Written on 7 March 2019
Tim
Okay, still no best man, still no usher, Dad is on his fifth pint at the bar and Mum is having a self-congratulatory breakdown about what an amazing job she did bringing me up. So far so absolutely fucking disastrous. Guests should be starting to arrive, and I need to meet the celebrant. These are the times I miss Katy the most.
Still, no point in me sitting here and hoping it all sorts itself out. Plus, if I just sit here I'll start wondering whether I actually want her to show up. I really can't think about that anymore.
Mum has barricaded herself in my bathroom to “fix her makeup” (I can still hear her sobbing) so I shout to her to let herself out when she's ready, and to maybe avoid Dad at the bar, and I head to the foyer to meet the celebrant and maybe bribe the receptionist to do some ushering.
The celebrant is wearing a crushed velvet suit. He's wearing a fucking crushed velvet suit. He told us, he was explicit, that he'd wear something formal. This suit wouldn't even be formal at a playboy mansion coke party in the 70’s.
“Ah, young Tim. Ready to go?”
“I guess. Is that what you're wearing?”
“It is. Can you believe this is the suit I wore to my own wedding?”
“Yes.”
We talk through the order of service, he checks the correct pronunciations of the reader's names, and I ask him politely to wait while I find my usher and best man.
“If you've lost them already, then you're going to really struggle with young Katy.”
I mean, he said it as a joke, and I fake laugh, but I also want to push him down some stairs.