Page 91 of Home Wrecker

“Cary—” Holly argues.

“Not today, Doll. Work as long as you want at Sweet Caroline’s. Partner up with Davina to start your own business. Heck, just go there and dig in the dirt! You got a garden big enough to fill with whatever plants you want.”

“You’d be okay if I just planted?” she asks, sheepishly.

Mm-hm.I press my lips to her forehead.

“Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

________________

The next time I pull my lips away from Holly’s we’re standing inside the big top underneath a crystal chandelier that hangs from the apex of the tent’s frame. The camp of our fun surroundings combined with the elegant touches, like the fine black-rimmed china that makes each place setting look like a stack of old 45s and LPs, is as outstanding as my bride.

Holly didn’t walk down the aisle. I escorted her to the center of the room because once I had her in my sights, there was no letting go of her hand. Our wedding party surrounded us until Laurel took Holly’s bouquet and we said our vows. Then they joined our guests seated at the round tables leaving us at the center of the dance floor along with a guy in a dazzling white jumpsuit and his dark as midnight hair sprayed slicked into a pompadour.

“I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Cary Cass. Thank you, thank you very much,” he announces.

Holly covers her mouth, giggling at his snarl and accurate impression of The King. She squeals, throwing her arms arming my neck. I grab her hips, lifting her heels off of the parquet.

“Treat her right,” Fake Elvis instructs me.

“I will,” I say. As if all of this craziness we ordered for our wedding day isn’t a dead giveaway.

Bhodi darts up from where he’s been sitting at a table next to my mom. He ramrods his head into our stomachs. Ioomphat the impact, my hand automatically going to the back of his head to pull him closer. He’s grown so much since I met him last February.

Holly cups his cheek and pecks him on the nose. Heews, wiping it away.

His friends are around. I’m sure he wants to get out of here with them and go watch movies. We could hardly keep the kids away from the Cadillacs lined up. Every-so-often a whiff of hot buttered popcorn travels inside from the machine set up outside. If I were in fifth grade, I’d want that for dinner too, not the fancy-ass meal the caterer is serving.

“Can I say it?” The kid is bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Go ahead.” Holly gives him permission.

Bhodi looks up at me. “Love you, Dad.”

Struck dumb, since he’s never called me that before, I grab Bhodi under the pits and lift him up. He gives me the biggest bear hug and Holly’s given me the biggest gift by trusting me to raise her boy into a man. I’m not ready to let go when I kneel, placing my son back on the wood floor. The protectiveness I have for this kid means when he’s ready to leave the nest I won’t be then either. My kids are getting the childhood I didn’t.

“Who is dancing with your mom first?” I ask him, fixing his suit jacket.

“Uh, you.” He uses the duh voice. “Do I have to stay?”

“Nah. Go have a blast with your buddies.”

He missed out on too much fun with them during the fall. There will be plenty of weekend mornings making pancakes when we crank eclectic tunes and he’ll get to watch me twirl his mom in the kitchen.

Bhodi ringmasters the boys with a wave. Chairs scrape against the floor and their shoes thud, racing to leave the tent, ditching the grown-ups.

I reach, plucking a flower from Holly’s bouquet and tucking it behind her ear before leading my wife back to the middle of the room.

Elvis has grabbed a microphone. The twelve musicians in the big band have the brass and the rhythm section at the go. The band starts out like a tinkling music box and Elvis croons that some things are meant to be.

________________

41

________________

The big band was Cary’s idea. He and the best man poured over my playlists, searching for perfect songs. Elvis, and the crooner who replaced him after our first dance, have sung marvelous covers of my favorites.

---