Page 78 of Man Cuffed
A moment later, Mac drops into the seat next to mine. His jaw is as tight as spandex on a pig. “Breathe, Copper,” I whisper to him.
He adjusts his collar.
“Meg,” Eleanor says in a dreamy voice. “I am so glad you’re here. I thought for sure you were going to be a one-time fling, but here you are! I’ve dreamed of this day!” Then she whirls on Mac. “So….” She leans forward. “When are you going to pop the question?”
“Mom! Come on!” Mac says. Maybe a little too forcefully.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’ve found out I’m really good at being a grandma. And Rosie should be pregnant soon. Give her a four months’ start, and then you two should get started. I’ve been knitting booties.”
“Booties,” Bob echoes. I’m pretty sure that’s a hint of despair in his voice.
I wonder if he’s wearing a pair of booties right now. I don’t get the chance to ask, though, when I look up to spot Mac’s double, and Julie’s Double Ds. The two of them slide into seats opposite us.
And, okay, it’s a little bit like aTwilight Zoneepisode. Morris looks so much like Mac. And yet not the same at all. His face is rounder, his eyes a little tired and squinty. Maybe that’s what happens the year after you have a baby, though. Or after you stab your twin in the back.
Then there’s Julie. I have nothing nice to say about her at all. This is probably just a reflex. I can’t possibly like a woman who betrayed Mac. That must be why I have a dozen mean thoughts about her immediately. Her dress is ill-fitting. Her breasts are about ready to make a run for it and pop the buttons right off her dress. She has lipstick on her teeth. I’m a terrible person for judging her so superficially.
But fuck it. She probably kicks puppies for fun.
“Nuts!” Julie exclaims suddenly. And I’m confused. Does she want to eat nuts, or is she regretting the way things ended with Mac? She better not be checking out Mac. Mac is mine.
Ohhhhh damn. Possessive much, Meg?
Just a bit,I tell myself.
Luckily it’s not Mac that Julie is fixated on. A moment later I realize that it’s the nuts on the table that have caught her attention. Bending over, she begins digging furiously through the bowl. She pulls out a fat Brazil nut, holding it up in the air like it’s the Hope Diamond. Then she starts to nibble at it like she’s eating a piece of baby corn.
I try to swallow the laugh that’s bubbling up. Because Julie issloshed. I squeeze Mac’s thigh and he leans a little closer to me.
God, I love weddings. All that natural, unscripted drama just calls to me. I’m on the edge of my seat. It’s only a little past seven, and already the tension at this table is as thick as tar, and Julie is floating above it like she’s in La La Land.
This will only get more interesting, I decide as salads begin to land on the table, one in front of each of us. Morris hands Julie the bread basket. “Have a roll,” he says to his wife.
“Too carby,” Julie snips.
“I think you need to make an exception this time.”
“What are yousaying?” She swings her head toward her husband like a horse changing direction. “You’re the one who thinks I need to lose the baby weight.”
Eleanor flinches. “You look beautiful, dear. Try the rolls and let me know how they are.”
Julie holds up a hand, as if she’s about to swear an oath. “No, I shall refrain. And I won’t tell you what I think about the rolls, or anything else. That’s what the Maguire family does, right? We just hold it all inside. That’s our way.”
There is a deep silence. Everyone looks at his plate. Except for me, of course. I’m practically taking notes. It would be rude to pull out a pen and jot this down, right? This is dramagold.
Everyone picks up his fork and begins to eat salad. Even me. And it’s a good salad, with candied pecans and sour cherries. “I love dried cherries,” I say with a sigh. “Such a Michigan thing.”
“Mmm,” Bob agrees.
“Dried up like lil’ raisins,” Julie says. “Like our sex life, right, honey?”
Morris chokes on his sip of water.
The awkwardness congeals around us, like shredded cheese left out in the sun.
The tension is only broken when a waiter glides up with a tray full of champagne flutes. “It’s bubbly time!”
“Excellent.” Bob claps his hands together. “Champagne for my real friends. Real pain for my sham friends!”
