Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“Now, for the family portion of the evening,” Mr. Vance said, his voice flat and professional. “We have exactly forty-five minutes scheduled between the end of the ceremony and the start of the reception at the Grand Oak Ballroom.”
“Well, we want to make sure the individual portraits are handled first,” I said, my finger tracing the edge of the satin ribbon on the programs. “Specifically, the one of Mason’s grandmother, Maribel Miller.”
Mason rubbed his collarbone with his thumb, his eyes fixed on the typed shot list that Mr. Vance had printed for us.
“She has a quiet spot in the church garden she likes,” Mason said. “We want her to have a full, formal portrait by herself before the rest of the family arrives for the group shots.”
Mr. Vance looked down at his notes, then squinted at a pencil mark in the margin of his ledger. He turned a page, then another, his gold ring clinking against the paper.
“Maribel Miller?” Mr. Vance asked. “The lady with the blue headscarf who called about the outdoor lighting?”