Page 95 of Fathers of the Bride

“I believe in marriage. Iammarried.” Although, I had the distinct feeling I might have blown our reconciliation out of the water.

“We have to do this together,” Raj said. “Otherwise, people will say it’s acrimonious.”

I put my thinking cap on. “Why don’t you say we’ve discovered that we have very different ideas about marriage and have decided not to move forward with our relationship. We feel it’s best for us as individuals to no longer be a couple. Or something like that.”

“Hmm, it’s good. It’s very good. It’s like a no-fault divorce statement.”

“It’s also relatively close to the truth, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would, I would. And we should tell people you’re still my manager.”

“Of course,” I said. It didn’t matter if I would remain his manager or not. No one would notice when we untangled that part of our lives. And, after my meeting—

“What do you think of Jeffery?” Raj asked under his breath. “I think he’s kind of hot.”

I knew I should be offended by that. I mean, a month ago he was my boyfriend. I wasn’t though, not in the least. In fact, I rather liked the idea of his being someone else’s problem.

“He seems like a nice guy,” I said. And he did seem like a nice guy, possibly too nice for the likes of Raj, but then that was their problem.

A young woman with a buzz cut, wearing a T-shirt and cargo shorts came out of the kitchen and asked, “Are you Kelly Kettering-Lane’s family?”

“Yes, we are,” I said. “I’m Kelly’s father.”

“And we’re Kelly’s future mothers-in-law,” Lissa said.

The young woman glanced at Jeffery, who said, “I’m a consultant.”

That left Raj saying, “I’m an influencer.”

Looking just a bit confused, the young woman said, “I’m Syd. Why don’t you all come into the kitchen and we’ll get started.”

Holding me back, Pudge slipped a piece of paper into my hand, saying, “Can you give this list to Miles when he gets here? These people need invitations.”

“The wedding is in three weeks, and you’ve already used your share of invitations.” I couldn’t believe she had to be told that.

“Yes, I know, but…” She lowered her voice so low I could barely hear her. “These are some of our friends who we neglected to put on the list. Some of ourBlackfriends. It’s only thirty, maybe forty people. We can make room.”

“Are you going un-invite some white people?”

“What? No. I would never be that rude.”

I handed the list of names back to her. “I think you should give this to Miles yourself. As I’m sure you can imagine, we’re not on the best terms right now.”

“But that’s perfect, he’s already mad at you.”

“No.’

“But he’ll scream at me. I don’t necessarily meanatme, but he’ll scream.”

And that, I couldn’t deny.

37

Miles Kettering-Lane

Thanksgiving afternoonwe arrived at Safe Haven: Kelly, Avery and I. I’d spent the previous forty-eight hours in the kitchen, so we carried four pumpkin, two apple, two pecan, two cranberry orange and three lemon meringue pies into Safe Haven. Fortunately, I had several pie carriers, so we were able to split up the thirteen pies and make it all in one trip.

Thirteen pies. Was that unlucky? Should I have made one more or should I throw one away? It was charity, I couldn’t just throw a pie away. But thirteen was bad luck. Or was it?