27. Chapter Twenty-Six London
Chapter Twenty-Six: London
I n an alternate universe, my older sister’s wedding would be one of the happiest days for my family.
But since we’re the Youngs, I’m picking up dog poop at six am.
Being a devoted younger brother, I agreed to walk Savannah’s teacup Chihuahua, Sparkles, while she got her beauty sleep before taking a leisurely limousine ride to the hotel where she’ll be getting ready.
What she didn’t tell me is that Sparkles produces as much waste as a Golden Retriever ten times his size.
Hence, I’ve run through four of the little pink poop bags attached to Sparkles’ glittery white leash and I’m praying that he will finally stop dragging me toward an interesting-smelling puddle on the sidewalk before I’ve fully finished scraping his waste off the grass.
After a twenty-minute walk, I unlock Savvy’s back gate, lead Sparkles inside, and throw all the poop bags away.
I wash my hands in her pool house. She and her fiancé are both hotshot entertainment lawyers, so they can afford a mansion with a pool house. Sparkles whines as I leave from the gate, trying to block my exit .
Fortunately, Savannah’s housekeeper opens the French doors, holding a pink dog bowl filled with kibble. Sparkles bounds inside.
Crisis averted.
Now onto the next task.
All my family members claimed they’re all way too busy with work, children, and/or spouses to run errands. So, I have the following to-do list:
Walk Savannah’s dog.
Pick up boutonnieres from the florist for me, Perry, Troy, and Brooklyn .
Grab migraine pills from the pharmacist for Mom .
Tell Mom that if she watched less TV, she wouldn’t have migraines (on behalf of Dad).
Pick up Dad’s suit from the dry-cleaners .
So yes, I’m my family’s errand boy, but it’s worth it. When Savannah finally ties the knot five hours from now, I’ll see their smiling faces and neatly pressed suits and matching boutonnieres. Our big, happy family.
I drive to the florist’s shop on autopilot and park with no memory of how I got there.
Their sign says they open in half an hour.
I’d sleep now, but I’m worried that’ll make me more tired.
Instead, I call Gloria, knowing she’s an early riser like me.
Maybe not as early as I rose today—I’ve been up since five, and I feel every minute of my missed sleep—but still early.
She answers the phone, a sleepy tone stretching her syllables through a yawn.
I picture her with her hair mussed and wearing a cute eye mask.
I’d like to wake up to her every day. “Hey, Gloucester. What are you doing up this early on a Saturday? Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s for Savannah’s wedding, right?”
“Not for another four hours, but yes.”
“Are you telling me you need four hours in hair and makeup to look presentable?” she teases .
“I wish I was sitting in a makeup chair right now,” I tease. “But Sav’s got me running around the city doing errands. Well, actually, my whole family does.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My brothers need me to grab the boutonnieres from the florist, Sav asked me to walk her dog this morning—”
“Wait, can’t her fiancé walk her dog? I thought they lived together.”
“They’re being ‘traditional’ and sleeping separately the night before the wedding,” I say with a yawn. A fatigue-induced headache throbs at my temples, and I wish I’d made myself a coffee in Sav’s pool house as well.
“Haven’t they been together for, like, six years?
” Gloria asks with a giggle. She must really have just woken up.
I never hear her use the word ‘like’ or any other filler words.
Law school training beat it out of us. We had a professor who made us repeat our sentences properly every time we used filler words such as ‘like’ or ‘literally.’
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t want to think or talk about my family right now. Now that I have her on the line, I just want to hear her voice. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I was already up, just refusing to get out of bed.” She gives a little groan that makes me wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her. To see a vulnerable, softer side of her that no one else gets to see. “But I’m up now. Making coffee and everything.”
We chat for a few more minutes, and I give her the rundown of my morning so far, including Sparkles trying to drag me across the street when he spotted a massive husky that he wanted to play with. Never mind that the huge dog was oblivious to his presence.
“Well, the florist is open now, so I’ll see you in a few hours. I’ll come pick you up at ten-thirty? That way we’ll have enough time to get to the venue and find parking. ”
“Sounds good. I love you.”
She says it so simply. So casually. Like a habit—something we’ve said thousands of times, something we’ll be saying for the rest of our lives.
“I love you, too.” We hang up and I enter the flower shop.
“Four boutonnieres for the Young-Wong wedding, please,” I tell the woman working behind the counter.
She checks my ID, then hands me a chilled box with four floral buttonholes inside. I compare them to the pictures Sav sent us, and nod, satisfied. Savannah already paid for them, so I just have to swing by the pharmacy and the dry cleaners on my way to my parents’ house.
Luck isn’t on my side, though. I end up stuck behind an old lady driving at forty miles an hour on a seventy mile per hour road.
After I finally pass her, construction slows me to a crawl.
Despite waking up so early, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get everything done before making it to Gloria’s to pick her up on time.
At ten twenty, when I’ve just finished grabbing the migraine medication and Dad’s suit, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to pick up Gloria and make it to the wedding venue on time. I call her again to let her know.
She’s apologetic, as if she’s the one who messed up instead of me.
I hang up feeling guilty, replaying all the moments where I was dawdling or could have hurried more, been more efficient.
Maybe I should have gotten up earlier, maybe I never should have gone to bed last night—what’s one all-nighter in the face of my sister’s wedding?
A day when I get to dance with Gloria while she wears a beautiful dress?
Sure, I’m not in college anymore and I can’t chug Red Bull to get me through the day without getting heart palpitations, but… I should have done better. That thought hangs over my head as I sprint into the house, and practically throw the medication at my mom .
She’s in her dressing room, still putting in her earrings.
Dad gels his greying hair into place, wearing a white bathrobe.
His watch gleams on his wrist, a Patek Philippe, and he’s neatly shaved.
Mom’s things lie scattered over the vanity and she only has one eyebrow pencilled in. Neither of them are speaking.
My father lets out a grunt that could either be gratitude or impatience as I cross the room to hand him his suit. I back out of the room, figuring they’re in one of their moods.
Then again, they’re never this silent. If they’re stressed with each other, I’d never catch them giving each other the silent treatment.
Instead, my dad usually makes passive-aggressive remarks about how my mom had all morning to get ready but still isn’t done.
Or my mom would complain about how my dad didn’t unload the dishwasher and yet he expects her to be ready at the same time as him.
Maybe they’re having a truce for the wedding. But based on the taut line of my father’s mouth, and the wrinkles between my mom’s brows that aren’t just from age… I know better than to hold out hope.
I wait in the car for us to all drive there together. I’d do anything to go back in time so I could be with Gloria instead. I’d wait however long she needed me to, not minding that we were late if I could watch her put on her lipstick or smell her perfume.
Instead, I’m playing chauffeur to a married couple who are anything but happy on their daughter’s wedding day.
The drive over to the wedding venue is terse. I put on some jazz, hoping it will be relaxing, but instead my dad gets in the passenger seat and immediately changes the station to the news channel. We hear about three stabbings, two shootings, and seven forest fires on our way to the wedding.
My mom doesn’t meet my gaze the few times I try to make eye contact in the rearview mirror.
Tension coils in the pit of my stomach, forming a knot that grows tighter and tighter as we near the fancy hotel Savannah chose as her venue.
Who needs Red Bull? I have all the energy I could need holding me aloft just from listening to my parents not fight.
We scramble out of the car at ten fifty-five, forty-five minutes before we have to be in our seats, and I hand my keys to the valet.
As we exit the car, my dad takes long strides forward, leaving my mom a few feet behind him.
I offer her my arm so she doesn’t nosedive on the uneven cobblestones of the hotel courtyard while wearing her Louboutins.
She takes my arm gratefully, and breaks the silence for the first time since I’ve seen her today. With a contemptuous glance in my dad’s direction, she mutters, “Would it kill him to wait for me?”
There’s never anything I can say to assuage either of my parents’ moods, or to make either of them see good qualities in the other. So I stay silent.
As she enters the lobby, Mom smooths out her flowy peach-coloured dress. The gown’s pastel hue washes her out, making her pale skin look even paler despite the pop of reddish-pink lipstick she swiped on before leaving.
As we walk into the venue, almost no guests have arrived yet. My shoulders sag in relief; I need a few minutes to myself. My phone dings with a text as soon as my mom lets go of my arm to go use the ladies’ room.
Gloria
I’m here! Where are you?
Screw the alone time. I just need her.