Page 32 of A Wulver for the Week

Mama abandons Aunt Belinda for a minute (which means she starts weeping again, and Gerri has to go and take a turn at patting and shushing). “Daddy and Craig went out on the boat all day yesterday, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” What’s that got to do with anything?

“He asked Daddy if he’d give his blessing,” Mama says, her lips in a thin line and her eyes bursting with excitement as she tries to keep her voice down.

“He what?” I gasp. My rump hits the white velour chair, and I fan myself. That’s not a hint. That’s not a fantasy. That’s the honest-to-God real deal.

“He wanted Daddy to say it was okay for him to ask for your hand in marriage. You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”

I blink in surprise. “He did?”

“Yes!” Mama sits next to me and leans in close, long pastel pink nails excitedly clutching my hands. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I... Yes! Yes, it is. I’m just... What did Daddy say?”

“He said absolutely.”

Well, that’s a miracle. That might be up there with the man of my dreams literally being a fantasy creature. “You don’t think there’s something wrong with Craig? Or off about him? You don’t have some objection?” I whisper as the sounds of the string quartet on the beach begin and guests file in. When I look out the wide white-trimmed French windows, I can see Craig taking his place on the bride’s side of the aisle, laughing and joking with my dad.

“Now, actually, I do. I’m not too happy that you hid him from us for six months, baby. But.” Mama sighs heavily and gives me a warm, peaceful smile, “this proves to me that you make good choices. You found a man in your own time, a good man who suits you, a man you can respect and that you’d trust your friends and family to respect. Does he make you happy, Minerva? Can you see yourself living a whole life with him?”

Pachelbel’s Canon and the sounds of the waves ring in my ears.

My mother—after thirty years of henpecking and double-checking... just approves. Trusts me.

Honestly, I think that may say more about Craig than it does about me, but years of working in a hospital have taught me to be flexible and fast. My mother’s approval means a lot, andI know it’s not easily given, but the real question is mine to answer.

This week away started out with a lie and has ended up changing my life and the way I see the world. I know there are hidden things in plain sight now, and Craig is one of them. Could I live my life with him? Do I want to become part of that hidden world, and if I did, would my family be drawn into secrets or danger somehow?

Would my children be “monsters” like Craig?

I swallow hard and remember that once upon a time, Barry, Mr. Blonde and Caucasian, and Gerri, Miss Black and Adorable, would have been forced apart, too. There were times when people with my skin tone were considered less than human, and in some bigoted minds, we still are.

Anger rages in me, then cools down as Barry’s mother (who looks like a blonde Miss America Senior) comes in and throws herself into a hug that embraces both Gerri and Aunt Belinda. Barry’s family and mine are like a haven of light and love in a world that still has dark, ugly scars.

And Craig? Craig, the social working wulver who looks after the needy and the elderly, who truly cares for everyone? He’s out here trying to make the world more safe and sweet, more beautiful and healed—and only a handful of people will ever even know his true face. He doesn’t care, though. He’s not doing it for fame. He’s doing it because that’s who heis.

“There’s so many things people don’t understand... We’re all the same underneath,” I murmur, thinking about how Craig’s furry head doesn’t diminish the truest, gentlest, and most humane heart I’ve ever known. “I would be proud to marry that man, Mama. Proud to be his wife, and if I had children with him... I’d hope they’d have his noble heart.” I wipe hastily at my eyes. I’m not supposed to start crying until Gerri’s saying hervows! I at least need to keep my mascara from running until I walk up the aisle and all the eyes are off of me!

“Baby! Aww, honey, that is all a mother ever hopes for. I’m so glad you found him.” Mama swaddles me in her arms, keeping our cheeks and hair apart so we don’t muss. “Now, don’t you let him get away.”

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING. The day is beauteous with a balmy breeze, and I can see now why a wedding in the early spring is so much nicer than a wedding in the hot, sticky Florida summers. At noon, as the wedding processional begins to play, it must be about seventy-five degrees and sunny.

Well. After spending three days straight with the families of the bride and groom, I’ve decided it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of people. What lovely families.

I can see myself marrying into them.

I turn my head to watch the first of the bridesmaids begin their journey across the special platform they’ve spread in the sand. Cora. Tosha. Brittany. Missy. And then... my Minerva.

My heart seems to stop in my chest and the scent of gardenias smacks me in the nose. That’s my bride. My bride walks up the aisle in a skimpy but chic dress of delicate pink, clutching her bouquet in both hands. It’s all I can do not to jump across chairs and grab her. I want to haul her up to the minister right now and ask him to marry us. Gerri and Barry can wait.

“She’s beautiful. More than the bride,” I whisper to my future father-in-law.

He just smirks knowingly. I don’t think he can speak, actually, as I see him blinking rapidly. Are the tears because of how beautiful his daughter is or because he cries at weddings?

We stand as the wedding march is piped up on the flute and joined by the string quartet. Gerri sails down the aisle to gaspsand audible sobs. Up by the bridal bower, Minerva wipes her eyes. I echo her gesture, but it’s not because Barry is openly sobbing as he stretches out his hands to his bride or because Gerri looks so angelic, like some angel of the islands, as she practically floats into his embrace.

No. I’ve lost my heart entirely to Minerva, and picturing this moment for us is about to turn me into a wee bawling babby.

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