Bride & Groom

Rita, Leah, and Steve’s best man, Pete, had shown up, and with their assistance and Gabrielle’s, Steve and I got pots of water going in my kitchen and in the kitchen in the third-floor apartment. Pete was a sandy-haired guy about six inches shorter than Steve, a veterinary oncologist with a cheerful, gentle manner. Recently divorced, Pete struck me as a possible match for Rita, even if only as a date. Despite her efforts, Rita looked exhausted. Her face seemed pinched, and she’d lost more weight than I’d have thought possible in so short a time. I prayed that my tactless father would refrain from commenting on her appearance. So far, he’d done nothing to embarrass me; for him, he’d been practically normal. Only one thing about Buck’s behavior struck me as odd—namely, that although he and Gabrielle were signed up for boot camp, he made no effort to enlist Twila in convincing Gabrielle that boot camp would be a fantastic learning experience and that fluffy little Molly would fit right in with the teams of malamutes, Siberians, and Alaskan huskies. On the contrary, whenever Gabrielle approached Twila, he seemed to insert himself between the two women. I was, however, too busy preparing for dinner to pay a great deal of attention to the matter.
    At seven, on schedule, Uncle Don and Uncle Dave arrived in their rental car. They looked remarkably like each other and remarkably like aged versions of Steve: tall and lean, with.wavy hair and blue-green eyes. The picnic table and a couple of folding tables we’d put in the yard were set with paper tablecloths, paper plates, and plastic flatware, but we’d rounded up enough real wineglasses for everyone. White wine, bottled water, and soft drinks nestled in ice in two coolers. I’d been a little concerned that when Kevin Dennehy and his police-officer girlfriend, Jennifer Pasquarelli, arrived, she’d respond to the obvious presence of a great many dogs by making sure that we were abiding by the leash and pooper-scooper laws, as we, in fact, were. Not that Cambridge dog laws were any of Jennifer’s business. As I hoped not to have to remind Jennifer, she was a Newton cop and thus out of her jurisdiction. As it turned out, Jennifer was on good behavior. To my relief, she wore neither her uniform nor a Spandex running outfit. She did, admittedly, have a cell phone and pager clipped to the belt of her stretch jeans, but her lavender cotton sweater suggested neither law enforcement nor road racing. On the contrary, given her voluptuous build, it just looked suggestive. Her shiny, dark hair was loose, and her amethyst earrings and necklace had clearly been chosen for a purely social occasion. Kevin seemed proud to be with her. The two of them chatted with Steve’s uncles. Steve made drinks and poured wine. Everyone, even Buck, ate the appetizers we’d bought at the Armenian stores in nearby Watertown: hummus, baba ganoosh, stuffed grape leaves, and various kinds of cheese with fresh Syrian bread.
    The lobsters and clams were eventually cooked and served, and the whole business of carrying them outside and providing everyone with clam broth and melted butter was wonderfully diverting. By seven-thirty or quarter of eight, our guests were seated and amply supplied with lobsters, clams, butter, broth, baked potatoes, and big helpings of salad. Leah charmed the uncles by giving a lesson on how to eat a lobster. Glancing around, I was happy to see Rita seated next to Pete. Her plate was full. I hoped she’d empty it. Indeed, everything went beautifully until Buck, at my request, went inside to get a new pot of steamers. He’d been sitting between Gabrielle and Twila, at the same table with Steve and me. Since Gabrielle and Twila were now, in effect, next to each other, they naturally began to talk of what they had in common, which was, of course, the upcoming mushing boot camp.
    “I had my concerns at first,” Gabrielle told Twila. “I’m not a roughing-it type. I was very relieved when Buck explained that our cabin is going to be perfectly luxurious. You have a cabin, too, don’t you?”
    “North and I will be sleeping out under the stars,” Twila said. “I’ve brought a bivy, but I probably won’t need it. North sleeps right next to me.”
    “A bivy?”
    “A bivy,” Twila repeated. She went on to extol the virtues of the particular brand she owned. Because it had three poles, it was almost like a tent.
    Gabrielle looked baffled.
    I translated. “A