Page 70 of Fathers of the Bride

Jeffery gave her the side eye and said, “I’m a sensitivity coach. The bank has requested I spend some time with Pudge and Lissa over the next few weeks. We’ll be talking about race, sexuality, gender, class and what it means to be privileged.”

“I don’t know why everyone suddenly hates the word privilege,” Pudge said. “I mean, someone has to be at the top of the heap, right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being privileged,” Jeffery said. “As long as you recognize your privilege—”

“I know I’m privileged,” Pudge said. “I’ve seen my bank account.”

“…and you need to be sensitive to others who are less privileged.”

“That’s the part I have trouble with.”

Lissa stepped in and said to me, “Your home is lovely. Kelly told us it was.”

“And you didn’t believe her?” I asked.

“Oh, we did,” she said. “Sort of.”

“It is so damned loud,” Pudge said. “That red.”

Jeffery raised an eyebrow at her. Obviously not for the first time because she said, “What? He’s a white man.”

“A gay white man.”

“And that means I shouldn’t insult his decorating?”

Jeffery shook his head in disbelief.

She hissed at him, “The roomisvery loud.”

I glanced around. All right, I’ll admit it, it was loud. And maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe if Andy moved back—wait, what was I thinking? We just had sex. Big deal. It was probably goodbye sex. Or was it? Last night he said he didn’t love Raj. Could that be true?

Anyway, that wasn’t the point. The point was it might be time to repaint. The first color we’d ever painted the living room was a delicate dove gray. Andy loved it. Maybe it was time to go back—

“Aren’t you going to offer us anything?” Pudge asked.

Jeffery stood next to her continuing to shake his head.

“Huh?” I said. “Oh, um, okay. Why don’t you have a seat. I’ll be right back,” I said, and then slipped off to the kitchen.

As I did, I heard Jeffery saying, “Pudge, a lot of what I’m trying to teach is simple courtesy, kindness, consideration—"

Then I was in the kitchen and couldn’t hear him anymore. There was iced tea in the fridge. I poured it into a crystal pitcher, set in on a square, bamboo tray, added four glasses and a plate of lemon cookies I’d made the day before.

All the while, I wondered what they were doing here. Did they know I’d been tossed off the pier? Wait, they were there, they saw it. Did they think I might sue? I could sue. I should sue. If they hadn’t hired an elephant—my God, that was in such poor taste. No wonder they’d been saddled with a sensitivity coach.

And then I was back in the living room setting the tray down onto the coffee table—one of my favorite things in the house. It was reclaimed pine and the size of a football field. Well, Pee-Wee football, at least. It had made the cut through half a dozen re-dos. Including the apparently loud re-do.

Smiling, I poured tea for everyone.

“We have a bone to pick with you,” Pudge said.

“You do?”

Jeffery cleared his throat again.

“Well, I do have a bone to pick with him.”

“You’re all over the Internet,” Lissa said, taking a sip. “Oh, this tea is very good. And the cookies look—”