Page 94 of Fathers of the Bride

“And you’re going to pitch me one of your clients.”

“No, I don’t think so. Actually, I’m here about the wedding. Well, not about the wedding exactly. I’m thinking a wedding show.”

She raised a curious eyebrow and said, “Go on.”

“I want to do a show calledWedding Wars.”

“I like it all ready. Tell me more.”

* * *

Safe Haven was a not-for-profithoused in what had once been a studio soundstage. More than a hundred years ago, soundstages had sprung up all over Los Angeles County. There were dozens and dozens of producers and wannabe studios trying to make a buck. Most of them never did, and the soundstages slowly got torn down. A few survived and were put to other purposes.

Inside it was very loft-like. They’d done the sort of things New Yorkers did with lofts. They’d built an interior second floor at one end of the soundstage with a large kitchen, offices and bathrooms with showers on the first floor. On the second floor were several rooms intended for women with small children. The single women slept dormitory style at the other end of the space. In between was a hang out area with tables and several secondhand sofas.

For the holiday, the tables had been pushed together and covered in brown and orange paper tablecloths. In front of the kitchen, a couple of banquet tables were shoved together. The food would be set out there and we, the volunteers, would serve it.

Safe Haven typically housed about a hundred women and children. They invited the women from a shelter on the south side, which brought the total closer to two hundred. From what my daughter has told me, this is a tiny portion of the homeless population in Los Angeles. At any given moment, there are between ten and twenty thousand homeless women in the county. A very humbling number.

When I walked into the shelter, Pudge, Lissa, Jeffery and Raj were already there. I had not been expecting any of them. Reflexively, I asked my ex-boyfriend, “What are you doing here?”

That was becoming a question I asked often.

“We invited him,” Pudge said.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting you either,” I snapped at Pudge.

“Kelly invited us to join in on your family tradition,” Lissa said.

“I think she’s trying to punish us,” Pudge said, looking around as though she were about to call for her maid.

“There’s no shame in being poor,” Jeffery said.

“Of course there is,” Pudge responded clearly appalled. “No one wants to be poor. No one isproudof being poor.”

“We’ve talked about this, Pudge,” Jeffery said in a very paternal voice. “There are some opinions you need to keep to yourself.”

“Yes, I know. Believe me I’m keeping a lot of opinions to myself. But I don’t understand why I have to be silent about the poor. No one likes the poor. Even the poor don’t like the poor.”

“It’s classist.”

“Uh-huh. I refuse to feel bad about being wealthy.”

“Pudge, you know what Brad said,” Lissa nudged her. The frown on Pudge’s face suggested her husband had told her to be more appreciative of Jeffery’s help. Or something along those lines.

After an uncomfortable moment, I asked, “Speaking of Brad, why aren’t he and Terry here?”

“Football. The Reindeers are playing the Antelopes,” Pudge said. “Or something like that.” Then she glared at Jeffery and asked, “Is that okay to say? I don’t have to be polite about football, do I?”

“That was fine,” he said.

“Has anyone heard from Kelly?” I asked.

“Yes!” Lissa said, obviously pleased. “She texted me. They should be here really soon.”

Why didn’t she text me? Iamher father. Still.

It was then that Raj sidled up to me, saying, “I’ve been working on a statement about our breakup. I’m thinking it should start like this, ‘After much deliberation, Andrew Lane and I have decided that marriage is a heteronormative trap laid out by the patriarchy. Since we don’t believe in the institution, we have decided—”