Page 114 of The Lookback

The drive to the wedding is so short that we’re not even late, which is nice. It might even be the best thing about small towns. We’re all shivering as we dart across the parking lot and duck into the long hallway that leads to the ballroom of Gold Strike.

It’s clear as we walk up that Amanda has outdone herself with the decorations, and we’re not even inside yet. The long, normally white walls are plastered with a series of hilarious signs, and every one of them screams Mandy.

Amanda nailed this part.

They say things like, “Marriage: when dating goes too far,” and, “Those who fly solo have the strongest wings,” and, “The older I get, the more everyone can kiss my petunia.” Every sign makes me smile, and I suppose that’s the point.

Part of me wonders whether Amanda put a little extra energy into this because it’s the wedding she wanted and just didn’t have the bandwidth to do after giving her first setup to Donna. Mandy and Tommy gave her carte blanche on budget, decor, and entertainment, with one stipulation.

“There will be no bridesmaids,” Mandy had said. “I enjoyed that farce for the last few weddings, and it was nice to be included, but everyone at my wedding is anoldmaid.” She had cackled like mad, and then said, “Actually, that should be our theme.OldMaids.”

As we step through the double doors into the ballroom itself, every guest is issued an ‘old lady hat,’ each one bigger than the last, or more piled up with flowers. “These aren’t optional,” the woman passing them out says. “All women have to wear them.”

“What about us?” Steve asks. “We don’t get anything?”

The woman points over her shoulder at where a few feet ahead, there’s a man passing out striped canes. The hats and the canes each have little tags saying, “Thanks for joining Tommy and Mandy as they tie the knot. Better late than never.” Then they’re all marked with the date, which would be easy to remember in any case, being the day after Christmas.

“Ooh,” Gabe says. “This is awesome. I call Nate’s stick.”

“It’s not a stick,” Steve’s explaining fruitlessly. “It’s a cane, to help you walk.”

“But I already walk fine,” Gabe says. “So do you.”

“It’s a joke,” Steve’s saying.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.” Gabe’s frowning. “This is just weird.”

I let Steve worry about that one as I look around.

There’s a deck of Old Maid cards in the center of each table, and the floral tablecloths are perfectly fussy. Each table’s set for high tea, with floral china, and large, stacked tiered trays laden with cakes, sandwiches, and little treats. There are also disposable cameras in little piles all over, which must be Amanda’s version of old school, but I have no idea where she’ll get the film developed.

There are photo booths on either wall, all taking only black and white photos, with props that look right out of the 1920s. The wait staff are dressed like candy stripers, though I’m not sure what that has to do with old maids or even being old.

All in all, it looks more like a reception than a venue for a wedding ceremony, which is probably exactly what Mandy asked for. There will be no long line of people, no pews and rows, and no waiting in boredom. She told us to make sure that when she walked in, it’s already a party.

I’m ready to do my part, and it looks like everyone else is too, because at that moment, the band starts to play. Maren’s apparently singing, again. She waves at me and blows Steve a kiss, and then she launches into her first song. After two or three more, Eddy actually climbs up the stairs and joins her. They actually sound pretty nice, and they keep the volume low enough that people can still talk.

Aiden and Gabe race around the room, waving their canes a little too exuberantly until Will reaches out and yoinks them both, hiding them under the table until an unspecified ‘later.’ If he’s smart, they’ll disappear forever. Several of the roaming kids are working out how to use a disposable camera, which is entertaining, but they’re frustrated that they can’t figure out how to see the photos they’ve taken.

“You can’t see them,” I explain. “You don’t get to see them until you take them in and pay to have the film developed.”

It makes no sense to them, but once I explain we did it because it was our only option, they look exceptionally unimpressed. “You’re kidding,” Izzy says. “That’s so dumb. How could you know whether you got a good photo?”

I shrug. “Why do you think we have so few great photos of Mandy and Tommy?” I toss my head at the beautiful, blown-up images Amanda hung on the wall. They’re actually lucky they have anything to work with, after Mandy’s stupid barn fire.

But looking at their smiling faces, youthful and fresh, I can’t help smiling in response. Life marches on, but there’s beauty in all the stages of it. It’s too bad that you really only learn to appreciate it as you draw nearer the end.

Suddenly, without warning, Mandy bursts through the back doors, blinding us all as the light from the midday sun backlights her and Tommy both. “Let’s get this party started.” I can hear the smile in her tone. “Who wants to see a wedding?”

She and Tommy march through the middle of the cheering guests, dodging errant chairs, skewed tables, and heedless of the flashes of instant cameras from the right and the left. They look happier than probably any other couple I’ve seen.

As Mandy passes me, I can’t help saying, “What a gorgeous dress.” I tilt my head. “You look just stunning.”

Because she does.

Instead of a slinky dress, or a big puffy dress, she opted for a Jackie-O style midi-skirt. The hem hits her mid-calf after flaring from the waist outward, and the bodice itself is both modest but also fitted, showing that even at eighty, she’s still got an impressive figure.

She sashays her hips and smiles. “I had to show off my ankles. They’re my best feature.”

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