Page 64 of Enemies to Lobsters
“My husband knows me so well.” I smile serenely. I hope she chokes on the two words that made her eyes narrow:My husband.
“Yes,my sonhas always been well-attuned to the needs of others.”
Meanwhile, my grandmother is frowning, her eyes ping-ponging between the two of us. “Yes, we can all agree that Ike is awonderful man. I was so pleased when Diana chose him.”
I cringe at her choice of words. It sounds like I forced Ike into this arrangement—as though I dropped in like a claw in a machine andsnatched up sweet, teddy bear Ike. I’m sure that’s exactly whatShelly was already picturing. Thanks for the assist, Grandma.
She jumps right in, clicking her pen. “Let’s start with the guest list.”
Chapter 30
Ike
This isn’t what I pictured when I agreed to a party to celebrate my marriage to Diana York. I figured with only a few weeks to plan, there would be a balloon arch, a bowl of punch, and some flowers or whatever.
“Just a few more, and we’re golden,” the photographer says.
She clicks away in front of us, trying a dozen more angles while I remind myself not to lock my knees. Diana is stiff in my arms and her white dress blows against me in the fall breeze. I’m glad the weather is holding. A storm is brewing down the coast, but so far it’s held off. There’s a chilly northeast wind, but we have clear skies. We need it to stay nice for a few more hours.
On the York’s expansive lawn behind us, there’s a tent that will soon fill with every resident of Cape Georgeana, plus every member of both of our extended families. There’s a cake the size of my truck, and there are heat lamps and enough candles to light the entire eastern seaboard on fire.
If only.
“Sorry about all this,” Diana says without moving her lips.
I duck to kiss her temple. “You have nothing to apologize for—not while you’re wearing that dress.” It’s been impossible to tear my eyes away from her all afternoon. I don’t know anythingabout dresses, but this one is satiny and drapes over her curves in a way that makes me want to ditch this crowd. “You could be the inventor of paper straws, and you’d still get away with murder,” I say against her temple.
Diana puffs out a laugh. My mom sighs gustily on my other side. Patty smiles wider next to Diana.
“Ike, that was perfect,” the photographer says in a rush. “Do that again. Kiss her temple. Only, give us a smile, Mother-of-the-groom. This is a happy day.”
This photographer hasn’t met my mother. She isn’t happy. My mom knows how to behave in company, and the fact that anything is slipping through her cracks tells me she’s even more upset about this marriage than I thought. After the blow-up we had when she got home, I figured she’d get over it. She’d make her passive aggressive comments and get used to the idea. That’s how it went with everyone else in this town. That hasn’t been the case with my mom.
She blushes when my dad whispers something that I can’t make out—thank goodness. Those two have been next-level gross since they got back from their trip. I’m grateful for it, though, when my mother’s smile widens, and she cooperates.
One hundred hours later, the photographer is finished, and our guests start to arrive. Diana won’t let me drop her hand, and I’m not complaining. We’re standing near the entrance to the tent greeting everyone. Diana’s extended family is, unsurprisingly, courtly and courteous. Well dressed. Soft spoken. I should’ve Googled “when is it appropriate to bow?” or even just “how to bow” before tonight. I am woefully unprepared to be presented at court.
Then my uncle Roy shows up.
“There she is!” he bellows, lifting Diana off the ground and spinning her in a tackle-like hug. Uncle Roy played collegefootball in his prime, and he’s built like a cross between a teddy bear and a refrigerator.
Diana belly laughs through the exchange, and I love the sound of it. It draws a few raised eyebrows from the York line, which would bother Diana if she wasn’t busy being death rolled by a six-foot-five bear-fridge.
When Uncle Roy brings Diana back down to earth, I hold out a hand for him to shake.
He gets that look on his face that I know too well—the crooked smile, the crinkles around the eyes. His thundering voice booms through the tent, “There’s my boy.”
I barely have time to brace myself before his meaty shoulder plows into my abdomen, and I’m in the air. Then my back is on the cold grass. I can hear August laughing, but if he was smart he’d be gearing up. Our uncle is coming for him next.
Uncle Roy hoists me up under my arms, putting me back on my feet and brushing the grass off the back of my suit coat. “Just helping you remember your place, Fancy Pants.” He smacks me on the back, and in the corner of my eye Diana’s face is flushed with silent laughter. “Nice tux, Squirt,” he adds, heavy on the sarcasm.
Thankfully, my dad hooks an arm around his brother’s huge shoulders and escorts him to his table. My mom shakes her head.
And I’m safe. For now.
Diana loops her arm through mine, resting her hand on my bicep. She tilts her head toward me and whispers, “Your family is incredible.”
“They are… something else.” I say this as I watch my cousin, Delphine, wrap some bacon-wrapped dates in a cloth napkin and shove it into her purse.
