The Lies That Bind(69)

“No, you certainly may not!” my mom says, never one to let logic get in the way. “The girl’s family takes priority. Except for when Paul gets married,” she adds, not even a little bit kidding.

“Okay, okay,” my dad says, putting his arm around her. “Let’s not worry about all of that. It’s worked out with Jenna and Jeff so far. This will work out, too.”

I give my dad a grateful look, then ask if anyone wants to get a bite to eat. My dad says a snack might be nice, and my brother requests a “watering hole.”

I suggest Pete’s Tavern, a nearby pub that is famous for being the oldest continuously operating bar and restaurant in New York City. My dad loves this kind of trivia and is especially excited when we walk in a short time later and I point to the black-lacquered booth where O. Henry allegedly wrote “The Gift of the Magi.”

As we get settled at our table in the back of the restaurant, then order our beverages, I have the most intense feeling of warmth for my people, and have to fight the urge to tell everyone my news. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to hold off, but I promised Matthew (who is working late) that I would wait for him.

Meanwhile, my mother launches right in with talk of wedding plans. I let her go on for a while before I work up the nerve to tell her about our change of venue, deciding that I can’t really mention the change of date, as she will want to know why.

    “Hey, Mom. How would you feel if Matthew and I got married here?” I say as gently as I can.

“Here?” she says, looking around, bewildered. “In a bar?”

“Not here here…but in New York…you know…instead of Pewaukee?”

“Why would you want to do that?” she asks. “Brides are supposed to get married in their hometown.”

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, then try to articulate the reasons that I can share—the ones that have nothing to do with the urgency of our wedding date and the convenience of having it here. “Because it’s where Matthew and I met…and where we live…and I love it here in so many ways.”

“You hate it in other ways,” she says.

“True…I do…but it’s become really special to me,” I say, finding it hard to put into words the feeling of fierce pride and loyalty I have for this city since 9/11—the way everyone has come together, showing the world what it means to be a New Yorker.Grant crosses my mind—it’s not possible to think of that day without also thinking of him—but I push those thoughts away. “Besides, I think it might be nice to do something different than what Jenna and Jeff did.”

“Oh, I don’t think that matters,” my mom says.

“Well, maybe it matters to Cecily,” my dad says quietly. I give him another grateful glance as my brother clears his throat.

“Well, since everyone’s clamoring to hear my opinion,” Paul says, pint glass in hand. “I think it’d be pretty rad.”

“Same,” Jenna says. “So sophisticated and glamorous and…Sex and the City.”

My mom winces, likely at the word sex. “But that’s not Cecily,” she says to my sister.

“Excuse me?” I say with a laugh. “I’m not sophisticated and glamorous?”

“You know what I mean,” she says. “We’re Midwestern.”

    “What do you think, Dad?” I ask. It’s a risky question—as he tends never to break with my mother on these debates. Then again, I’m his favorite child—so I’m hopeful.

“I don’t know, sweetie. That’s up to you and your mother…but you do realize that this beer is about…two dollars more than it costs in Pewaukee?” he says, clinking his knife against the side of his glass.

Of course I know what he’s getting at. “Yup, Dad,” I say. “A wedding would be more expensive here…but we would keep it really small and simple and intimate. And fewer Wisconsin people would make the trip—so that would keep the numbers down.”

“And that’s a good thing?” my mom says.

I bite my lip, take a deep breath, and say, “Anyone really important will still come. Just the peripheral neighbors and stuff won’t come….”

“Oh, so Aunt Jo is peripheral now?” she says, crossing her arms. “Who, I might remind you, is on oxygen and certainly won’t be able to make the trip.”

I sigh and say, “So I should plan my wedding around Aunt Jo’s nicotine habit?”

“Yeah, Ma. That’s kind of ridiculous,” Paul says—which disarms her just long enough for me to drop my second bomb: that we may shorten our engagement.

“Shorten it?” she says. “You mean change your date?”

“Yes,” I say. “Move it up.”

“To when? The summer?”

“We were thinking more along the lines of…this winter.”

Before she can object, I sell it as hard as I can. “Picture it, Mom. Candlelight. Snow falling outside the church. Poinsettias and red roses…”

Mom closes her eyes, a slight smile on her face. Then she opens them again and shakes her head. “Sorry. All I’m picturing is a blizzard,” she says. “And flights being canceled.”