Page 29 of A Storybook Wedding

“That’s right!” Questlove spits out his kazoo and yells into the mic that extends from his earpiece down his jawline. “Y’all just been hit by a Questlove Kazoo Karaoke Bomb!”

They continue to cheer, and I grab Nate’s hand and raise it high into the sky as if we are champions who’ve just crossed a finish line or won a competition. He is still smiling, but now he’s watching me with an expression of confusion? Concern? Consternation? Words befuddle me.

Quest gets up and walks over to us, still talking into the wireless mic affixed to his beautiful bearded face. “Thanksgiving Eve! Biggest party night of the year! Much gratitude to Sing Sing for having us! And to these two lovebirds. Let me get your names!”

I lift the microphone to my face. “Cecily,” I say. Holy shit, now Questlove is talking to me! “And this is Nate!” I am unhinged, so I just start screeching. “Woo! We love you, Questlove!” with my fist punched into the air like the Statue of Liberty.

Quest talks a little bit more, sounding like a PSA for karaoke everywhere, until finally his cameraman shuts off the camera and the DJ pumps up some new music and switches the lights so that there’s no spotlight on the stage anymore. We’re escorted offstage by a gigantic man dressed all in black who is holding my coat and whom I hadn’t noticed previously. He looks at me sternly as he hands me my outerwear. Then Quest shakes our hands and says, “Thanks for being good sports about it!” The cameraman hands each of us an extra-large shirt that says, I was Kazoo Karaoke Bombed by Questlove and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. Quest grins at us and says, “Happy Thanksgiving,” with a nod, and then the two of them turn around. The larger-than-life bodyguard parts the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea, allowing Questlove and his cameraman to leave Sing Sing safely.

Nate turns to me, still cheesing, his new shirt slung over his shoulder. He leans in to my ear. “One song,” he reminds me.

I frown dramatically, and he nods his head toward the exit.

“You promised,” he says.

“Fine,” I agree, rolling my eyes. I’m giddy though. This night has been incredible. Maybe the best night of my life. Easily top three.

Once we get outside, words pour out of me into the darkness. “Can you believe that? Can you believe we just sang with Ahmir Questlove Thompson? Like, whatevs, no big deal. I just hang out with famous people all day long. Can you even?”

Nate shakes his head. “Nope. Never in a million years would I have thought that this was where the night would take me. Is this your brand of antics, CJ? I would never have pegged you as a party girl.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fun,” I insist.

“You’ve got a backpack the size of Montana,” he laughs.

“Wow,” I say. “Way to bring a girl down.”

“I’m serious! Your binder has more pages in it than the Bible.”

“Work hard, play hard,” I retort.

His smile. It’s like a drug. You would think I never saw a man’s teeth before.

“You definitely know how to play hard, that’s for damn sure,” he says.

We walk then. Up the block and around the corner. Somehow, with the adrenaline draining from my system and the chill of the air mixed with the exercise, I’m sobering up. I can feel it. It’s almost as if I am remembering that this cool thing happened to me but it feels far away, as if it was a long time ago instead of only a few minutes earlier.

Suddenly, I become extremely self-conscious. I can smell Nate’s cologne faintly. Our strides match: left foot, right foot, left foot. I don’t know what to say. Evidently, Nate has lost his capacity for small talk also, because it’s just step after step after step in the twilight.

Until we get to Starbucks. He holds the door open for me. “Thank you,” I say.

He orders a grande honey citrus mint tea for himself, and I get a vanilla latte. He pays for the drinks, waving away my credit card.

We sit in a pair of comfortable chairs while the baristas do their thing. I try really hard to think of something to say. “So what would you have been doing if you weren’t here with me right now?”

Nate shrugs. “I would probably have stayed at the Book Club a little longer. Then I would have headed home.”

“Oh. I hope I didn’t steal you away from, like, work,” I say, just now realizing that this was an event that he was probably paid to do.

“No. It’s fine. I told you, I don’t like that kind of stuff. It’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure I wouldn’t have stayed that long. What about you?” he asks. “Is this just your typical Wednesday night?”

“Ha,” I say. “Far from it. Contrary to my performance this evening, I don’t go out all that much.”

“Really?” he says. “Because you made it seem like you’re a wild animal.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Far from it. I’m a children’s librarian, actually.”

“Really? That’s what you do?”

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