Page 26 of My Stepbrother's Wedding
“Hey,” Will said. “Where are you?”
“Oh, Will. More family arrived, and they want to dance.”
“What about the rehearsal?” Will replied, annoyance slipping into his voice.
“Rehearsal? Yes, I come, but you need to get here first.”
“We’re waiting for you at the church.”
Irena said something in Malegonian. Will sighed and switched to her language. A moment later he hung up and groaned. “Okay, they’ll be here in five minutes.”
Twenty minutes later Irena showed up. She was followed by a host of relatives and friends in their finest clothes, except for Miranda, who was still wearing her apron. To my horror, they descended on us like fat children on a plate of cookies. A dozen strangers shook my hand and planted kisses on my cheeks. Half of them stunk like rakia, and the other half reeked of body odor. Dad and Elizabeth did their best to look cordial, but I could tell from their expressions that they were just as annoyed as I was. The only bright spot was shakinghands with Irena’s cousin Sergio. He was the classic tall, dark, and handsome. I masked the fact I was checking him out.
Pastor Ludwig explained the ceremony proceedings in English while Mira translated for the Malegonians. Irena’s family wasn’t paying the slightest attention. One of the uncles played wedding music on his phone, and a small group circle danced in the aisle.
“They don’t usually do wedding ceremonies in this country,” Will explained. “Most of them have never seen one except in American movies.”
“How do they know when someone is officially married?” I asked.
“You have to go to the courthouse and sign a bunch of documents. Irena and I did that last week.”
“Last week?” Elizabeth gasped. “You eloped!”
“It was just a formality,” Will said dismissively.
My stepmother grabbed Dad by the arm and sobbed. “My baby is already married, and I wasn’t there for it.”
“Relax,” Dad grumbled. “We’re here for the wedding. You didn’t miss anything.”
The pastor called everyone to attention and had us take our places for the ceremony. My job was easy: sit down and shut up—perfect. Dad and Elizabeth had to stand at thefront of the church next to Will while Irena’s family filed into the church. It was apparent none of them had ever done this before, but after fifteen minutes, they seemed to have figured it out. The couple practiced their vows, and the pastor explained more details about the ceremony. The instant he finished speaking, the Malegonians broke out the wedding music again.
“They want us to return to the house,” Will said. “They say we need to dance with the new arrivals.”
“How long will the dancing last?” Dad asked, thinly veiling his lack of enthusiasm for more foreign weirdness.
“We’ll probably dance all night.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “All night? What about sleep?”
“You can lay down whenever you want and get back up for more dancing when you’re ready.”
I exchanged a terrified look with my father.
“Tell them we’ll be there in a bit,” Elizabeth said. “We can’t stay all night, but we want to meet the new relatives.”
Will spoke to the Malegonian in-laws, and they swarmed us for another round of handshakes and euro kisses, this time as a farewell gesture. It was a bit excessive since we were going to see them again in five minutes, but I kept that to myself as they slobbered us again.
I caught a rear glimpse of Sergio as he walked out of the church. He could’ve easily been on the cover of one of Karen’s smut novels. He didn’t speak a word of English, which somehow made him more alluring. His lack of language skills also kept him from saying anything stupid, a common issue with the boys back home. I forced myself not to stare since we were about to be step-in-laws. Our children might be born with four fingers and crossed eyes. Better to just ignore him.
After a short walk to Irena’s house, we were thrust into another round of circle dancing. It was easier this time, as I knew what was expected. I was actually starting to enjoy it, even if the music sounded like something from a Turkish horror film and never seemed to end. At least I appreciated why the locals enjoyed dancing so much.
After half an hour, the party took a short break, and we sat down to eat. Miranda carted out food and a used beer bottle containing a red drink. She poured a half cup into a glass and set it in front of me. I took a sip, expecting the burn of alcohol. To my surprise, the drink was sweet—not quite like juice but definitely more flavorful than wine. I drained my cup, and the Malegonians instantly refilled it.
“You like the mushti?” Mira asked.
“What’s that?”
She held up a glass of the mysterious drink. “It’s a specialty here. My uncle makes it.”
