Page 54 of Work: Strictly Professional

“Selby. Jesus,” says the daydreamer, dropping back to Earth and landing with a thud. He’s taken aback to find himself in a strange place with a spouse who is cheerfully disclosing intimate details about him to a group of strangers.

She tucks an arm through his and leans her head against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, sweetie,” she says. “You know I don’t blame you.”

I can’t tell if it’s something in her eyes or her voice, but either way, something about the way she says it gives me a feeling she might well be harboring a modicum of resentment. The daydreamer’s jaw clenches, muscle bunching and not releasing completely.

“We’re not serving shrimp tonight,” says Miller brightly, “so you’re welcome to join us if you’d like. What time do you think dinner will start, Wyn? I’m sure we can squeeze two more in.”

Wyn’s face has turned bright red and his neck has gone blotchy. I happened to know he’s agonized over the seating arrangements for hours. Two more people at dinner is the last thing he needs. I take his hand firmly in mine, less to hold it, more to hold him back from committing an act of violence against my son.

“Thank you, but no,” says the daydreamer. “We couldn’t possibly.”

“No,” says his wife, giggling happily, “we couldn’t possibly. We have a honeymoon redo to get started on, after all.”

The daydreamer’s jaw clenches again, and this time, it doesn’t release until after the receptionist hands over their key and gets the porter to show them to their suite.

I’m dressed and ready, the first one here. I’m sitting in the front row, trying to keep sand out of my dress shoes, watching wavesbreak through the floral frame of a wedding bower. It’s beautiful. Thick and lush and jam-packed with an array of white and pastel flowers. Roses, ranunculus, hydrangeas, and sweet peas. It’s exactly as excessive and lovely as I’ve always hoped this day would be.

I see the lone figure of Miller approaching, and my breath hitches. His suit is dark blue. There’s an orchid pinned on his lapel. He wears it well. He makes it look easy. Casual almost. As always, I see a lot of his mother in him with his coloring and bone structure, but now, all grown up, a man living his truth, I see a hint of myself too.

I stand to greet him, and though there’s part of me that would love to throw my arms around him and cling to him for dear life, I put out my hand to shake his. His handshake is self-assured and firm, just how I taught him.

We stand side by side, watching the string quartet set up as we wait for the rest of the wedding party to join us. Neither Ryan nor Miller wanted to walk down the aisle or be given away, so Ryan and the groomsmen, well, groomspeople, should be here soon. The mood between Miller and me is a little uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable exactly, more like formal. I feel I should say something, that the significance of the day demands it, that Miller wants it.

Wyn’s words flit to mind. I was annoyed when he said them, but now, they seem appropriate. Necessary even.

“I’m proud of you,” I say softly. Miller’s head jerks and he turns so he’s facing me. I was expecting an arrogant grin or even an eye-roll. What I get couldn’t be further from that. He looks like he did when he was little. Wide-eyed and buoyant. Expectant. I keep talking, and once I start, I don’t seem able to stop. “I realize I haven’t said it enough, but I’m proud of you always, Mills. All the time. I respect you. Not just today and not just for the things you achieve”—I can’t help a small smile—“orfor your attempts to derail my company. More than anything, I’m proud of who you are. I know it wasn’t always easy with the way things were between Mom and me, but I’m proud of you for telling us to quit our marriage. It was a hard thing to do, and neither of us knew how to get there on our own. We’re both happier now, and that’s because of you.”

Gunmetal-gray eyes dampen, and he leans toward me, resting his temple against mine. I put my arms around him like I used to when he was a little boy, before he got snarly, before things went really bad between Barbara Anne and me, and before I started hiding my pain behind work. I hold him the way I used to when I could easily lift him and protect him. “I’m proud of the man you are and I’m proud of the way you love Ryan. You’ll be a wonderful husband, and I’m honored to stand up here with you today.”

“Jesus, Dad,” he says after a long beat, “you don’t say much for years, and then you say it all at once, huh?” I give that the smile and nod it deserves. Emily and Kat have joined us now, and others too. Seats around us fill up as the sun begins its final descent. Miller nudges my side. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll remember you said it.”

“You won’t have to remember. From now on, I’ll tell you so often that you won’t be able to forget it.”

Music starts playing. Strings and woodwinds blend together, twirling in the air around us before fading into the roar of the ocean. Miller’s face softens as his gaze drifts over my shoulder. Though my back is turned, I see the exact moment he spots Ryan. It’s so clear that I couldn’t possibly miss it. His pupils expand, silver pools deepen, swell, and turn to complete liquid, and his smile widens to a point well beyond anything that could ever be considered cool.

The ceremony is quick and to the point, and though I’m deeply loath to say it, soulful. It’s heartfelt and honest. There’s barely a dry eye among us. I hold it together, but only just. My emotions are running high, teaming through me. It’s a big day. It’s the start of something, sure, but it’s also the end. Even though he’s been Ryan’s since he met him, and I've always known that, today marks the official end of Miller belonging to Barbara Anne and me. The thought hits me so hard that I have to consciously fight to hold the tide back as I enter the venue.

The place looks unreal. I don’t mean amazing. I mean, it doesn’t look real. It looks like something that shouldn’t exist. The wrap-around views of the ocean are expansive, and up to this point, I harbored a secret concern that it would feel cold and impersonal. It doesn’t. It feels like I’ve stepped into a greenhouse forgotten by time. There’s an orchard of lemon and lime trees dotted around the tables. The heady scent of citrus permeates the air. A little zing, a little zest that brings life to the place.

The space feels secluded, like a secret garden, with mystical glimpses of sea views rather than feeling exposed or in-your-face. The tables are laden with flowers, a repeat of the colors and blooms used for the bower. They trailen masseover the tables, spilling onto the floor. The star of the show, the main event, so to speak, is the installation overhead. It’s a massive circular creation suspended from the ceiling by wires so thin, they’re invisible. It’s sculptural art. Floating weightlessly above us, every inch of it smothered in flowering peach blossoms.

It’s magical. Enchanted. Tiny fairy lights winking as daylight fades to nothing.

It’s beyond what I expected. Beyond what I dreamed for my son. Far, far more excessive and lovely than I could ever have imagined.

Wyn is in work mode, earpiece and notebook firmly in situ. He’s wearing a pale sage-green shirt and a floral bow tie. Dirty pinks and old roses. His curls shine under the overhead lights. His cheeks are pink from exertion and his freckles are a little darker than when we arrived. He’s deeply focused, lips pressed together in concentration as he gives orders to those around him.

He’s so beautiful my heart stops beating until my chest caves and then takes off at speed.

“You look very dapper,” I say, taking his face in my hands and kissing him lightly on the nose. The urge to kiss him so strong, I clean forget to check whether anyone is looking or not.

He makes a futile attempt to smooth his hair down. “You look…nice too.” His hands are on my chest, a light touch, but more than enough to rouse me.

“Oh my actualGod,” screeches Emily. “How good is this?”

“You’ve outdone yourself, Wyn,” I agree softly. I can’t be sure because of the low, incandescent light, but I think he might color from my praise.

The evening takes on a dreamlike quality from there. A shimmer of sequins and satin women’s dresses. Black ties and white shirts. A banquet of food. A feast like no other. All accompanied by a folksy live band that can usually be found performing on the beach, under the stars, and laughter bursting from the people my son loves the most.

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