The Magic of (Other People's) Weddings

The reception was—again, you guessed it—at a country club. The sun came out for the first time all day and laced the dining room in light. More cocktails, a table tiered in cheese and crudités and fruit. Lorri appeared at my side, held my hand. I relaxed. It felt wrong to be at a wedding both with and without her. And she was so happy—for her friend, for herself, for us being a part of it all.

We boogied, a lot. I played the fool on the dance floor, as I should. There was more food, more toasts and alas, cake. My worries had all been for naught. I’d had fun, as I always do at weddings.

Back in the hotel room at the end of the night, I caught Lorri staring in the mirror at herself. “You know,” she said, fingering the hemline of her bridesmaid dress, “I might want this at some point.”

“I know,” I said, as it occurred to me that I might want it too—but with her only.

“If it weren’t for the cost,” she added, the dress falling from her shoulders to the floor. “What a waste.”

And like a snap from a hypnotist I returned, only slightly worse for wear.