A Wedding Invitation (35 page)

I steady myself and enter the sanctuary, my camera at my eye. I snap a few pictures and, as the music ceases, scoot over to the left of the room where poised guests reverently sit.

Thuy has stopped her wheelchair at the edge of the front row, her corsage lopsided, a handkerchief shielding her eyes. I use my camera to hide mine, suddenly blinded by this happily-ever-after.

forty-five

W
hen I asked them, Sanjay and Venya said they’d be glad to have the reception at their bakery. Sanjay let customers know that he would be closed for the day, encouraging me to create a sign with my Sharpie markers for him to place on the front door.

With the help of some enthusiastic ladies in my church, I arranged the tables in rows and added white linen tablecloths to each one. In the center of the tables, we placed bud vases with single red roses. Then we prepared the lime sherbet punch and filled crystal dishes with mixed nuts.

Sanjay made the wedding cake, a three-tiered work of art decorated with baby-blue beaded icing and six pale pink roses piped on the top layer. He joked that he had thought about adding martini glasses and olives but decided against it. Carson and I offered to pay him for the cake as well as for the use of his store. He refused any monetary compensation. “I just like to see people find each other,” he said, exposing his romantic side.

Chi, Minh, and Huy stayed up well past midnight on Thursday making hundreds of spring rolls and mixing the special dipping sauce to get the right consistency. They placed their fried creations in large sealed Tupperware containers for the trip to Virginia. Once in Falls Church, I arranged for them to put the chagio in Sanjay’s deep freezer until Saturday morning when they took them out to defrost. Sanjay offered turkey sandwiches, although we protested. “You don’t like turkey? I can make chicken salad.”

“No,” I’d said. “We like sandwiches, but you are already making the cake.”

“Venya can make the sandwiches.”

I thought of how tired Venya seemed lately with her pregnancy. She’s in her third trimester.

“She needs something to do when she can’t sleep at night. The baby kicks every night from ten until three in the morning.” Sanjay sounded weary.

After more convincing, we accepted the offer and let Venya make turkey sandwiches for the reception.

Pearl wanted to know if we needed some rhubarb pies, but I told her the wedding cake would be enough. She, Dovie, and Beanie drove up from Winston last night and got a room at the Hampton Inn, saying that the breakfast this morning was one of the best hotel breakfasts they’d ever had.

As the church ladies turned Sanjay’s bakery into an elaborate reception hall, Carson set up an old turntable and CD player on a table in one corner of the store. He was instructed by Lien to play old records her mother might like—some classical selections like Bach, some Beatles, Michael Jackson, Carly Simon, and Bread. Carson was willing to play whatever she requested, carrying in a large crate of vinyl records and another of CDs.

Sanjay locked his shop at two, telling us we needed to get out so that we could head over to the church or we’d miss seeing his favorite part of the day—when the groom kisses the bride. Carson and I rode together, the fingers of his right hand laced with mine as he drove us across town.

After the ceremony, all the guests convene in the church parking lot where a butterfly release is to take place. Once, after showing Lien photos I’d taken of one of Dovie’s butterfly releases, the girl said she wanted my aunt to do this at her wedding.

“I want butterflies because they are symbol of freedom, and besides, they are so pretty.”

I agreed with her.

Of course, Dovie is in her element this afternoon as she educates us about the monarch butterfly, its life cycle, its colors, and what it means to release yourself to God to let Him work in you. “Jonathan and Lien,” she addresses the newlyweds, “I hope that in your marriage you will strive to freely share from your hearts with each other. Be free like the butterfly.”

“Well said,” Pastor Jed comments with a smile.

Even my mom marvels as the tiny insects spread their vivid wings and dance into the autumn air. I overhear her telling Dovie to bring herself, Beanie, and Pearl over to the boutique tomorrow to find some clothes. “We have a new line of scarves with butterflies on them you might like.”

Dovie says she’ll be happy to come to the boutique and that she’s sure Pearl and Beanie would like to shop there, as well.

Once the last butterfly has slithered to freedom, a splash of color against a blue autumn sky, Carson and I rush over to Sanjay’s before the line of vehicles makes its way from the church to the bakery. From the parking lot, I get a picture of the cars. Inside the bakery, I take photos of the flower arrangements, the cake, Carson at his D.J. post, and Huy in a waiter’s outfit. When the guests enter the reception, I capture their smiles.

The first song Carson plays is for Jonathan and Lien to slow-dance to. It is Bread’s “Lost Without Your Love.”

As the song fills the bakery and I note the sugary lyrics, I lean against the wall and get three close-ups of Lien and Jonathan. Both seem relaxed; Jonathan’s leg has stopped twitching. Lien closes her eyes as she rests her cheek against her husband’s shoulder. I capture Thuy looking on, her face soft and gentle.

The next dance is open to everyone, and without too much prompting, both Beanie and Pearl move to the beat of “Celebration.” Carson catches my glance and smiles from his D.J. corner, most likely recalling the day we requested this song at my aunt’s.

The sandwiches and chagio are on one table, the punch and cake on another. Lien instructs me to be the one to tell people when it is their turn to eat. After the young couple entertains us with one more dance, I encourage people to move toward the food. I help Lien’s mother get a plate with chagio and a turkey sandwich and then guide her over to a table where there is room for her wheelchair.

Carson plays some Beatles songs, and Lien coaxes her bridesmaids to dance. Soon a dozen people are swaying to “All You Need Is Love.” Jonathan swings Lien in a circle until she grows dizzy and topples into his arms.

“Sam?” Carson is at my elbow.

“Hey,” I say. “They do look nice together.”

“Lien says that after this dance, you and I need a break from our work. She wants her bridesmaids to just play some Vietnamese songs on their flutes.”

“And she doesn’t want pictures?”

“She says that you are entitled to a break.”

Jonathan twirls Lien around slowly this time and then catches her as the audience claps. I quickly get a few shots of that on film.

Carson places a hand over my camera lens. “Sam, let’s go outside for a bit.”

“Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to put fingers on a camera lens?” I scold. I pretend to be upset, but as usual, Carson’s smile is enticing, even more so than Sanjay’s cake.

“At least they’re clean. Come on.”

The bridesmaids are taking their instruments out of their cases and assembling them. I am glad that Lien wants some of her culture to be part of this special day.

Carson whispers, “I have something to ask you.”

With that, I leave my camera on the counter, giving a quick smile to Lien’s mom as she smiles back, her corsage still teetering on her lapel. I follow Carson out the front door of the bakery, away from the sound of flutes warming up to play.

The sun is a soft glow against a paling sky. We had cringed when we first heard the meteorologist’s forecast of rain, then cheered when two days ago the prediction changed to clear skies with unseasonably high temperatures.

Carson takes me to the back of the shops by the dumpster. He walks to the railing by the parking lot where the trucks make their deliveries.

Standing under a canopy of branches toppling with yellow leaves, I say, “Don’t tell me that Sanjay thinks there’s been another dumpster fire?”

“No.” His voice is low, almost worried.

“So what is the question?” I squint into his eyes. They are the color of emeralds today.

He takes my hands in his and rubs one of my fingers with his thumb. I note the movement of the thumb, let my heart enjoy how being close to him makes me feel. Sometimes you just want to bottle certain moments in life so you can keep them forever. I’ll remember this feeling, I tell myself. One day when I’m old and still single, I’ll still have this day of celebration to cherish and be grateful for.

Looking intently into my eyes, Carson asks, “Do you want to get married?”

I steady myself, quite aware that I just might fall over the railing.

forty-six

T
he first happy words that come to mind do not jump out of my mouth. Instead, caution fences me in and I hear myself saying, “I suppose one day I could get married. If the right guy ever came along.”

“Who is the right guy for you, Sam?” His eyes hold questions as his hands continue to hold mine.

“There was this guy . . . once.”

His jaw stiffens.

“Carson and Samantha!” The loud voice calling to us belongs to Sanjay. When he draws closer to us, he says, “Lien is going to sail up her bouquet. Come inside.”

Reluctant to be pulled away from our seclusion, Carson and I leave the back of the shops and enter the bakery.

The women are leaving their seats to stand against one of the walls. Lien walks over and stands with her back to them. “Miss Bravencourt,” she coos at me. “You single. You stand in line, too.”

Natasha makes room for me next to her and Pearl. She gives Taylor, seated at a table with Dovie, Thuy, and Mom, a bright smile.

Taylor smiles back, his eyes flashing contentment. I think back to how I met him and find it fun that he agreed to come to this wedding. I told him he needed to come since he had assisted in helping Lien be reunited with her mother, but he knew that I really wanted him here to meet my cute friend Natasha.

“Dovie, Mom,” I call over to them. “They are single,” I tell the group. “Now come on over here.”

Both women give a little shrug and then amble toward the rest of us.

“Beanie!”

Beanie shakes her hat-covered head from where she is adding more punch to her cup. “I beg to sit this one out.” I know that if she were in the comforts of Dovie’s kitchen, she would add, “Too many marriages already for me, thank you.”

The women stop talking as Lien raises the bouquet over her head and shouts, “Ready!”

Turning, she catches my attention and then with an energetic movement, throws her bouquet for a lucky someone to catch. With a look of anticipation, Natasha leans forward, reaches up, her body blocking the others. With a snap of her wrist, the flowers are hers. I should have warned everyone that they didn’t stand a chance, as Natasha is quite the athlete.

The group cheers at a smiling Natasha as I scan the bakery for Carson. Not spotting him, I decide to look outside.

Taylor gets my attention as he refills his punch glass. Motioning toward Lien and Jonathan, who are now sitting with Thuy, he says. “Looks like you did a good job.”

“Well, I suppose I do have some investigative skills of my own.” I don’t go into any more detail about the situation; I am more interested in something else at this moment. “I’m glad you could be here.” I give him a warm smile.