Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The ceremony felt like a quiet dream, a series of small, deliberate movements that we had practiced for weeks. When the minister finally pronounced us husband and wife, the applause from the pews was loud and sudden.
We turned to walk back down the aisle, and this time I looked directly at Maribel. She was smiling, her eyes bright with a look I had not seen in months.
Evelyn was looking down at her program, her fingers still tapping against her purse strap.
By seven o’clock, the Grand Oak Ballroom was filled with the clatter of silver forks against china plates. The smell of roasted chicken and sage stuffing hung in the warm air under the brass chandeliers.
Evelyn sat at the head table, looking out over the crowded room with a small, satisfied smile. “The seating arrangement worked out wonderfully, didn’t it?” she asked, leaning toward me. “The photographer said he got some lovely shots of the tables.”
“He did,” I said, keeping my hands in my lap.
“The florist really outdid herself with the centerpieces,” my mother said from across the table. “They match the table runners perfectly.”
