“Staffers? What? Those are all cards? Oh, my goodness!” Marie starts rifling through a box and plucks out a fistful, looking alarmed. “But they’ve been opened already!” she wails.
Declan and Shannon share one of those looks. The kind people who have been together for a while share.
The I told you so look.
“I knew she’d complain—”
“I told you it wasn’t normal—”
“Who stole all the money?” Marie shouts, flipping through the file boxes, pulling out brightly colored cards with calligraphy on the front and opening them pell-mell.
“Stole?” Shannon asks, moving to Marie’s side.
“There’s no cash in any of these cards!”
Dec, Terry and I share uncomfortable looks. What is Marie talking about? Cash?
“Mom, the staffers at Anterdec opened everything. Any money in there was accounted for. But there wasn’t much.”
“Why would staffers open my daughter’s wedding gifts?” Marie huffs. “And what do you mean, not much? Look at all these cards! There must be hundreds of them!”
Carol slowly makes her way across the room, fresh glass of wine in hand, and gives it to Marie. She and Shannon share a look I know.
Dec and I have exchanged the Parental Management Glance. Generally in Anterdec board meetings and not at social gatherings, but...
“Mom,” Carol says gently. She looks like a younger version of Marie, but with a calmer face and a lower pitch of voice. None of Marie’s frantic energy inhabits her. “The way people like the McCormicks handle weddings is different than the way we do.”
“What does that mean?” Dad interjects, giving Carol a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with how the wedding was conducted.”
“Other than Declan and Shannon disappearing on a thousand guests and lying to me about the president!” Marie crows.
Every single person in the room rolls their eyes and drinks.
Including Jason.
“I never said wrong,” Carol protests. “But different, definitely.”
“It means,” Terry says, that damn voice making Spritzy bark. I can feel Terry in the soles of my feet. “Dad, it means you threw a high society wedding and never bothered to explain how it all operates.”
“Why is the burden on me? It should be on Declan,” Dad protests.
“Who has no idea what the hell you’re all talking about,” Declan says with an angry half-smirk. “A wedding is a wedding. You hire a planner, they handle the details, you have the gifts opened and your admin manages a thank-you note service, you return gifts you don’t need, and most of what you receive goes to charity.” He looks to me for backup.
“Right.”
Shannon, Carol, Marie, Amy, Jason, Amanda, Pam, and Hamish all look at me like I just started spontaneously speaking Navajo.
“That’s not how a wedding works!” Marie squeals. “That’s not how any of this works!”
“And a cat as a flower girl ‘works’?” Shannon says, turning to her, using Finger Quotes of Doom.
All hope of escaping this wedding gift party is dying as the fight unfolds.
A fight over what, exactly?
“You didn’t even have a dollar dance at your reception!” Marie cries out.
“I married a billionaire,” Shannon snaps back. “I don’t exactly need a dollar dance, Mom! And besides, you were the one who broke protocol and turned into a Momzilla!”
Amanda’s standing next to Shannon, offering moral support. I wonder if I can maneuver Amy into Amanda’s position and steal my girlfriend away for that closet sex we were talking about a minute ago. Shannon just needs a woman she’s close to for support, right? It doesn’t really matter which woman.
“What the hell is a dollar dance?” Dec asks.
Marie’s eyes light up.
We’re never getting out of here.
“First, you give the bride a special white silk purse,” she explains in a didactic tone that reminds me of the strange substitute teacher who filled in for health class one year at Milton Academy. She was later found to have hoarded more than sixty cats and was part of an underground child-bride ring for a cult.
I give Shannon, Amy, and Carol a second look. Jason as a cult leader? Nah. He strikes me as the guy who mixes the Kool-Aid, not the one who convinces everyone to drink it.
“And then, the men at the wedding approach the bride while she’s on the dance floor. They slip a dollar—or, at least, the generous ones put in a ten or twenty—for a dance with the bride.”
I start laughing. “Good one, Marie.”
“Good one, what?”
“Why would you tip a bride?” Declan asks.
“Like a stripper?” I add, laughing. What are they talking about? I’ve never seen a dance like this at any wedding I’ve attended.
Shannon blinks hard, looking at Declan with a slow evaluation. “It’s not a tip. It’s a fun ritual.”
“You’re lining up every man in the room to come with small bills and tip the bride to be able to hold her in your arms and press up against her, if I’m hearing this correctly,” Declan says, clearing his throat and looking around the room like we’re at a negotiation table for a buyout and he’s establishing dominance.
“You’re making it sound so lewd!” Marie exclaims.
“I’m making it lewd? You’re telling us the men pay for access to the bride’s body.”
Shannon’s face turns beet red. “That’s not what the dollar dance is!” she says hotly to Declan.