Chapter Twenty-Six
You always hear stories about the sister at a wedding acting like a self-pitying asshole. It’s a great setting full of natural
stakes and character pitfalls for your single leading lady. The tears of envy, the ill-advised hookups with groomsmen with
names that sound like guttural utterances, who love the Dave Matthews Band and think acting out Pornhub choreography is romantic.
But I’d never seen a movie or read a book about a sister with two excellent romantic options who locks herself in a restaurant
bathroom at a rehearsal dinner because she’s having a near panic attack listening to her sister talk about how once you’ve found true love, you will know it immediately, and fate will intervene.
But there I was. Waiting for fate’s gentle but obvious touch to shine a light somewhere. Staring at my smudged mascara face,
dabbing under my eyes with a damp but still rough paper towel, preparing to go back out to my fake boyfriend and my parents.
My parents who hadn’t said one kind word to each other since Bush Two stole an election.
The rehearsal dinner, at Stella’s restaurant in Waupoos, felt like a real test for how the following day was going to play
out. Waupoos, named after the Ojibwe word for rabbit, is on the east side of the island, and it is rich with blueberries, apple orchards, vineyards, and stunning views of the water.
Stella’s is an unassuming little building, formerly a house, surrounded by farms, and with a pride flag you can see from the road, but somehow it’s also a five-star fancy dining experience.
I’d arrived fifteen minutes earlier, feeling optimistic.
In my writer-director’s mind, I was ready to get the show on the road.
Given the specifics of the group—the divorced parents who hadn’t seen each other in years, Val and Yasmine who had started
partying at 11 a.m., and Sarah’s suburban parents—an amazing PFLAG-type mom but a Dad who was known to occasionally weep about
his only daughter’s queerness—I was ready for anything. Not to mention my fake date who impressed the shit out of everyone
he met but who I wasn’t sure how I felt about but increasingly felt guilt and confusion about those feelings. All of it could
be chaos, over oysters and too much wine. Luckily the approaching sunset over the adjacent cornfields was the perfect distraction
for most people to stop thinking about their own problems for two hours. Except for me. Once everyone was seated and my job
for the evening was done, the panic descended. I reapplied lipstick in the tiny bathroom mirror and took a deep breath listening
to a breathy stranger on my meditation app say the words you are calm, you are centred. The bathroom lighting was dim, and the walls were navy blue on the bottom, pink on the top. Perfect selfie lighting if I
didn’t feel like a feral cat.
Uncentred but out of time and famished, I exited the bathroom and bumped into Yasmine, who gave me a sweaty hug before offering
me a palmful of magic mushrooms. They looked like dried up mouldy weeds. I put her other hand on top of the one filled with
drugs and said, “I have to drive, but thanks.” She shrugged, swallowed them whole, and kicked open the bathroom door with
one of her red cowboy boots.
Maybe I needed a more Yasmine approach to life.
Once outside, I put on my game face and joined the long wooden table.
It was set beautifully, dressed with peonies, daisies, and vintage glassware.
Sarah was at one end, her best non-binary person, Crissy, at her side.
Both wore casual ivory blazers over blue short-sleeved cotton button-ups.
Kate was at the other, with Hazel, her maid of honour, at her side, both in green summer sundresses, hair blown out and nails done peachy-pink that afternoon.
I wanted to feel happy for Kate and Sarah, and I did, but the happiness felt remote compared to the stress of vague heartbreak
and uncertainty. On the ride over, Marlon had stopped me when I started monologuing my indecision. “You have two more days
to not think about yourself, OK? Come Sunday you can sink into it. Put it aside for now and enjoy your fake boyfriend.” But as soon as Ben smiled at me, putting one hand on my shoulder, I’d felt like a dog who just heard fireworks for the first
time. I’d jumped up and said excuse me I have to touch up makeup. Ben rolled with it. He could roll with anything. I didn’t
relate, but I admired it. Envied it.
When I returned to the table, I took my place beside Ben, and this time his smile put me at ease. With Dave, I felt like the
human version of one of those Canada Day sparklers, but with Ben, in the best moments, I felt like I’d just had a glass of
wine. Warm and ready to flirt. We were seated next to Marlon, who was in an exquisite blue suit that I could tell he’d designed
himself for the occasion. The familiar smell of his cologne—coconuts and the ocean?—calmed me. On his left sat my mom and
Charles, then Pamela and my dad. That the two women had been seated next to each other was a mistake, but so far everyone
was being normal. My mother seemed elated that she and Charles were either reunited officially or perhaps just for the wedding,
I wasn’t sure. But she was mildly polite to Pamela, as was Charles. Together, my mom and Charles were like two cartoon characters
drawn by children who only knew the stereotypes about scientists: Charles’s crooked glasses and seventies-style blazer over
a wrinkled shirt; my mother’s oat-coloured linen A-line dress, coral lipstick on her teeth. My father and Pamela were relaxed
and warm, and appeared to be wearing colour-coordinated outfits: my dad in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis, Pamela in a blue sundress
with a giant hibiscus flower barrette in her hair that matched the flowers on my dad’s shirt.
There was a part of my father I had never noticed before: He was goofy. He and Pamela were like two sober Disney adults out on the town, in garish clothes, speaking their own silly language. He seemed more at ease than I’d ever seen him in a public place.
On Sarah’s side were her parents, who seemed younger than my parents, dressed in classic suburban styles. If they’d committed
a crime, I wouldn’t be able to describe their wardrobe to the police beyond beige. Sarah, one of the most interesting conversationalists I’d ever met, had boring parents. They liked to talk about sports
and the stock market and that was about it. Her brother Matt, home from McGill for the summer, seemed delighted to be offered
free wine. Val and Yasmine rounded out that side of the table, both wearing variations of the same outfit that was closer
to swimsuit than dress, but both looked impeccably cool. Hazel’s green sundress, upon closer inspection, looked like she’d
selected an outfit from whatever came up when you googled “appropriate rehearsal dinner dress,” and I appreciated, once again,
her classiness. Kris sat across from Marlon to round out the numbers on Sarah’s side. He was dressed more casually but still
seemed like an Instagram ad for something expensive. I was impressed by how they remained connected through the haze of potentially
weird relatives and social dynamics. Ben and Sarah spoke to the group as though they’d been hired to be the welcoming extroverts,
putting everyone at ease.
“It means so much to Katie and I that you’re all here with us for our big weekend,” Sarah said, as the oysters and green salads
arrived. “Tomorrow’s the big day, so tonight let’s just relax and spend some time together.”
Everyone took their first bites and started their own small side conversations.
Ben looked over at my parents acting like strangers sitting on a bus bench and said, “Well, I’ve had the summer to get to
know Arlene here, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you two party kids, love the matching shirt and hair accessory combo!
” Pamela beamed. By the time I was squeezing lemon and horseradish onto my last oyster, they were in love.
My dad gave me a raised eyebrow look that said he approved of my new “boyfriend.” Ben put his arm around me and squeezed.
I felt safe and warm huddled in his embrace.
I was not the odd one out, as I’d worried about earlier in the summer.
All day we’d been setting up the lawn outside the cabins to be ready for the next day. Making a revised seating chart and
editing my slide show had been a good distraction from the fact that every time I turned to see Dave, my heart felt like it
would fall out of my mouth at any moment.
Ben squeezed my hand and whispered, “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, and squeezed it back.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and I knew he meant exactly that. The time for guessing Ben’s feelings or worrying
about his integrity was over. The ball was in my court. And I wished it could just stay in the air a little bit longer. Sarah
sent me a text during one of her dad’s very long stories about baseball that read You did it. You saved the wedding, and you helped Katie not be stressed about your mom. I can’t thank you enough for coming
through. You really changed this summer.
You’re welcome, I replied, but what do you mean, I changed? I’m still the same.
You seem much less focused on yourself, I don’t mean that as an insult. It feels like your heart is open. I really like Ben.
I think you made the right choice.
Oh, no, I haven’t chosen.
Well, you had me convinced! That says something, right? He seems solid. Present. I can see how much he likes you. Don’t discount
that. Also, what’s his sign?
After the rehearsal dinner, Ben and I said goodbye in the parking lot, the full moon brilliant above us. “Thanks for tonight, for keeping it up,” I said, kicking the gravel around with my sandal.
“I think everyone believed us,” he said, “even me. Maybe you?” He lifted my chin up to meet his gaze. He held it, unyielding.