“Oh, please. You’re together. People like you don’t just have a fun fuck and then walk away from each other. You’re not pretending, and Carrie sure as hell isn’t playing some game. I’ve seen how she is with you. This is real, Ryan. Better like the taste and feel of her, because that’s all you’re getting for the rest of your life.” He drinks more beer, then shakes his head at me. “Sad bastard.”

“You’re wrong.” But he’s right.

“We’ll see.”

The string quartet plays a sprightly tune meant to get guests to herd themselves to the actual wedding ceremony. I put my empty glass on a tray and head over to the very last row of chairs, taking my place on Jenny’s side.

Zeke follows me.

All I can say about the forty-minute wedding ceremony is this: good thing Jenny and Aiden aren’t Catholic. Forty minutes of listening to them read vows to each other was more than enough.

Add in the fact that Aiden is a linguistics professor; the recitation of his vows in Gaelic, some clicking language from Africa, and Aramaic was overkill. Just rent a plane with a banner like the rest of us.

While the foreign languages went over my head, so did the rest of the words. I just watched Carrie, sweetly smiling, crying on cue, and supporting Jenny through the ceremony.

I just want Carrie back in my arms.

Weddings should be special, but they’re not. Not to me. With four older sisters, I’ve been a junior usher, an usher, the guest book person, and worn a tux for too many fancy occasions. Caught two garters, too — both before I’d ever even kissed or been kissed.

The fast track to the reception is much appreciated by everyone but the parents, and soon people make a beeline for the food and alcohol.

More guests fill in the giant courtyard, holding glasses of Champagne and tea, milling about the food and beginning to sample. A small band, led by a jazz saxophone, plays smooth melodies, completing the Cape Cod wedding feel. Hours of fun and celebration extend before us, unstructured and unscheduled. Weddings are about love.

“Zeke!” Eileen van Donner says his name like she’s having an orgasm. “I thought I saw you here. Can you spare a few minutes away from your friend to reconnect with me?”

“Reconnect?” Zeke makes it clear he understands that word is code for sex. “I would love to reconnect with you, Eileen.” He winks at me. “Ryan’s not able to reconnect. Ever. He’s on perma-hold.”

He leaves.

I drink beer.

I look for Carrie, finding her in a group congregated around the bridal party table. Jenny and Aiden are nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the bridesmaids and ushers are eating appetizers and drinking, looking a bit dazed from the wedding.

“Hey, beautiful,” I say to Carrie, who gives me a bright-eyed look, then drops her eyes as she drinks from a Champagne flute.

Jessie is next to her, giving Carrie a jealous look. “You have a brother?” she asks me.

“Four sisters. I’m the baby.”

“All the good ones are taken,” she grumbles.

Bzzz.

I jump, my hand grazing Carrie’s ass as the unexpected call comes in on my phone. “Excuse me,” I say, just as Jamey takes the microphone and calls the guests to come for the best man’s toast. I give Carrie an apologetic shrug and look at my phone.

Mom.

An uneasy feeling starts in my gut. Why would Mom call me so soon after our last conversation? As the guests find their places at tables, I find a quiet spot to talk, half-jogging out of the courtyard and into an empty hallway indoors.

“Hello?”

“Ryan? Sweetie? It’s Mom.” Something about her tone makes me go cold.

“I know, Mom. I have caller ID. Is everything okay?”

“It’s your father.”

“What’s — what’s wrong?”

“He’s fine,” she assures me. “He just… I think you need to come visit sooner rather than later. We were looking at old photo albums today and he didn’t recognize you once you were out of childhood. Kept pointing at pictures of you when you were in high school and calling you Milt.”

Milt is my uncle. Dad’s brother. I look nothing like him.

“Oh.” My hand shakes as I run it through my hair, shoulders hunching. Of all the times to field a call like this. Jamey’s voice floats through the air, his toast about to start. I hear people moving chairs, instruments being tuned, the rush of the ocean and the beating of my own heart, steady but fast, over it all, under it all, merged in between.

“I know you’re busy, Ryan, but — he recognizes Dina, Ellen, and Michelle. Tessa mostly, too. And this is the first time he couldn’t place you in a picture as an adult.”

“It’s that bad? Really, Mom?”

“He’s fine most of the time! And maybe I’m just being an alarmist. Next week he sees his doctor for a full evaluation. Sometimes these problems with memory turn out to be a side effect of medication. Maybe it isn’t inevitable.”

Inevitable.

A group of giggling women walk by, two of them familiar. One waves, fingers waggling, her look a come-on.

Gia. Gina. Twins. That’s right — the ones with Zeke in the elevator the other night. Instead of flashing my professional smile, I turn away, ignoring them.

“I planned to visit in a month, Mom.”

“Ellen told me about grad school. That would be perfect.” I can feel the relief and expectation in Mom’s voice.

I go silent.

“Don’t be mad at her, Ryan. She’s as worried about Dad as I am, and thought I should know what you’re planning. I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be. Not yet. I haven’t gotten in.”

“You will. That’s what you do, Ryan — you pick something you want and you don’t let anyone stop you. You’ve been like that since you were a little boy.”

Mom’s words make me blink.

You pick something you want and you don’t let anyone stop you.

If I don’t go to California, I won’t be able to help with my dad. If I go, I lose Carrie.

If I ever had her in the first place.

“This is too much,” I mutter. In the distance, Jamey’s voice carries on the microphone system, his best man toast in full swing, people laughing at appropriate intervals. Music swells and someone announces the bride and groom as Mr. and Mrs., the air ripe with a song I recognize converted into a slow jazz tune for the first, symbolic wedding dance.