Maggie #2
was stunned all over again seeing Ron in the act of reading enough times that it was clear it wasn’t a charade.
The part of her vows that really gets me, though, is when she starts to get choked up and says that Ron saved her. “You really
did,” she tells him, and he’s starting to cry too. “I was feeling so blocked. So stuck. And you helped me move again.”
And of course I start thinking about Carter. I mean, I’ve been thinking about him all throughout today, but now the thought is this:
I wish he were here. Sitting next to me. Holding my hand. Laughing quietly with me at the parts of the ceremony that are funny,
and even more quietly at the parts that are unintentionally funny.
And another thought is:
Maybe Carter saved me. I think about those months before we met: Vivian immersed in her junior year of college; Mom immersed in the world of, well, Ron; and Dad immersed in . . . the usual alternate plane of existence he chooses to reside on. I was feeling so alone.
And then . . . there he was. Scooping right next to me.
“You may now kiss each other!” Vivian shouts, pulling me out of my own brain to watch as Mom and Ron share a gentle kiss.
Vivian’s right—they are so happy together. They walk down the grassy aisle together as Misty cues up this Ben Folds song called
“The Luckiest” that Ron is obsessed with, and all seventy or so people in the audience stand up.
“That was so great,” Ember says, wiping at their cheek.
“They’re so damn cute together,” Shana says.
“I know,” I say. “They really are.”
“I cannot wait to explode this crowd’s collective brain,” Shana says.
We’re about twenty minutes into the cocktail hour, ten minutes before Angry Baby will start playing, and spirits are high.
Shana, Ember, and I are huddled behind the drum (secretly) sharing a beverage called a greyhound that Vivian kindly snuck
to us. It has grapefruit juice and vodka, and though my drinking experience is limited, I think it’s the best-tasting alcoholic
thing I’ve ever had.
“Hey, go easy on that,” Ember says, eyeing us with genuine concern. “You need to still be able to play chords.”
“Ember, my love,” Shana says, one hand on their shoulder. “It’s one drink split among the three of us. I think we’re gonna
be okay.”
“This is my last sip,” I say, taking a large chug that goes down rougher and grosser than I was expecting. “Yowza-dowza!”
Shana, Ember, and I all crack up. I’m not feeling nervous about performing anymore.
And it’s not (just) because of the vodka!
I’m riding high on the wave of Mom and Ron’s love, on the relief that Vivian is emanating now that the hard part of her day is done and it went so well, on this deep feeling I have that being back with Carter is the Right Thing, no matter what doom awaits us in six months.
Plus, it still hasn’t rained, and the sky has taken on a lighter shade of gray.
“Oh!” Shana says. “Maggie, question: the chords going from the chorus into the bridge . . . Is it B-flat right into C? Or
does it bounce to F first, then C?”
“Lemme think.” I hum through the song in my head. “It bounces to . . .”
In the middle of the sentence, I see him, wandering through the yard.
Dad has arrived.
“Bounces to what?” Shana gives me a playful shove. “F?”
“Yes,” I say. “F. As in F my life because of what I C.”
Dad is wearing a black sports jacket over a light blue button-down, along with jeans and his black Chuck Taylors. He grabs
a dumpling off a server’s tray and pops it in his mouth, right before he spots me.
My nerves come rushing back.
“Magpie!” Dad says, arms wide, giving me a hug that I mostly reciprocate. “I’m in time for your set, right? How’d the ceremony
go?”
“Hey, it was great,” I say. “Really beautiful. Did you miss it on purpose?”
“Eh,” Dad says. “More or less, yeah. I wanted to see Vivvy in her element, but . . . There’s only so much weird I can handle,
you know?”
“That makes two of us.”
“You didn’t want to see it either?” he asks, unable to hide his excitement.
“No, I’m talking about right now, Dad,” I say. “You. Being here.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Dad scratches his cheek and looks around. “Well, your mom and Ron were really cool about it. I already missed
your last gig. Couldn’t miss this one too. They get that. You look fantastic, by the way. Great dress. I—” Dad turns to acknowledge
my friends, as if he’s just noticed them. “Hey, Shana! Ember! Long time, no see!”
“Hey, Mr. Spear,” Shana says at the same time that Ember says hi.
“Heard you all tore it up big-time at your coffee shop gig. Consider me hashtag proud, as you kids would say.”
“No one says that anymore, Dad.”
“Ha! Okay.” Dad lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Magpie, is it too much for me to be here? Should I go?”
I’m about to say, Yes! It’s way too much! Please leave immediately!, but we’re interrupted by Ron strolling up hand in hand with Mom.
“How’s our all-time favorite band feeling?” Ron asks.
My internal organs panic and try to run but instead bump into each other, tangling themselves into impossible knots.
“Oh, hey there, Danny!” Ron smiles and extends a hand toward Dad. “Glad you made it, buddy.”
“Thanks, Ron,” Dad says, looking both sheepish and grateful. “Big congrats to you! And to you, Laurel. Exciting day. Really
appreciate you welcoming me.”
I look to Mom, ready for some shit to go down. But to my astonishment, she’s not in cold, bristly mode. In fact, she seems completely unfazed. Maybe even glad to see my dad, which is something I don’t think I’ve seen since before the divorce.
“Hey, Danny,” she says as she leans in to give Dad a hug. “You’re not going to believe how mind-blowing Maggie and her band
are.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s also a little thrown by Mom’s genuine ease in his company. “I can’t wait. Heard
Vivvy led a beautiful ceremony too.”
“Incredible,” Mom says.
“Beyond,” Ron agrees.
“You talking about me?” Vivian says, putting an arm around Dad’s shoulders.
“Hey, kiddo, way to kill it,” Dad says, giving her a hug.
Everyone’s nodding and smiling at each other—it’s a little uncomfortable but mostly a warm continuation of the glowing vibes
that have surrounded the entire wedding so far. Mom wasn’t kidding in her vows; Ron really has helped her move forward.
Which means I’m the only one who actually has a problem with Dad being here.
Guess I should get over that.
“Five minutes till go time, Infants!” Misty says, appearing from nowhere, voice booming like she’s our coach.
“Oh god,” I say.
“All right, gang,” Ron says with a couple of hand claps. “Let’s give this band a little time to get in the right head space
for the performance of a lifetime. All of us stans absolutely cannot wait.”
Mom and Dad separately wish us broken legs before she drifts away with Ron and he with Vivian—who gives me one more confidence-transmitting nod, a beacon of calm and maturity as always—and the three of us are left on our own.
“Time to kill,” Shana says, hand on my back. “You okay?”
“I am,” I say. “Everything’s great. Is there any of that drink left?”
“Yeah.” Shana puts the glass in my hand.
I take a deep, disgusting, delicious swig.
“We really don’t have to do that new song,” Ember says, tapping their drumsticks together. “If it feels weird, I mean.”
“Yeah, screw it,” Shana says. “We’ll explode brains even without that song.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, “but we should probably—”
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says behind me as a hand touches my lower back. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d absolutely love to
get your autograph.”
It’s Carter, crouched behind me in a full tuxedo.
“Oh Jesus no,” I say.