Free The Romantics by Galt Niederhoffer

Augusta’s command. It hearkened back to an insult borne by her ancestors. Still, she followed the crowd toward the trunk of the majestic tree. Chip followed close behind, poking her waist like a twelve-year-old child.
    “Oh boy,” he said. “Tonight’s the night.”
    “The night you finally drink yourself into oblivion?”
    “The night you finally realize you’re in love with me.”
    “But, Chip, I realized that years ago,” Laura said. She had found that playing along with him was the best course of action. Defying him just provoked him to try harder, at a higher volume. “It’s sad, though, about the age difference. People would talk. You don’t want a bride who has to hobble down the aisle with a cane.”
    “Oh but I do,” Chip replied. “It’ll make it easier to have my way with you.”
    Augusta interrupted, sparing Laura the burden of another scold. “Family members last,” she said. She gestured at the McDevons with a patronizing flourish. “Flower girls will walk first. Your mothershave hung or steamed those dressed already. That silk wrinkles so easily.” She turned to Lila’s older cousin. “Kate, I suggest you use my time-tested trick. Don’t feed your girls after eleven. Then stand at the end of the aisle with a piece of candy.” She indulged in a mischievous smile, then returned to business. “Kathy and Ted, you’ll walk together. Minnow, you’ll walk with the bridesmaids, after Tripler but before Laura. I’ll walk with Chip. Lila will walk with her father. And Tom, of course, will wait with Reverend Hipp.”
    For a moment, everyone remained still, too intimidated to move. But soon the group began to shuffle in the prescribed order, processing from under the gnarled, stately tree with halting, self-conscious steps.
    “You would think it was our first time walking,” said Jake. “Hey, Frankenstein,” he called to Pete. “You all right over there?”
    “I wouldn’t talk,” Pete quipped. “You’re about as graceful as this tree.”
    “I hope my dress fits,” Annie said, teasing too loudly.
    Lila turned sharply to look at her friend, opened her mouth to reprimand her, then, realizing Annie’s joke, closed her eyes and smiled.
    One by one, each pair completed the journey from the tree, meeting Augusta and smiling as she nudged them into the correct positions.
    Throughout, Lila remained uncharacteristically quiet, as though she had been hypnotized. Finally, a more familiar Lila seemed to wake from trance. “All right, Mother. This is a wedding. Not a marching exercise. I think we’ve asked enough of our guests.” She shook her head with disdain and let out a peal of gay laughter, playing to the crowd as only she could, distancing herself from her mother even while channeling her.
    “We’ll exact our punishment tonight,” Oscar teased. “At the rehearsal dinner.”
    Another chorus of laughter erupted, followed by louder hoots and whistles.
    “If we drink enough,” Jake said.
    “If you drink your usual amount,” Pete said, “you won’t be standing when it’s your turn to toast.”
    Finally, Tom descended upon the debate to deliver his verdict. He was the de facto judge of the group, their moral arbiter, if not their conscience.
    “If I drink enough,” he said, “you may both live to see me get married tomorrow.”
    At this, the assembled group devolved into raucous applause, their volume escalating suddenly like schoolkids’ after a period bell.
    Tom and Lila grasped hands in a show of unity, and Augusta surrendered, acknowledging that she had lost the group’s attention.
    Lila was rewarded for her gracious act with a kiss from her groom. Tom turned her toward him as though she were a large marionette, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and deposited a polite kiss on her lips. Laura watched the elaborate performance of romance from her assigned position. She was relieved to find she was wholly unmoved. In fact, it was a great comfort to see Tom and Lila