Page 23 of Fathers of the Bride
God knows why. She hadn’t a spare ounce on her. She was absolutely swimming in a patterned, fire engine red caftan. It looked like a shower curtain, and not one of the better ones.
The man next to her said, “Hello. Bradley Lincoln. I’m married to Pudge.”
The other woman nearly yelled, “Hi! Melissa Lincoln-Collins. I used to be married to Bradley now I’m married to Terry. You can call me Lissa.”
Terry Collins squeezed in and, holding out a hand said, “And I’m Terry. Don’t mind this bunch, they’re insane. But in the best way!”
God, I hoped they weren’t insane. Even in thebestway. All of this was hard enough as it was. Before I’d figured out everyone’s name and relationship, we were whisked through the house and onto the deck. They wanted me to see their beach.
It was as though they thought I’d never seen the Pacific Ocean before. As though you had to make a certain yearly income to lay eyes on. I had, of course, seen it before. Often. It was all over Southern California, after all.
Bradley offered me a cocktail, which I gladly accepted: a summery Belvedere and lemonade. Yes, it was October, but it was over eighty. The drink went down smoothly. Lissa brought out deviled eggs capped with caviar. She offered them to Kelly and Avery, then said to me, “This is your recipe.”
For a moment I was flattered, and then she added, “It took me hours to find your cookbook. I’d put it in the charity bin. I mean, who uses a cookbook anymore? I just ask Alexi or Sira or whatever her name is, and she tells me how to make things.”
“Well, thank you for going to the trouble.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. It was fun in a nostalgic way.”
Nostalgic. I was nostalgic. That did not thrill me. Not in the least. Kelly must have seen the look on my face because she said, “Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”
I smiled weakly. And then Pudge came over to make things worse. “I was wondering, do you know Hodge Baker?”
“No, I’d remember someone named Hodge.”
“Leslie Bains?”
“No.”
“What about Ram and Doug Henderson-Long?”
I shook my head.
“Really? But Ram and Doug live in The Bird Streets, too. I don’t remember which street. Flamingo Avenue if Ram had his way. He has an entire flock of plastic ones lining his deck.”
She laughed as though this were funny. I leaned over and whispered a question into my daughter’s ear. “Is she naming every gay person she knows?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I spun back to Pudge and asked, “Do you know Sally Frome? Edith Kelly? Karen Parker?”
“Daddy, stop it.”
To my daughter, it was obvious I was just naming random white women. It seemed not to be as obvious to Pudge.
“I don’t know any of them,” she said, a bit confused. “Are they Junior League? Museum board? DAR?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I guess it’s not as small a world as we think.”
Avery joined us briefly but only to pull Kelly away. His dad wanted to talk micro-economics. I thought I heard him say, “I need backup.” But I might have been wrong.
Pudge and I smiled at each other. Lissa came back with the deviled eggs and I popped another one into my mouth.
“You know,” Pudge said. “I find it so interesting that both you and Raj are influencers—oh I know they didn’t call it that in your day, but it’s really the same thing. Your ex must really have a type. An odd type, but a type.”
The brittle smile on my face must have told them what I was thinking, because Lissa said, “But who are we to talk, right?”
