Page 103 of The Lookback

I know I picked the right man when he laughs so loudly that Jed squeals and heads for the back door. Sizzling chemistry is great, but someone to laugh with matters so much more, and I’m old enough to realize that.

Thank goodness that Tommy and I have both.

24

DONNA

No man is perfect, but I swear the ones who are awfully close always have a few things that they hide until after you’re married. In the case of my adorable husband, it’s that he likes to camp out on the toilet and read.

Sometimes for an hour.

I wish that was a huge exaggeration.

It is not.

“Will Earl, I love you to the moon and back, but if you don’t get out of that bathroom right now, I’m going to cut off your big toe.”

He shoots out, yanking his pants up as he hops. “Why my big toe?”

“What else could I cut off? You wouldn’t care about the small ones.” I’m smiling as I shove the book basket back into the corner. “You can read all you want, but stop doing it in my bathroom. Capice?”

“It’s the only time Aiden doesn’t walk in on me every five minutes.”

He’s not wrong about that, but I wish he was. Aiden has gotten progressively more annoying, probably because the house is now marinating in babies and their crap is just all over.

As if my thoughts summoned them, one of the babies starts to cry. I know good mothers are supposed to know who’s crying from the sound, but I swear Althea and Andrew made some pact up in heaven, and they soundexactlythe same.

Andrew should be quieter, since he’s, you know, months and months younger. But the lungs on that kid are impressive. As if he’s already engaged in some kind of sibling rivalry, he’s made it his life’s purpose to out-scream her.

“I think that’s Althy,” Will says.

“I thought we decided not to call her that.”

“No, you decided I shouldn’t call her that. I never agreed.” He’s smiling as he dries his hands and heads out in a search and rescue party, calling back at me over his shoulder, “You almost ready to go?”

Before setting the time on their wedding, Helen actually texted me to find out whether there was a time that would be easier for me. As if there couldbe anytime onThanksgiving Daythat would be convenient to attend a wedding when someone has two babies.

“We told them ten a.m.,” I say. “We can’t be late, and I know that. I’m almost done.”

But we were doomed from the start. When you have two babies, one of them is destined to poop right as you’re ready to go. And the one thing I didn’t think to do was buy two black dresses for my six-month-old, so when Althea’s diaper explodes, splattering poop all over her first one. . .I have limited options.

Our family does show up wearing black, as requested, except for Althea, who’s wearing her next-nicest outfit, a rose print, white floofy dress her grandmother bought her. As Will swings her car seat through the door of David’s retreat in Dutch John, I can’t help noticing that we stand out. Not me, and Will, and Aiden. Even Andrew looks pretty good in his little faux-tux.

But our bright white and pink baby looks like the fairy that showed up for Maleficent’s ball. For some reason, that thought really cheers me up. “This really is like Maleficent’s wedding,” I hiss.

Beth and Ethan hear me, and they start to laugh as well. “It so is,” Beth says. “And who does that make Althea? Is she Aurora?”

“Aurora?” Abby’s just walking through the door, and she’s clearly looking for someone, but we’ve distracted her, as usual. “Is there someone here named Aurora?”

Ethan’s laughing so hard that he can’t even explain, but Beth does.

To my surprise, Abby chuckles. “It is a little like Maleficent herself is getting married. She could have at least done something with her black wedding dress and bridesmaids’ dresses other than adding crimson as an accent color.” She’s still smiling when she snatches an enormous bloodred bouquet of roses out of a vase and ducks back through the door at the rear of the ballroom.

As I glance around us, I realize it’s not just the bridesmaids. Everything is black and red. It’s absolutely elegant, but it’s also pretty dark. The walls are draped in cloth as dark as pitch and then covered in the tiniest, cutest, pure white twinkle lights. Dark red floral arrangements drape dramatically down the middle of each panel. The aisle where Helen will presumably be walking is the only space that’s white, and the fabric walkway issowhite, that I worry everyone will stain it black with the soles of their shoes.

At the front of the room, there’s a large raised platform, and it’s covered in more crimson roses than I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re also larger than any roses I’ve ever seen, all half-open, as if some insane florist stood over millions of red flowers, shouting, “No, no, no,” and then, “Off with their heads!” over every closed or open red rose that dared to exist.

Actually, knowing Helen, that might be precisely what happened. She’s got the kind of money that most of us can’t imagine, and she’s not afraid to spend it.

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