Married persons —
Do you remember all the lovely food at your wedding? The cuisine that you carefully selected in advance? The hors d’oeuvres of bacon-wrapped scallops, chicken satay, or asparagus goat cheese brioche? Can you recall the taste of the prime rib, or the mushroom ravioli?
Yeah, me neither.
Probably because all our guests devoured the hors d’oeuvres while we were stuck taking pictures with my massive family. (As I wrote this, I asked Andy what the hors d’oeuvres were at our wedding. Andy: “We had hors d’oeuvres?”)
As for the entrée? While the food was served, various family members and friends stopped by our table to chat. We chatted back while our prime rib congealed. (Andy now insists our prime rib was a fillet. Or chicken, he says. “Maybe.”)
The DJ called us to the floor for our dance. When we returned to our seats, our plates were gone. So fleeting was my rendezvous with my meal that I can’t remember if the potatoes were mashed, or new. (Andy just told me the potatoes were rice. Huh.)
I got one bite of cake. The one bite Andy fed me. I adore cake, and I would have liked more. But after I smashed Andy’s bite of cake in his face, I had to run. So it was sort of my fault, although, seriously, every family member of mine at the wedding had me correctly profiled as a smash-cake-in-facer. Only Andy was surprised. And a teensy bit more put out than I expected.
Andy’s pretty fast. Still, he’d never have caught me if not for the crinoline and a twenty-pound dress.* Capture was followed by the bouquet toss and suddenly there were no more plates of cake. Guests told me it was delicious, though. Especially the chocolate layer.
You know how your wedding night is supposed to be you, your new spouse, and epic lovemaking?
Yeah, me neither.
We were starving. Andy immediately ordered room service. A lot of room service. Everything the Inn made that was fried, I think.
Then he helped me get out of my dress. Sounds sexy, right?
Andy would like me to inform you that disrobing the bride is about as romantic as removing and replacing a window screen. It takes at least as long, and involves a similar amount of swearing. (Andy is still miffed that I refused to let him cut the dress laces.)
Andy’s phone beeped several times during the process. It was his parents. We ignored it. The phone in the bridal suite rang. And rang. We knew who it was. We unplugged it.
We vowed we were not going to let Andy’s parents intrude on our wedding night.
Famous last words. Andy’s mother came to our suite and knocked. “Andy? Andy?”
We pulled the covers over our heads and then froze, like mice under the snow listening for an arctic fox.
“Do your parents not want a grandchild after all?” I whispered.
“I guess not,” Andy whispered back.
“I bet she wants to berate you for hyphenating your name again. Don’t open the door.”
“Not a chance,” Andy agreed.
Sunny knocked for a few more minutes. Finally, silence.
Five minutes later, a different knock, and a muffled voice. “Room service!”
We threw on bathrobes and opened the door.
A server pushed a cart into our room.
Sunny pushed passed him and pounced. “So, Andy, I call and call and I knock and knock and why you don’t answer?”
Andy pointed to his bathrobe and the disheveled bedclothes. “Ma.”
The server shot me a sympathetic look as he transferred a tray to a table. I braced myself and waited for Sunny to begin berating us for changing our surnames to Ashbough-Wong.
But she had something else in mind. “Your brother is leaving early tomorrow for the airport. It is too early for me and your Daddy and your sister.”
Andy gave his mother a puzzled look. “So, Ma?”
I salivated as the server pulled the cover off a plate of potato skins with a flourish.
“Denny has the rental car. He needs it to get to the airport. What time your flight?”
Andy: “Our flight isn’t till two.”
The server set the table with napkins, utensils, and water glasses. He uncovered some fish and chips and a cheeseburger. I tipped him, walked him back to the door, and waited there. Pointedly. The server took the hint and left. Sunny did not.
Sunny: “Oh, so late! But you can leave early, wait at airport. Who is taking you?”
“We hired a limousine, Ma.”
“Perfect! Plenty of room for everyone. We meet you in lobby at 7 AM.” Sunny finally seemed to notice the table and the state of the room. She giggled. “I guess you guys worked up an appetite! Grandson in nine months, yeah?”
She left. I closed the door. Andy and I stared at each other for several seconds.
He looked at the floor first. “Uh, sorry, honey.”
“Your mother has known everyone’s flight times for a month.”
“Only NOW she realizes it’s a problem for them to get up early with your brother and wait at the airport an extra hour?”
“But it’s perfectly FINE for us to change our car service and for us share our limo for our honeymoon and for us to just hang out at the airport for four hours?!”
“Come have some food, honey.” Andy sat at the table and stuffed a french fry in his mouth.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“At least she didn’t start in with the name-change?”
“No, she’s saving THAT for the two-hour car ride tomorrow. When we’re a captive audience.” I hunted down my phone, looked up a number, and dialed. “But that’s not happening.”
I was on hold for a long time, several times. I paced until I got tired. Then I lay on the bed. I dozed off once, but in the end, I got what I wanted. I was too tired to get out of the bed, though, even for food. I rolled over and slept.
The next morning, a limousine arrived for Sunny and company at 7 AM. Andy and I slept while some hapless driver repeatedly told Sunny that, no, Andy and Autumn would be taking a different limousine later that day. And, yes, he had already been paid, and tipped, and perhaps they should hurry so they had plenty of time for the security lines.
Andy and I grabbed a quick breakfast at the Inn a few hours later. After we paid the remaining balance for various hotel rooms($$), the receptions ($$$), and the open bar ($$$$$), the wedding coordinator handed us a pink bakery box.
“It’s the top layer of your wedding cake,” she explained.
So you know how newlyweds freeze the top tier of their wedding cake for a year and then eat it on their first wedding anniversary?
No? Me neither.
We flew to Mexico right after our wedding. There was no chance to find our cake a freezer. But that’s okay.
On our way to the airport, we kicked back in our private limo with some champagne. We ate the entire top of our wedding cake.
It was chocolate. And it was good.
*Speaking of the massive dress, you know how the jilted-at-the-altar storyline always seems to be the groom ditching the bride? It’s ONLY because the brides can’t run, thanks to the dress. If the bride could pass through normal-sized doorways, climb into a car, or even pee by herself, there would be a lot more runaway brides.