Futures and Frosting (15 page)

Mrs. Gates is
busy fluttering around Liz making last minute adjustments to the train of her
dress and reminding her to smile, but not too much or the creases at the
corners of her eyes will show in the pictures.  She’s standing up and squatting
down over and over as she circles Liz, and I giggle-snort around the tears
forming in my eyes since she reminds me of a horse on a merry-go-round.  I
suddenly want to ask Liz if she has a riding crop I can borrow so I can whip
her mother and make her go faster.

“I can’t believe
you’re getting married,” I whisper to my best friend as we both ignore her
mother reminding Liz to clench her butt cheeks as she walks.

“Me either,” she
says with a smile through her own tears.

“I love Jim and
I know you two will be so happy together,” I reassure her.  “But as your best
friend, it is my duty to tell you that should you need it, my car is right
outside, fully gassed with the keys in the ignition and a suitcase with vodka
in it in the trunk.  I’ve also been keeping my pimp hand strong, just in case
Jim gets out of line and needs a little bitch slap.”

She laughs and I
lean in to give her a quick hug, careful to avoid tugging on her veil or
messing up any part of her.  I do not need the wrath of Mary Gates raining down
upon me.

“Thanks, BFF.  I
love you.”

The sound of
gagging and thumping interrupts our Hallmark card moment and we turned to see
Jim’s little cousin Melissa in her flower girl dress straddling Gavin on the
floor and trying to choke him.  Gavin flails and kicks beneath her, trying to
dislodge her hands from around his neck.

“Hey!” I
whisper-yell.  They both cease all movement and turn to stare at me.  “What are
you doing?!”

Gavin shoves
with all of his might and Melissa  tumbles off of him.  He scrambles up,
grabbing his fallen ring bearer pillow and clutching it to his chest.

“She freaking
hell took my pillow!  Stupid punk!” Gavin says loudly.

“He kicked me in
my no-no-zone!” Melissa complains with a stomp of her foot.

“Oh my,” Mrs.
Gates mutters.

“You should eat
dirt!” Gavin turns and yells at Melissa.

“I will NOT eat
dirt!” she counterattacks.

“EAT IT WITH
YOUR CHICKEN FACE!”

It's complete
and utter child anarchy and before I can pick a kid to yell at, the organ music
changes and begins playing the song that I needed to walk down the aisle to
with Gavin and Melissa right behind me.

I quickly bend
down in front of both of them and stare them square in the face with as stern
of an expression as I can muster.

“Both of you
little monsters, listen up.  As soon as you step foot out of those doors, you
better have smiles on your faces and your outside voices duct taped inside your
bodies.  If you speak, push, shove, swear, argue, or even blink at each other I
will haul your asses out of that church and lock you in the basement with the
scary clowns.”

I huff to emphasize
my point and stand, tugging up the front of my strapless dress.

“If I see a
clown, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.”

“Gavin Allen!” I
scold.

“What?  We
didn’t step fru dose doors yet,” he argues, pointing behind me.

“Kid has a
point,” Liz whispers.

“Behave,” I
whisper through clenched teeth as I turn and nodded to the two church
attendants so they can open the double doors for my entrance.

“My mom’s not
afraid to punch a kid,” I hear Gavin whisper to Melissa as I take my first step
down the aisle.

Thankfully, my
threat pays off and both kids make it to the front of the church without
killing each other.  The ceremony is beautiful and the only interruption came
during communion.

Liz is Catholic
so she had wanted a full, Roman Catholic service.  Carter is a “sort-of”
Catholic in that he was baptized, made his First Communion and everything else
he was required to do while growing up, but he only goes to church for
holidays, weddings, and funerals.  Regardless, when it comes time for
communion, he gets in line and takes Gavin with him since Gavin is on his side
of the church through the ceremony.

I really don’t
believe in any one religion, but I have been known to sit in on a few services
every once in a while just in case someone up there is taking notes.  I sit in
my seat in the front row with one other bridesmaid who isn’t Catholic and we
watch the procession and smile at those who walk by.  I crane my neck and watch
happily as Carter holds Gavin’s hand while he stands in front of the priest and
receives his little Jesus wafer.  In the quiet serenity of the process, with
only the beautiful sounds of the organ to fill the silence, Gavin’s voice
bursts through the tranquility.

“Whatchu got in
your mouth?”

I bite my lip
and cringe at how easily Gavin’s voice carries through the church.  Carter
bends over and whispers something to Gavin as they turn and start to walk back
to their seats in the front row on the opposite side of the church from me.

“GIMMEE WHATCHU
GOT IN YOUR MOUTH!”

I cover my eyes
with my hand but not before seeing Gavin try to shove his little hand into
Carter’s mouth.  Carter smacks his hand away and as they both sit down, Carter
pulls his cell phone out of the pants pocket of his tux and hands it over to
Gavin.  His face lights up with glee as he snatches the phone out of Carter’s
hand and sits down quietly next to him.  Obviously, Carter is quickly learning
that as a parent, nothing works quite as well as bribery.  Seconds later the
opening notes from Angry Birds blare through the soft din of organ music, and
Carter quickly grabs the phone from Gavin to silence the sounds while Gavin
yells, “Heeeey!  I was playing that!”

The ceremony
finally ends and we spend the next couple of hours getting pictures taken. 
Before I know it, we are finishing up dinner at the reception and the wait
staff begin clearing tables.  As part of the wedding party, we are all seated
at the long head-table at the front of the room.  It’s always fun to sit facing
a group of two hundred strangers so they can watch you eat.

Carter takes his
seat next to me after a quick trip to the bathroom, and I noticed he was
rubbing his shoulder in pain.

“What happened?”

“I passed Jenny
and Drew on the way back from the bathroom.  She wanted to know if I loved the
Balsa
McChicken
we had for dinner,” Carter explains with a raise of one eyebrow.

“I take it you
told her it’s called
balsamic chicken
?”

“No.  I asked
her if that was something new McDonald’s was serving on their menu with the
McRib.  Drew punched me.”

I glance around
the room until I find my father and see him getting up from his table.  He
offers to head out early and take Gavin home with him as soon as he gets
tired.  I look at the chair next to me where Gavin is currently asleep on his
stomach with his head, arms, and legs dangling down towards the floor.

“No, I didn’t
club him like a baby seal,” I assure my dad as he puts his hands on the table
and leans over it to get a look at his grandson.

“Your mother is
starting to tell people about Tee Time.  I think that’s my cue to leave,” my
dad tells me as I stand with Carter while he scoops Gavin up into his arms and
passes him off to my dad.

“What’s Tee
Time?” Carter asks as we watch Gavin sigh and snuggle his face into my dad’s
shoulder, muttering something about flashlights and donkey kicks.

My dad smiles
evilly at Carter and then looks at me. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the
Rachel Morgan Tee Time tradition.”

We say our
good-byes and as the reception hall door closes behind them, my mother’s voice
comes over the microphone’s speaker.

“TEE TIME!  IT’S
TEE TIME!  Everyone meet over by the bar in five minutes!”

I close my eyes
and sigh as I hear Jim let out an excited yell and jump up from his seat.

When I open my
eyes, Carter is watching as a crowd of about twenty people, led by Jim, walk
over to the bar.

“What is going
on?”

“Carter!  Now
that you are part of this family, it’s time you learned about the grand old
tradition that is Tee Time,” my mother exclaims as she pushes her way between
us and grabs both of our arms to leads us to the bar.  “This is an age old
ritual that my family performs at every wedding to ensure the married couple
lives a long, happy life together and that all of their ups and downs are in
the bedroom.”

Jim stands by
the bar, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement as we made our way up
to him.

“Mrs. Morgan! 
What’s our first order of business at this Tee Time gathering?” he asks with a
big grin.

“I do believe
whiskey is the first on the agenda tonight, my handsome groom,” she replies
with a smack to his ass as she waves someone over from another table.

“Hold on, wait
just a second!” Liz’s mom yells as she comes running up to us.  “The cake needs
to be cut, and you still haven’t done the first dance and the photographer
still needs-”

My mom steps in
front of Mary’s path and puts her hand up to stop her from getting any closer
to Jim.

“Mary, dear, you
look stressed.  When was the last time you used the bullet I gave you for your
birthday last year and gave yourself a nice, big orgasm?”

My mother, after
having dealt with Mary Gates for enough years, knows exactly how to divert her
attention onto something else.  It's nice to see her focusing on someone else’s
sex life for once.  With Mary sputtering and at a loss for words, the wedding
reception checklist is forgotten.

“I have to say,
I’m a little bit astounded by the fact that you were still a virgin the night
we met.  How is it possible your mother never bought you a male hooker for your
birthday?” Carter asks.

Jim lets out a
cheer when he sees his mother-in-law practically running away from the bar and
yells to the bartender for twenty shots of whiskey to go around.

“So really, Tee
Time is just another excuse to get trashed at a wedding?” Carter asked.

“That would be
correct,” I reply as I take the shot glass filled with amber liquid that is
handed to me.  “Calling it Stupid Time would just be too obvious.”

“I guess since
you’re drinking that means this gorgeous stud hasn’t impregnated you again,” my
mother states as she takes her own.

“MOM!” I scold.

“What?  Can you
blame me for wanting another grandchild?  You two make beautiful babies.  The
man obviously has super sperm.  And by the looks of your late-night kitchen
trysts, he still knows where to put it.”

Mortification,
party of one, your table is now ready.

“Did I ever tell
you about the boyfriend I had in college who thought blow jobs could cause
pregnancy?  It’s a shame really.  I can suck a tennis ball through a crazy
straw but he missed out.”

Shouldn’t there
be some sort of law about people knowing these things about one of their
parents?

My mother
finally shuts up as Jim leads the group in a toast that consists of everyone
raising their shot glasses, chanting “Tee Time, Tee Time, Tee Time!” before
downing the whiskey.

Carter quickly
learns the ins and the outs of Tee Time.  Basically, the person in charge (my
mother) borrows the microphone from the DJ and announces when it’s Tee Time. 
It starts off as being every twenty minutes.  After the first few rounds
everyone quickly forgets just how far apart Tee Time is supposed to be. 
Eventually, it’s every ten minutes, then every five minutes, and then there is
someone puking in the middle of the dance floor and the bartender is out of a
job because Tee Time attendance quickly jumped from twenty people to
seventy-eight people and they’ve taken over the bar so they can pour the shots
faster.

Every single
wedding I have ever attended since I was three had a Tee Time.  And frankly,
even some of the funerals adopted the same tradition since honoring the dead
can only be accomplished with adults sitting by the casket snort-laughing and
loudly discussing how they think they just saw the body move.

Two hours after
the first Tee Time, I plant my ass down at one of the tables, slide off my
heels, and prop my feet up on a chair so I can watch Carter, Jim, and Drew
attempt to break dance to a Celine Dion song.  Drew has long since shed his
tuxedo coat and white dress shirt, not really caring who sees the tee shirt he
wore underneath that says “I’m not the groom, but I’ll let you put a ring on
it” with a picture of a cock ring below the words.  I watch Carter attempt to
do the Running Man, unable to stop the huge grin that spreads across my face.

“Good thing I
caught you in a good mood,” Liz states as she suddenly appears next to my chair
and grabs my hand, pulling me up and out of my seat.  “Get your ass up.  It’s
bouquet-toss time.”

I let go of her
hand and sit right back down.

“Nice try,” I
say with a chuckle.

Liz moves to
stand right in front of me with her hands on her hips and glares down at me.

“Don’t you give
me that look,” I threaten.  “I am not standing out there in the middle of the
dance floor pretending like I give a rat’s ass whether or not I catch your
stupid bouquet.”

All around us,
single women are shoving people out of the way to make it up to the dance floor
in the hopes
they
will be the chosen one:  the woman deemed worthy
enough and loved enough to be the next one to walk down the aisle.  It doesn’t
matter if you have a boyfriend or not.  If that bouquet filled with all of the
good luck from the recently married woman arcs through the air in your
direction, you are as good as wed in the eyes of everyone around you.

Even if I don’t
really believe in that whole thing about how if you catch the bouquet you’ll be
the next person to get married, I'm still not taking any chances.  I had
learned early on that I'm probably not a good candidate for marriage.  I don’t
really have shining examples of success in that area.  My parents have five
marriages between the two of them.  I share the same genes as people that
stayed married because the healthcare was cheaper. And also because the one
time they had made an appointment with a lawyer, eight years ago, my mother got
a flat tire on the way there.  She still claims it was a sign from a higher
power that they shouldn’t get divorced.  Something about “If you love something
you shouldn’t set it free or you’ll get down to brass tacks in your tire.”