Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
She looked down at the floor, her eyes fixed on the braided rug, refusing to glance up at the gold-framed mirror beside us.
I walked out to the driveway ten minutes later, where a silver sedan was idling near the curb. Evelyn, Mason’s mother, was sitting behind the wheel with her window rolled down half an inch.
I walked over to the driver’s side, the gravel crunching under my shoes. Evelyn shut off the engine and stepped out, tapping her fingers rapidly against her leather purse strap.
“Is she sleeping?” Evelyn asked, not looking toward the front door. “Did she eat anything?”
“Well, she is awake,” I said. “But she seems very quiet, Evelyn. I am worried about her health.”
Evelyn waved her hand in the air, dismissing my words with a sharp shake of her head. “It is just pre-wedding jitters, Clara. She gets anxious about crowds and travel.”
“She has lived in this town for fifty years,” I said. “And the reception is only three miles away.”
“You are overthinking this, as usual,” Evelyn said, checking her watch. “We have enough to worry about with the caterer.”
