Page 64 of Night So Silent
“Why are there so many parties before a wedding?” I ask, drying my damp hair with a towel. “The wedding is supposed to be the party, no?”
Lutz appears in the bathroom door, buttoning his shirt. “I don’t have much advice. Brett capped our guest list at 30 because the deck at Barstow Lodge could only fit that many. But from what I hear, Barrett’s family is huge and they love weddingsandholidays.”
He is right. There are so many people in Barrett’s family that I often wonder how she remembers all their names.
“It’ll probably be more like mine,” Barrera interjects as he rakes some product through his onyx hair. “My family’s huge, too. And loud. And they like parties. Prepare to talk to people all night, possibly yell because they won’t be able to hear you over their own yapping, and then stay up way past your bedtime because your grandma’s making you take shots with her.”
I knit my brow at his reflection. “Yourabuelita?”
“No, my other grandma. The one from SoCal.” He smooths the front of his black button-down. “Butmí abuelitais coming to visit for a couple weeks next summer. Luca said she’s talking like she wants a summer house here.”
I did feel badly about enticing Barrera to leave the Midwest after his grandmother moved there to be closer to him and his brothers. That is, until I found out that she loves the mountains but never had the opportunity to live close to any.
“I think she has ulterior motives, though,” he continues. “Like if she can stay here for months at a time, we’ll start popping out great-grandchildren.”
“She’s welcome to ours in the meantime,” Lutz gives himself one last look in the mirror. “By the time you build her a house here, we’ll have a fourth with number five on the way.”
He is not exaggerating. Brett has been pregnant almost continuously since I met her.
Barrera shoots him a side-eye. “Dal wanted to stage an intervention with you this time around.”
“She can try,” Lutz scoffs.
“Col, you can’t build an effective army with your brood alone. It’s just not efficient,” Barrera argues with a glint in his eye. “Besides, who do you have left to fight?”
“Take it up with Brett,” he replies. “I promised her I’d keep her pregnant, and I plan to hold up my end of the deal.”
I pause while adjusting my collar. “Why would she request that?”
“Pregnancy hormones treat her well,” Lutz smirks. “Brett gives birth, she recovers, I put another baby in her, she turns back into a feral beast for another nine months, and then I adjust Candace and Moira’s rates.” He shrugs. “Who am I to argue with the woman who has multiple bestsellers and a streaming deal?”
“Babies are probably a lot more fun when their parents aren’t being tortured with sleep deprivation,” Barrera points out.
I imagine he’s right. Barrett is the one who found the Lutzes’ day and night nannies through an intense vetting process—with my help, of course. After Barrett’s idea to take care of Ev overnight during her first visit, Brett finally saw reason and let Barrett find reputable people like Candace and Moira and covered their first two months of pay. Candace cares for the babies overnight until they can sleep for a reasonable duration while Moira cares for them during the first half of the day soBrett can write. All I know is that I consider myself fortunate to have never experienced such hell as interrupted sleep.
I finish pulling my hair into my usual tight knot at the back of my head and smooth my shirt at my shoulders. Barrett would prefer my hair always stay loose, but I can’t do that. There are clear delineations in my daily life, and this wedding shower has already muddled them enough. At home, I am more relaxed, but at work, my hair remains securely contained no matter what. This wedding shower has been designated the “friends and coworkers” shower, but it’s being held at Volk—my company—which puts it squarely in “work” territory.
“I will wear nice clothes for you, but my hair will stay put until we return home,” I told her, while enjoying her look of frustration and defeat.
However, my compromises include tailored grey pants, a black button-down, and black boots that are much cleaner and shinier than my everyday ones. Then again, everything has to be tailored to me. But, beyond tonight, there’s only one other occasion where I would agree to wear any kind of formalwear.
Our wedding is in less than a month—on New Year’s Eve, of course. I complain to Lutz and Barrera about the crowds and the endless parties that all seem to be called something different, but I would marry Barrett in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve while wearing a tuxedo if she asked. She’s the only person I’ve ever wanted to share a home with, and walking into my vacant house at a time when she would normally be there is a stark reminder of that. By the time we arrive back at Volk, the parking lot is filling up again. I breathe easier when I see Brett’s 4Runner on the way in, but I’m not prepared for what awaits inside.
The building is more or less a warehouse with offices built into the back of it, large enough to drive trucks through the bays on the sides. But now you would never know any of that. I stepthrough the doors flanked by hunter green velvet curtains tied back with balsam branches and golden globe ornaments. Using decorative walls and flowy sheer drapes and whatever magic Dallas has decided to pull out of her shimmery purple tote bag tonight, the front of the building is transformed into an elegant holiday themed party scattered with tufted velvet sofas and black tables. In the middle, against the back wall, is a green and gold bar framed with garland and oversized ornaments. On the wall behind it, illuminated in warm white lights, are our names written in cursive and separated by an ampersand.
And then there are the people. Lutz, Barrera, and I arrived precisely on time, but the room is teeming with guests. I know Dallas invited our coworkers, Barrett’s coworkers, a few of our established clients, and our close network of friends, but seeing them all in one place is overwhelming.
“Sergei!” A voice slices through the buzz of the crowd, drawing more than a few looks.
Volk’s operations manager, Julia, weaves through the bodies, reaching for me with outstretched arms. I wrap one arm around her shoulders as she embraces me in one of her quintessential motherly hugs. Responsible for the schedule and logistics, she’s the reason that this place runs so smoothly. She’s followed by a man, Royce Avery, who owns a vehicle armoring company nearby, and is also one of our most lucrative contracts. We provide the security for his main facility as well as his personal detail when he travels. In turn, he also outfits our entire fleet of vehicles.
“I didn’t even recognize this place!” Julia crows with wide eyes. “Dallas wasn’t kidding. She said to dress to the nines, so I’m glad I left the blazer and flats at home.”
Barrera steps past me and places a hand on her back. “You’re making us look bad, Jules, you look amazing. Speaking of which, have you seen my wife?”
He’s not wrong, Julia looks downright elegant in her long black velvet gown and delicate gold jewelry. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a high twist, a far cry from her usual lion’s mane that frames her face. It’s surreal to see her in such a relaxed state. She’s usually shouting at someone on the phone or stalking through the building making sure everyone is on schedule.
She gives his chest a light smack. “Don’t you try to butter me up, Alex,” Julia smirks. “I know it was you who wrecked the Audi in the parking lot right after we got it back last week!”
