The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(59)

Frances-from-school beamed. “I’ve seen you there lots of times, of course. I live around the corner, and my kids and I are there at least once a week.”

Nina recognized her now. In Nina’s head she was “nonfiction and parenting” because those were the books she bought, and her kids were (she thought hard, and placed them) young adult, early chapter and picture books, respectively. This Frances was the kind of woman who made you feel welcome, even if you were both in a strange situation. She was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, which was an odd choice for a wedding, but the invitation had said “wear whatever you want.” Frances caught her looking and grinned.

“I don’t know Rachel, the bride, very well, but I know Lili, and she assured me Rachel really didn’t give a fig what people wore. So I went with a clean version of what I wear every day, because it makes me comfortable.” She looked around. “And I guess I’m not the only one.”

It was true. People were dressed in everything from cocktail dresses and black tie to, in at least one case Nina could see, footie pajamas. On an adult.

Clare had already run off to do her bridesmaid thing, and presently a voice could be heard over a loudspeaker.

“OK, people.” It was Lili. “We’re going to do this thing, so try and find a rug, yours preferably, but any is fine, and let’s get these folks married. Rachel has insisted that everyone stay on their butts while she walks through, because she says she intends to dawdle.”

Frances leaned over. “Isn’t this fun? The camel was a lovely touch.”

“I heard they spit,” muttered the other Frances. “Ten dollars someone gets it in the eye before the evening is out.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said a man who was lounging on the other side of the rug, presumably Frances’s husband, Michael.

But Nina wasn’t listening. She was looking at Rachel the bride, who was incredibly beautiful, wearing a vintage ’70s cream linen suit, and looking like a million bucks. She was making her way across the meadow, with Clare and Annabel behind her, wearing their favorite outfits and no shoes. Nina realized the haphazard arrangement of rugs was actually a way for Rachel to pass by each one on her way to the front, and people were handing her single flowers to make up into her bouquet. She was thanking them, greeting them, and even occasionally bending down to kiss people. It wasn’t the most formal wedding ceremony Nina had ever been to, but it was already memorable for its friendliness. At one point Rachel looked toward the front, where the bridegroom and best man were waiting.

“I’m getting there, babe,” she called. “I just want to say hi before I’m too drunk to recognize anyone.”

The bridegroom, who looked like he might already have had a few, waved his hand at her. “Take your time, Rach. We’ve got the rest of our lives.” Then he grinned at her, like an idiot.

Next to him, the best man was talking to Lili, who was wiping tears from her cheeks and watching her sister and her daughters make their way across the grass. Then the best man turned to look at Rachel, too, and that was when Nina realized this wedding really wasn’t going to be business as usual, and not just because of the camel.

The best man was Tom.

The vows took quite a while, because they were wide-ranging. Nina’s favorite was a promise to always set up the coffee maker the night before, followed by a paired promise to never let them run out of half-and-half.

Finally, the officiate said, “For their last vows, Rachel and Richard have asked to read the lyrics of their favorite song.”

Rachel said, “Richard, we wrote our vows together, and they mean a lot to us. But we also know when someone else has put it better, so here goes.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m never going to give you up.”

He replied, “Never going to let you down.”

She said, “Never going to run around and desert you.”

Nina turned to Frances and raised an eyebrow.

Frances shrugged. “It is a classic song of their childhood, I suppose.” They both watched as the happy couple finished up by promising never to tell lies or hurt each other, then Frances added, “The great philosopher Richard Astley knew a thing or two about commitment.”

“He’s in the Guinness Book of World Records,” said Nina, unable to help herself. “His first eight singles reached the top ten in the UK; he’s the only male singer to do that. As far as I know, the record still stands.”

Frances patted her arm. “Good to know.”

Nina peered into the picnic basket and pulled out a packet of Pocky, those little biscuit sticks with chocolate on them. Again, a big improvement over chicken breast or mushroom vol-au-vents. There were sandwiches in the basket, and bread rolls, and cheese and fruit and enormous bars of chocolate. Tiny pastries in a tin. Meringues shaped like flowers.

“What’s in the other basket?” she asked Frances.

Frances lifted the lid, then turned and grinned at Nina. “It’s a cooler pretending to be a basket. It’s full of ice cream bars.”

Every so often a waiter would come around with fresh drinks, and although Nina had switched to fizzy water after the toasts, she was feeling as buoyant as everyone else. The sun had gone down, strings of lights had come on, and it really was magical.

Lili appeared and sat down on the rug next to her. “Is it the right Tom?” she asked, getting to the point.