Mabel’s morning was burdened by more material concerns. Olga watched as she repeatedly checked the bank envelope thick with cash, mentally making calculations. Tía Lola told her to stop worrying, it would just ruin the pictures, reminding her that she could always dip into the gift envelopes if need be. This seemed to do the trick. Mabel stood up, downed a mimosa, and proclaimed herself ready to get married.
* * *
IN THE LIMO, the other bridesmaids—cousins and a couple of girls from Con Edison—snapped selfies and posted to Instagram. Olga, her niece on her lap, thought of how this was yet another family milestone her own mother would miss. She pondered if she herself ever married, or equally unlikely, had a baby, would those be events of enough import to call her mother home? Then Olga remembered that Prieto, her mother’s favorite, had lived these very moments without her presence or support. Her question was answered. It was dumb, irrational even, that despite her awareness of this neglect, a small part of Olga anxiously wondered if and when her mother might reach out to her again.
* * *
MABEL’S LIMOUSINE FINALLY approached. Olga wanted this day to be perfect for her. She helped her tío and tía out of the car and when Mabel emerged in her Vera Wang for David’s Bridal strapless princess gown, Olga carried the detachable train as they walked up the stairs. While Mabel waited for her grand entrance, the one she had been waiting to make for most of her adult life, Olga fluffed and placed the train against the marble floors of the vestibule. She pulled her cousin’s veil over her face and told her that she looked beautiful, which she did. Then Olga adjusted her own ill-fitting turquoise bridesmaid dress—she never did get it altered—and headed down the aisle.
On her way, she spotted Matteo, positioned in an aisle seat on the bride’s side, looking handsome in a black suit, which fit him like a glove. He’d gotten a shape-up and shaved. The sight of him electrified her. Filled her with relief and joy. For the first time in a long time she was excited. To dance with him. To introduce him to people. To gossip with over who was drinking too much and who was talking about whom in the bathrooms. To have been given a second chance.
He spotted her, and, improbably, took out an old-school disposable camera. She grinned, widely, in his direction and the flash went off.
REPORT TO THE DANCE FLOOR
“Hold up!” Matteo exclaimed as they entered the reception room. “Your cousin got Fatman Scoop to DJ her wedding?”
“That guy?” Olga answered. “Nah. That guy’s a Fatman Scoop impersonator. He just kind of looks like him and will hype up the crowd, you know? It was an add-on the DJ offered. They had a Funkmaster Flex option, too, which, personally, I would have picked since Fatman Scoop wasn’t even a DJ, but whatever, Mabel was into it.”
The bride and groom were off taking photos and guests had barely begun to find their seats in the reception room, but already a small group had claimed spots on the dance floor.
What’s your zodiac sign? What’s your zodiac sign? the Fatman Scoop lookalike asked from the small stage.
“Virgo!” Tía ChaCha kept calling out, swerving her hips to the music.
“I always liked Fatman Scoop,” Matteo offered, “he had something for everyone. Long hair, short hair, hundred-dollar bill, ten-dollar bill. Very inclusive.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what Mabel said! She got conga players, too, for later.”
Fauxman Scoop was asking for an Ooo-oo and a What? What? And Tía ChaCha was all too eager to comply. She was in a skintight spaghetti strap, gold sequin dress with sky-high stiletto heels, and Olga could see her Tío Richie over by the bar, leering at her while he sipped his rum and Coke. As she directed Matteo’s attention to her uncle and the drama potentially about to unfold, Prieto made his way to their table and took a seat next to Olga.
“This is about to be a hot mess!” he said. “I personally got her two drinks at the cocktail hour, and the night is young.”
Olga smiled faintly. She’d been avoiding her brother’s calls and texts all week and, fortunately, had been busy enough with the chaos of the day to have avoided a real interaction with him. Now though, they were seated at the same table for the rest of the night and she was not quite sure how to behave. She was still unpacking their fight the weekend prior, unsure how to reconcile the cracks in her brother’s character that the argument had revealed. Yet, this all took a back seat to the guilt that gripped her for withholding what she’d learned about their mother. When she got out of Reggie’s car, a part of Olga had thought, Fuck you guys. Keep this a secret from my brother? This is my family. Not only did her brother deserve to know, he was the only other person who could understand all that she was feeling. The anger, the betrayal, the confusion, and frankly, the yearning for this phantom presence. Yet, something kept her from calling him: a palpable sense of fear.