Page 14 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘Ow!’ Veronica yanked her hand away, sucking on her finger. ‘What thehell, Nate?’
‘That was meant to be like … thePretty Womanscene.’ Nate shrugged. ‘But we’re good, right? We’re doing this? Because the lease still has six months on it …’
Veronica shook her head in disbelief.
Something brushed against Lily’s leg: Mort’s cat, Esmeralda. Thank goodness, because Lily needed something to do with her hands other than clench them into fists of second-hand rage.
Lily stooped to pick up the fluffy feline, stroking her black-and-white mottled fur – she was the cutest Rorschach kitty Lily had ever seen. As she stroked, Esmeralda’s fur crackled. ‘Ooh, you’ve got some static in your fur …’
Overhead, clouds gathered in the formerly flawlessly blue sky. Lily’s wrist ached where she’d broken it during her short-lived roller derby career as a teen. The pin in it acted as a handy, if painful, barometer.
‘We’re about to get a storm,’ she whispered.
‘I can see that,’ said Mort, who was riveted by the way this whole proposal was going. ‘This proposal has more drama than a Greek tragedy.’
Lily grimaced. ‘I was always more of a romcom girl.’
Nate turned to flash a thumbs up at the crowd before returning his attention to Veronica, who was lookingverysquirmy. He grabbed her hands. ‘So, what do you say, babe? Are we going to put those missteps behind us, and you know … you and me?’
Esmeralda was vibrating with purrs. They were getting louder and louder, to the point that Lily thought she might get dinged for doing construction without a permit.
‘Babe. The crowd’s getting antsy.’
Veronica swallowed. She looked at the ring – very large, very flashy. Then she looked at Nate’s shit-eating grin – also very large and very flashy.
Then, and rightly so if you asked Lily, Veronica’s eyes became very large and very flashy.
‘You’re dead to me,’ she snarled, slapping the ring box out of Nate’s hand.
Esmeralda’s purring hit a crescendo, vibrating not just through Lily, but through the very air around them. The crystal on her collar flashed and spun, casting a rainbow that almost felt like a spell. Its spinning glow tinted the clouds, which turned quickly and ominously from fluffy white to Seattle grey to midnight black. Lightning crackled at their edges, and thunder rolled like timpani, giving the accordion player a tempestuous backbeat to play along with. The gentle breeze kicked up a gear into a hat-snatching, hair-buffeting affair. (One of the perpetually stationed chess players swore as it knocked over his king, forcing a forfeit.)
The gathered crowd let out a marvellingooh!, and a weather alert siren went off on someone’s phone, making everyone around them jump.
‘My Achilles!’ moaned one of the jumpers, clutching at his lower leg. ‘I have a game tomorrow!’
‘It’s the rapture!’ screamed a woman in an all-white outfit. She held up a small gold cross to the flashing clouds. (She had apparently failed the storm safety class at school.) ‘I’ve changed my mind! Don’t take me! I’ve barely had a chance to sin!’
A handful of people went racing for shelter – but others stood by, more interested in sharing their videos of the failed proposal with the world than in running from the imminent storm. Veronica stared up at the sky, apparently trying to figure out whether Nate had done some cloud seeding as part of his proposal.
Boom!A particularly loud thunderclap sent Lily cowering, with a shriek, into Mort’s side. Down the way, poor Jenkins let out a mournful howl.
‘Comfortable?’ Mort asked, as Lily wrapped her arms around him as though she were a giant squid seeking the solace of a ship’s prow during a particularly gnarly tempest.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered, unhitching her arms. ‘Should we get back in—’
But before she could finish her sentence—
Blam!Another zap of lightning, so bright it was like 4th of July fireworks in a city with an epic fireworks budget and very little interest in public safety.
The sky at the edges of the moody clouds glowed a million magnificent colours, like a kaleidoscope being twirled by a child hopped up on sugar. Both Mort and Lily were mesmerised: they couldn’t tear their eyes away from the tumultuous display.
Then, as prefaced by the dramatic thunder and lightning, the skies opened. Rain pelted down on the remaining gawping onlookers who were valiantly livestreaming as Veronica ran off in the direction of 40 Licks, presumably both for shelter and for the largest, most sprinkle-topped sundae she could find.
‘I’m hideous! Don’t look at me!’ cried a middle-aged guy as his beard dye seeped out from his facial hair and down his neck.
A woman with a beehive she’d clearly been re-lacquering since the Sixties snatched up a tiny dog and shoved it down her shirt. ‘Make haste! Make haste! I just had Pookie perfumed, and she must not be tainted with wet dog smell! Here, give me those.’
She snatched a handful of cocktail umbrellas from some drenched picnic-goer, holding them over her head as she shoved past a nervous teenager sobbing on the phone with his mom, apologising for not telling her he loved her frequently enough. The poor teen’s sobs deepened as an amateur tornado chaser shoved him out of the way to get a good shot of the furiously spinning clouds overhead.
