Just the wedding party, the pastor, the pianist, Pop’s three granddaughters and their husbands, and Damian. We sit around one large table. My mother looks so happy, and Damian is charming without feeling fake in that way he sometimes used to feel.
When it’s time for the toasts, I know I have to get up to give one. I’ve had one ready for three weeks. I’d never do anything fancy, and I figure everyone prefers for toasts like this to be brief and heartfelt.
I’m not good at heartfelt, but whatever. I do the best I can.
I start with a story about when I was five years old and snuck out of the house on a Saturday evening so I could go watch a big party in the backyard of a house down our block. I climbed a tree so I could see better, and then I got too high and was scared to climb down.
I had to call for help from some guests at the party. They tried to talk me down, but I was paralyzed with fright. So they proceeded to go down to alert my mother about the crisis.
The whole table is spilling over with laughter at my deadpan narration of this embarrassing moment from my youth. I catch Damian watching me. Not laughing. His eyes are scanning my face like he sees something there I have no clue about.
The only way my mom could get me down from the tree was to climb up there with me. She then showed me branch by branch how to make my way down. As she stepped onto the ground, she twisted her ankle, but she didn’t let me know about that until we were almost home.
I was crying because I’d thought I hurt my mother when she said to me, “It’s nothing, Mel. It’s like whipped cream on top of a sundae. You push it away so you can get to the ice cream. The good stuff. And the good stuff is that I’ll always take care of you. We might be a little family, but we’re real, so we’ll take care of each other. Forever.”
I intended for the brief story to be sweet and light and for everyone to be left smiling, but I get choked up unexpectedly. I see a tear slip out of my mother’s eyes as I finish. “We’ve always taken care of each other. And I’m so happy she’s found someone else to make her family—that our family is getting bigger. And that. So here’s to making families grow however we can.”
It was a good toast. At least as far as I can tell from the applause and the expressions of the people around the table. I’m smiling at my mom and at everyone else, but I’m shaking as I sit back down.
Damian doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even really look at me, which is a relief. But he moves his hand over and curves it around the back of my neck. It’s not his normal draped arm. It’s something different. It feels protective. Comforting. Needed.
I shake even more until I get control of my emotions. I don’t want anyone—particularly my mother—to see how I’m feeling right now.
IT’S A FEW HOURS LATER, and we’re back in the hotel room before Damian brings it up.
Since we’re staying in the hotel with a lot of other out-of-town wedding guests, we’re sharing a room with a big king-sized bed. It’s fine with me. We’ve been sharing a bed for more than two months now. I normally don’t feel the need to get away from him, and Damian has never expressed any concern about privacy.
But when we walk into the room, it’s late and I’m tired. The silence feels heavy. I know Damian has thoughts. I know he’s going to share them soon. And I don’t know if I’m up to responding to them.
I’ve gotten control of my emotions, but they still feel barely reined in. Like the slightest push might send me right over the edge. I pray Damian isn’t going to do the pushing.
He’s dressed in a dark suit, and he looks as handsome and elegant as a movie star at an awards show. He toes off his shoes and loosens his tie, glancing over toward me.
I clear my throat, set my little purse on the dresser, and then walk over to the window to look out. There’s not much to see. Just the Charleston cityscape. Mostly I want to look at something other than Damian. I’m suddenly