Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
Maribel did not flinch, but she raised her hand and gently pushed Evelyn’s arm away. “It is exactly where I want it, Evelyn. Leave it be.”
Evelyn took a step back, her fingers tapping against her leather purse strap. “The photographer is waiting downstairs by the rose garden, Clara. We need to go down now.”
“We are not doing the formal portraits before the ceremony,” I said, picking up my bouquet of white roses.
Evelyn turned to me, her eyebrows rising. “We discussed this, Clara. We need the lighting before the sun goes down behind the pines.”
“The lighting is fine,” I said.
Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but my mother stepped between us, holding out my white lace gloves.
“We have exactly twenty minutes before the organist starts,” my mother said.
Evelyn looked at Maribel, then at me, and finally turned toward the door. “I will go make sure the ushers have the programs with the satin ribbons.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the three of us in the small room.
“She is just nervous,” Maribel whispered, her voice breathless.
