertainment fees, and they want to dance. I chug the rest of my champagne as Tyler Maxwell starts a very Sinatra-y rendition of said shuffle. To be honest, it’s not half bad. I can’t believe he didn’t win American Idol.

  “What are you drinking?” I ask Tanya. She’s holding a large, red plastic cup, like she’s at a frat party instead of my wedding.

  “I believe it’s Babette’s famous Rusty Twizzler.”

  “Oh, boy,” I laugh. “Go easy on those.”

  Since our open bar idea went up in smoke along with the rest of The Lakeview, our only option for booze seemed to be for everybody to purchase drinks from the kiosks that operate every night on the town common. But, Babette had another idea. She’s set up a folding table next to the bandstand and is mixing her own drinks, free of charge, and without any sort of permit. She says that if the cops show up, she’ll take the fall and that John shouldn’t bail her out of jail until Graham and I have left for our honeymoon. So, we’ve got that to look forward to. In the meantime, there’s my mother-in-law, tossing jiggers and shakers in the air like she’s Tom Cruise. She’s having the time of her life.

  “Care to Cupid Shuffle with your hubby?” Graham comes up behind me and slips a hand around my waist. I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck, resulting in a few nosy guests clanging their forks against their champagne glasses—or in our case, hitting plastic cups with plastic forks. It makes an odd sound, but we get the message and give each other a kiss.

  “I already told you,” I say, pulling back a bit. “I’ll Electric Slide or Achy Breaky with you one time. No Cupid Shuffle. Besides, it’s almost time to cut the cake.”

  The cake. One of the few things that wasn’t destroyed in the fire, as it was still nestled safely across town at the bakery. I’m dying to get something into my guests’ stomachs that didn’t come out of a fryolator. If you thought serving McDonald’s food at a wedding was gross, imagine serving it two hours after purchase. Luckily, at Sunset Havens, paramedics are always on standby.

  As we make our way toward the cake table, I take a moment to appreciate everything that my friends and family have done to get the town common ready for tonight. Tanya, Sarah, and Amber made a run to the dollar store for decorations—resulting in the folding tables being covered with white plastic tablecloths, overlaid with silver tissue paper, and sprinkled with confetti. Granted, the confetti contains the words Happy Birthday, but so what? Is this not the birth of a marriage? I might just start wishing brides and grooms a happy birthday at every wedding I go to from now on. Our wedding photos will probably end up all over Pinterest as some sort of sophisticated new trend.

  The LED candles that Graham bought for our romantic evening a few nights ago, are now warmly lighting the center of each table. And Eric, my dear brother who I pegged to be sitting by the pool all afternoon not doing a damn thing, actually spent several hours personally winding Christmas lights around the trunks of all the trees. When I saw what he had done, I threw my arms around his neck and told him that I loved him. In return, he told me that the two hundred dollar generator he needed to purchase in order to actually turn the Christmas lights on was doing double duty as our wedding present. And also, that he loved me back. Then we agreed to never speak of any of that again.

  Don’t tell him that I told you.

  “Summer,” says Mom, grabbing my arm as we pass her table. “Did you feel that?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure,” she says, clutching the back of the chair with her other hand. “Some sort of vibration.”

  I look at Graham. “Did you feel any vibrations?”

  I wait a few seconds while he sings part of the Marky Mark song. Then he shrugs. “I don’t think so. Mrs. H, maybe you’ve had one too many Rusty Twizzlers?”

  “Oh, stop!” says Mom, playfully punching Graham in the arm. Then she squeezes him around the shoulders. “My son-in-law!”

  “It’s true, Mom. He’s ours now. Look, we were just about to cut the cake, can we—”

  “Oy! I felt it again!” She stops smiling and squeezes Graham harder.

  I raise my eyebrows, suddenly remembering the odd vibrations I felt beneath my feet earlier today, when I was sitting on the fountain. But, we’re in Florida. It’s not like it’s an earthquake. Best not to feed into Mom’s paranoia.

  “It’s probably nothing,” I say. “I didn’t feel anything. And they don’t get earthquakes down here. So, how bad could it be? Dad, you didn’t feel anything, did you?”

  Dad doesn’t respond. He’s been muttering to himself and staring across the common at something. I follow his gaze to find Roger, walking rather unsteadily, with a bottle of red Gatorade in one hand and an unfamiliar woman in the other. She has long, blonde hair, similar to Janice. They probably shop at the same hair extension kiosk at the mall. By the look on Dad’s face, he hasn’t quite forgiven Roger for that spiked bottle of Gatorade; if it weren’t for that, he would never have ended up in the hospital.

  “Never mind,” I say, not wanting to be around when Dad blows a gasket. “Come on, Graham. Cake time.”

  We wait by the cake table until Tyler’s finished with the Cupid Shuffle and receives the cue to start up our cake-cutting song, “Sugar, Sugar.”

  Ah, sugar...do do do do do do....ah, honey, honey...

  “Smash it in her face!” shouts Roger.

  I look at Graham and roll my eyes. Roger and his date have arrived front and center of the wedding cake, and now he’s egging Graham on.

  “Don’t you dare,” I whisper.

  Graham picks up his slice of cake and hovers it slowly in front of my face. Then he jerks it to the left, to the right, then up, then down, making me duck and bob like there’s a swarm of bees flying at my head. Then he gently feeds me a bite. Honestly, smashing it into my face would have been less embarrassing. I repress the urge to squash frosting into his perfectly spiked wedding hair, and instead gently feed him a bite in return. Then there’s some more tapping of plastic forks against plastic cups, and Graham and I kiss again.

  As we make our way from the cake table, I notice a few underdressed, and clearly uninvited, old people slowly moving in the opposite direction. I turn around, and watch in disbelief as a woman in a gold sequined baseball cap picks up our cake knife, and starts slicing off large hunks of cake.

  “Margo! Edgar! Free cake!” she calls back over her shoulder. A woman who I can only assume is Margo, pushes past me—literally pushes past the woman in the wedding gown—and stuffs a hunk of cake into her gigantic purse.

  “Hey!” I cry. “That cake is for the guests!”

  The first woman just looks at me blankly. “Guests?”

  I motion to my dress. Seriously?

  “I think we may have crashed a wedding, Edna,” says Margo.

  Edna looks at my dress, then looks around at all of the other people who are slightly overdressed for a regular night on the town common. Then she shrugs, picks up our cake knife, and starts slicing off more pieces.

  “Hey!” I march up to her and wrench the knife out of her hand. I’m not sure about this, but I might be about to have a knife fight at my wedding. I wonder if anybody has ever been stabbed with
a silver-plated Lenox cake knife before. Sure it’s got two interlaced silver hearts on the handle, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t use it to—

  “Okay! Let’s put down the cake knife and nobody needs to get hurt,” says Graham, gently prying the knife out of my hand and placing it on the table. “Margo, Edna, Edgar, you’re all welcome to some cake. There’s plenty for everyone.”

  At the words, there’s plenty for everyone, Edna puts her fingers into her mouth and whistles. For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, like a scene from The Walking Dead, old people start shuffling in from every direction, some of them seeming to appear out of thin air. They’re popping out from behind trees and creeping around the corners of buildings. I swear one even climbed out of a mailbox. All of them are converging on our wedding cake.

  “No!” I cry out, but it’s too late.

  Graham pulls me to his chest and leads me quickly away. I take one last look over my shoulder, and then wish that I hadn’t. My cake, my beautiful cake, is being torn apart in large, jagged chunks. Paper plates are being passed overhead, while a pulsing mass of greedy, frosting-covered fingers, reaches up to snatch at them. And then there’s Edna. She’s laughing. No, cackling. She throws her head back, gold sequined baseball cap falling to the ground, yellow teeth smeared with purple frosting from the flowers that had, only moments ago, been cascading down the sides of my cake. Then she turns to me, her eyes two blackened hollows, with maggots crawl—

  “You okay?” asks Graham, snapping me back to reality.

  Yikes.

  I probably shouldn’t have read all of those Stephen King novels over the past couple of months.

  “Fine,” I say, glancing back over my shoulder. Edna, Margo, and the rest of the wedding crashers are standing quietly around, munching on cake. Edna, with her gold sequined baseball cap still firmly in place, smiles at me and nods.