Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
The other dining room is the formal one, with a table that’s held up to twenty people for business dinners and political committee meetings. When I had to sit there, it was with the expectation that I would be seen and not heard, support Dad no matter what, and play the part of the perfect son. As a boy, I was proud to do so. Later, not so much.
But though we’re in the formal dining room, tonight’s no business reception or political thing. Tonight’s about celebrating Winston and Avery privately, intimately. This is the real celebration, in my opinion. Tomorrow’s about appearances, at least for half my family and probably a good chunk of the guests.
Somehow Rachel manages to sit by my side, even scooting her chair a bit closer and flashing me a flirty smile. I’m trying my best to be polite, but damn! And what is up with the bridesmaid-order switch? I was looking forward to walking with Hazel, even after last night.
I spent most of the night thinking about her and what happened. She’s skittish, understandably so, and I got impatient. I let what is basically her fear and established prejudice strike out at me and hit.
But I think she’ll be worth it if I can go slow.
You’re only here for a few more days.
Okay, not that slow, then.
“Well, I’d like to start with a toast,” Dad says, standing up. He’s got a drink in his hand, but I’m reasonably sure that this is his first. I’ve been watching like a hawk, because I won’t let Dad fuck things up for Winston, and at this point, I don’t trust him to make good choices. “Winston, I have watched as you’ve become a man, and I’m so proud of you. Now tomorrow, you’re taking another step, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Avery, from the minute Winston brought you home, we could see how special you are. The two of you deserve nothing but the best, and I think you’ve found that in each other.”
Cheers go around, and I prepare to drink, but then Avery’s Grandpa Joe stands up, his own glass in hand. “Well . . . since I’m sort of standing in as father of the bride, I’m going to take the privilege to say a few words. I know her parents would be very happy today if they were here.”
The celebratory vibe dims, and I know we’re all thinking about Avery’s past. That her parents were taken from her so tragically . . . it’s just wrong.
“Now, Avery’s mother was the one with the words,” Grandpa Joe says after clearing his throat, “and thankfully, she was also the one with the good looks, which she passed on to Avery. Lord knows what would have happened if you’d come out looking like me or your father!”
There are laughs all around, and Grandpa Joe continues, “You’ve been amazing in everything from the moment you were born, and look at you now. I changed your diapers when you were a baby, and now, you’ve had to change one or two of mine, but that’s how things go . . . life comes around full circle.” He gets quiet for a moment, his eyes going unfocused. He shakes his head, smiling. “Uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, full circle . . . like your love for each other.”
I don’t know, but I think I like the old guy. He’s funny, and Avery is smiling at him lovingly. Even Winston is smiling at the old man.
“Yeah anyway, that full circle, think of it like a wheel . . . it’s going to keep rolling along,” Grandpa Joe says, “so hang on to each other. Because soon enough, it’ll be you two standing up here feeling foolish while trying to make some damn sense, when all you really want to say is ‘I love you both, and I want you both to be happy.’ Love hard, kids.”
Now that I can understand, and my eyes flick across the table to Hazel, and find her looking back at me.
Slow, man. Remember that?
But slow is not what’s on my mind as I stare into her eyes.
The dinner starts, and it’s as delicious as I expect, but it’s also a five-course meal. I’ve been through all this before; I know what to do. But as dinner progresses, it’s pretty clear that Hazel doesn’t.
Not that Hazel Sullivan cares, really. She relishes the food, from the pomegranate and feta salad to the poached trout appetizer. She might look around for clues about which fork to use and have no idea about fancy table manners, but I could watch her eat every day for the rest of my life and never get bored.
She examines the food, inhaling deeply as each new plate is delivered, and then takes joy in the food itself, moaning and groaning quietly as she samples each new thing. Some of it’s familiar, and I’m sure some of it’s brand new.