Like I said. There’s some cake left.
The reception’s been such a great party that Grandma Magill’s porch is still a big throng of people. Lynette and Mr. and Mrs. Stanley just left. Lynette had scored a new outfit for the occasion. I didn’t understand it, but it really annoyed Natalie all the way across the porch.
I guess Lynette and I have made some progress over these six years. We started our last wedding under the porch, not on it. Of course we were just kids then. And you know Lynette; she looks ahead, not back.
Which brings up Hilary Evelyn. Reginald just came to pick up the three Calthorpes in a limo from the consulate. The limo’s just pulling away from the kerb.
And the grooms have been gone twenty minutes. Everybody thought they’d blast off in Uncle Paul’s Audi. Instead, Dad pulled Mr. McLeod’s beat-up Kia around to the front of Grandma’s house, and they tooled away in that before anybody noticed. Dad had it worked out. Dad was there.
I was willing to let them go. I’d done my best man duties, and I’d be seeing them for all the years to come. But they found me over in my corner of the porch. Uncle Paul handed me something. A little black velvet box, and inside it a pair of gold cuff links. Totally grown-up.
“Are these for Dad?” I said. “Because he doesn’t—”
“They’re for you. Best men get presents from the grooms,” Uncle Paul said. “Besides, you helped all this happen, man. You helped us happen.”
Me?
Man.
Now I couldn’t see the box. It was blurry or something.
I couldn’t see the box, but I could see me shooting my cuffs to show off my gold cuff links at all the big occasions of my life unfolding in the future.
Now they were going. We made a pile of hands, the three of us, and their new rings gleamed bright as Mr. McLeod’s buttons.
“One more thing,” he said. “No more Mr. McLeod. I’m your uncle now.”
I hadn’t thought that far. You know how I am. I take my sweet time.
“I married your uncle, so I’m your other uncle. And I’ve never had a nephew. You’ll have to show me the ropes.”
Mr. McLeod never had a niece either. But, hey, why spoil the moment?
Then my uncles turned to go, off into the blurry afternoon, looking good. They seemed to mingle with the guests on the lawn, but they were working their way to the Kia, Uncle Paul and Mr. McLeod. He’s still Mr. McLeod on this page. I can’t turn on a dime. But I’ll get there. I got this far.
The string quartet was playing dance tunes now, so Mom was looking around for Dad.
Dad
Uncle Paul
Mr. McLeod
The three I wanted to be.
And Grandpa, still there in our hearts, except for about a tablespoon of him in Wrigley Field.