But, we said. It is terrible, isn’t it?
The candles were lit, various family members and friends traipsing up to the front of the room, but by then we had stopped paying attention. Dessert was served: cream puffs and éclairs on a tray. A chocolate fountain appeared in the distance. We were certain we couldn’t take another bite of anything, but it would be rude not to sample the wares of the hardworking Hilton pastry chef. And those chocolate fountains didn’t come cheap either. We ate and ate, and we looked at no one but ourselves until we were done.
Rachelle, who was lovely in a red silk dress with a sweetheart neckline and diamonds everywhere, clinging to her wrist, dangling from her neck, two big, bright studs planted firmly in her ears—Nice try, we thought, but have you seen Carly?—made her way to our table with a bright smile. No one had anything bad to say about Rachelle; she was just the kind of girl we would want our own son to marry, chatty, attractive, so slender, and put together. Mazel tov, we said. Mazel, mazel.
“It has been a wonderful day,” she said. “Didn’t the kids do a great job?”
They were perfection. But how are you?
She collapsed in an instant, leaning in close to us. “It’s been a little bit hectic, as I’m sure you all understand. Some last-minute table changes. I was up until midnight redoing the place cards.”
Things change before you know it. Don’t blink twice.
“I did the best I could with where everyone sat. You’re fine here, right?”
This is a lovely table, a lovely party. We couldn’t have been more honored to be here.
She studied the table, doing some sort of math in her head.
“There were supposed to be some shoes here on the table. Were there shoes here when you sat down?”
We smiled steadily at her. We drained our glasses. We could not bring ourselves to answer her.
“There weren’t any shoes?”
It’s getting late, we said. The men helped the women up.
“There’s going to be dancing in a minute,” said Rachelle. “Stay for one dance.”
We stayed for one dance. We box-stepped. We spun ourselves around. We were sweaty and drunk and we needed to go to bed. We clapped at the end of the song, and then we walked out the door brazenly and, we supposed, rudely. But if we didn’t say good night, no one would even know we were gone. No one would ask, Where did the Cohns and the Grodsteins and the Weinmans and the Frankens go? And if anyone did, the reply would be simple: I think they went home.
We stood in the front of the Hilton and waited for the valet to bring our cars around. We held hands with our significant others. We stared straight ahead and ignored Edie and Richard, who had snuck out of the party and were standing nearby screaming at each other. We did not listen to what they were saying. We did not hear Edie say to him, “You do not get to apologize to me. You do not get that pleasure in your life. You do not get that reward. You are not absolved of one goddamn thing.” And if we did hear her say that, we would not remember it the next time we saw her.
In the car, we were silent but for small belches and sighs and tears. We thought about our lives together, how we had risen and fallen and then risen together again, and then we went to our homes, and took our spouses in our arms, and we made love. And there was comfort in that, we were not cold, we were not alone, we had someone to hold on to in the night, our bodies were still warm, we were not them, and we were not dead yet.
Sprawl