The Wedding From Hell - Chapter One

Short excerpt of her new book.

“Marry me,” he said.

I looked down into his watery brown eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not,” was all he managed before he belched again, filling the air with the sour scent of stale beer. “If you turn me down you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”

It took me a few seconds to remember where I’d heard that sentiment before. “You can’t propose to me with lines stolen from Casablanca. And besides, that’s the speech Humphrey Bogart made to Ingrid Bergman to convince her not to marry him.”

“Oh,” was all he said before he closed his eyes and returned his head to the table, its resting spot for the previous half hour.

My cousin Sharon’s reception was typical of large Jewish weddings. A two-hundred-plus formal affair where everyone was drunk and the over-forty crowd sambaed its way across the dance floor. I was one of nine bridesmaids. The only one without a date. Which was why I got stuck sitting next to Peter, the fourteen-year-old brother of the groom. He didn’t have a date either. But at least he had a good excuse. He wasn’t old enough to drive his girlfriend to the wedding.

Despite the company, I spent most of the evening hiding at my table. It was the only place that someone dressed in a polyester teal green gown with shoulder pads big enough for a linebacker and more tulle then a tutu could blend in. But when the fourteen-year-old looked like he could vomit at any moment, I decided to take my chances with the rest of the room. Even interrogations by my relatives were better than being puked on.

I’d only made it ten feet from the table before I heard my name shouted from the dance floor. I turned toward the voice automatically and saw my mother’s Aunt Rose waving at me. It was too late to run in the other direction. We’d made eye contact.

Aunt Rose’s white-blond hair sparkled in the light from the chandelier as she shimmied across the room in her black sequin cocktail dress, my Uncle Ed in tow. “Julie, dear,” she said, grabbing my hands, “where have you been? We’ve been looking for you all night.”

Avoiding my family. “Just blending with the rest of the teal ballerinas,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous dear, those dresses are beautiful. Aren’t they Ed?”

“Beautiful,” Ed said, mopping his flushed face with his handkerchief.

“So tell us how you are, dear?” Aunt Rose asked. “I don’t think we’ve seen you since the last wedding. Whose was it again?”
“Madeline’s.”

“Right.” She released my hands so she could use hers for emphasis. “Your poor Uncle Jerry having to make two weddings back to back like that.”

I nodded sympathetically. I’d hoped Sharon would wait until I’d at least found a date before she got married.

“Of course Joan is thrilled to have both of her daughters married. And both under thirty. How old are you now, dear?”

“Thirty-two,” I said and forced a smile.

“Don’t worry, dear. Your time will come.”

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