Once and for All(63)

I watched him as he took an exaggeratedly slow look around the backyard of the historic mansion that was our venue. Besides us, there was only the string quartet, tuning up, and a couple of caterers. “Okay. I’ll stop. Sorry.”

With that, he went on to another table, and I went back to my own work. I found myself pausing, though, with the next candle I lit, thinking of what he’d said. But I didn’t make a wish. What was the point?

By six fifty-five, when all the candles were done and the first guests were pulling up at the valet stand, my mom came over to me. “I’m going to need you to stand by the gazebo and direct the guests to their tables.”

Her face was sour as she said this, clearly not happy. That made two of us. “Sure,” I told her. “But I don’t think we need it. People can figure it out for themselves.”

She gave me a smile, squeezing my arm, and walked away. Over in the gazebo, I double-checked that all the tea lights were lit, the seat assignments lined up neatly on the table in front of them. When an older couple came through, I smiled, ready to guide them, but they just took their cards and walked on, not even looking at me. One point to Natalie Barrett.

As another group of guests approached, I looked across the tables to the small pond on the backyard’s edge, where Ambrose was standing with William, talking about something. His face was animated as he gestured, smiling frequently, as William nodded politely, seeming kind of charmed. I thought of Jilly earlier, and all day really, the unique quality to a person’s voice when you know they are just as happy to hear themselves say something as they are to tell it to you. Of course I couldn’t say Ambrose was definitely talking about Lauren: it could have been Ira, or anything. And yet.

“Louna?”

I turned to see Ben Reed standing by the place card table, wearing a shirt and tie and smiling at me. He’d sat beside me for an entire semester of the most boring World Civ class ever, during which we’d taken turns keeping each other awake and always partnered for projects. He was a nice guy, funny and sweet, with a longtime girlfriend, Amy Tellman, who he’d dated since middle school. “Hey,” I said, then gave him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Tennis,” he explained. Ben had played for the varsity team; until that moment, I’d never seen him without a racket poking out of his backpack. “Albert Lin and I grew up doing the camps and tournaments together. Our moms are tight. What about you? How do you know Elinor and Mark?”

“My mom’s the wedding planner. I’m working,” I explained, then turned to the table, scanning the cards until I found his name. I picked it up, holding it out to him. “And you are at table six.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking it from me. He glanced out into the yard. “Looks fancy. Now I wish I’d brought a date.”

“How is Amy?”

He winced, hearing this, basically answering the question. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

“What?” I said, shocked. He winced again. Whoops. “I’m . . . God, I’m sorry. You guys were so . . . wow. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Thanks. It was her decision. Last summer before college, wanting to make a fresh start at UC Berkeley, blah blah. I should have seen it coming.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Me neither. I’m basically gutted.” He sighed, looking down at his card. “Anyway. It’s great to see you. Especially without having old Partone droning on about global implications in front of us.”

“He did love the big consequences,” I agreed, as two women entered the gazebo. “Have fun tonight.”

At this, he made a face, then smiled as he started across the lawn to his table. Halfway there, he turned back and glanced at me, looking away quickly when he saw I was still watching him.

“Wait, what is this? The tables? How do we know which number we are?”

I sighed inwardly, then turned around to help the two women. One point to Mrs. Lin. No matter the issue, there was always an ongoing tally, somehow.




The end of a rehearsal dinner is different from that of a wedding. Even if it’s late, there’s still that sense of anticipation and excitement, the big event still ahead. That is, if you’re a guest. When you’re working, it’s one down, one to go.

“You’re sure? You won’t get upset?”

I gave Ambrose an apologetic look, knowing I deserved this. “No. And I shouldn’t have earlier. I’m just super grumpy, for some reason. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. Then, as I watched, he briefly closed his eyes, blowing out the pillar between us. I wondered what he wished for. I’d never ask, though. “I didn’t realize Leo was such a bust as a date.”

“He wasn’t,” I told him, blowing out the next candle. “It’s me.”

“Lauren seems to think otherwise.”

“You talked to Lauren about this?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. He glanced at me. “You weren’t yourself, and Leo is her best friend. I figured she’d have insight.”

I suppose I deserved this, too, but it was harder to take somehow. “Did she?”

“She said,” he replied, moving to the next table, “that he is great if you’ve known him forever, like she has, but that in college he’s become a bit . . .”