I see her point--I just hadn't thought about it. Probably because I hadn't thought about inviting anyone I knew to the wedding.
"But what about your family?" I ask.
She flips a hand, "My folks are more flexible than you think. Besides," she adds, throwing her arms around my neck, "They need to expand their horizons."
Melody's folks have charter membership in the gotbux society. They're about as flexible as adamantine and myopic in their horizons. I kiss her adorable nose.
"OK sweetie," I say, "Halloween it is. Where do we tie the knot?"
"How about the Inter D?"
"The where?"
"The Interdenominational Chapel," she says,. "With all the different types of client you attract, it’s the best choice. And for the reception, we'll book the Manse?"
The Manse is a cross-dimensional monolith approximately the size of Passaic. I couldn't afford it if I quadrupled my lifetime salary. I mention this.
"Silly," she says, "The bride's family pays the wedding bills. You just do the ritual."
I am, I think understandably, nonplussed.
"Ritual?"
"Yes, the Drummond wedding ritual. My family has been doing it since forever. The person coming into the family completes it the day before the wedding."
"What is it?"
"October 30th, silly. Halloween's the 31st and . . ."
I count to five. I love this girl, but talking to her is often an exercise in confusion.
"Let me rephrase: what is the ritual?"
"Oh, that. I don't know."
"You don't . . ."
"Daddy's the only one who knows. After all, he's the eldest of the Drummonds."
"Terrific," I say. "Melody, I don't know if you noticed, but your dad doesn't like me."
"But he loves me," she replies, "And he'll love you, too, once he gets to know you."
I see her point--I just hadn't thought about it. Probably because I hadn't thought about inviting anyone I knew to the wedding.
"But what about your family?" I ask.
She flips a hand, "My folks are more flexible than you think. Besides," she adds, throwing her arms around my neck, "They need to expand their horizons."
Melody's folks have charter membership in the gotbux society. They're about as flexible as adamantine and myopic in their horizons. I kiss her adorable nose.
"OK sweetie," I say, "Halloween it is. Where do we tie the knot?"
"How about the Inter D?"
"The where?"
"The Interdenominational Chapel," she says,. "With all the different types of client you attract, it’s the best choice. And for the reception, we'll book the Manse?"
The Manse is a cross-dimensional monolith approximately the size of Passaic. I couldn't afford it if I quadrupled my lifetime salary. I mention this.
"Silly," she says, "The bride's family pays the wedding bills. You just do the ritual."
I am, I think understandably, nonplussed.
"Ritual?"
"Yes, the Drummond wedding ritual. My family has been doing it since forever. The person coming into the family completes it the day before the wedding."
"What is it?"
"October 30th, silly. Halloween's the 31st and . . ."
I count to five. I love this girl, but talking to her is often an exercise in confusion.
"Let me rephrase: what is the ritual?"
"Oh, that. I don't know."
"You don't . . ."
"Daddy's the only one who knows. After all, he's the eldest of the Drummonds."
"Terrific," I say. "Melody, I don't know if you noticed, but your dad doesn't like me."
"But he loves me," she replies, "And he'll love you, too, once he gets to know you."
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