The Less Than Perfect Wedding Read Free Page A

Another rustling, and her mouth was back at the phone. "He must not be around, dear," she said.
    "Where would he have gone?"
    My mother made a rather vague noise. "Oh, he tends to disappear off every now and then," she commented. "I think he's probably just sneaking out to the back shed, or off to the local bar, to grab a drink and sit for a while. I don't usually worry about it."
    I wrapped up the conversation and hung up, but my mind was anything but at ease. Occasionally, one of Alex's evening meetings with clients would end up running late, and I would be in bed and half-asleep by the time that I heard him opening the front door of our apartment. Despite the lateness of the hour, though, I'd never had a problem with him crawling into bed beside me. But I forced the thoughts from my head. For as long as I could remember, my parents had squabbled and argued. In fact, my entire family was dysfunctional in my eyes; I was glad that I had managed to escape.
     
    *
    On the twenty-third of December, Alex and I packed up our suitcases, tossed them into the back of my little hatchback, and hit the road, heading towards my parents' house. The day outside was chilly but clear, the crisp air enhancing the bright sunlight reflecting from white snow. The fields on either side of the road were coated in white, and the snow seemed to slightly muffle all sound from the world outside.
    I had volunteered to drive, and Alex accepted the passenger's seat without protest. He seemed strangely quiet as we drove. His iPad was lying open on his lap, but his gaze was on the horizon, his eyes slightly unfocused. I didn't know what he was thinking about, but I decided not to interrupt his introspection.
    When we finally pulled up in my parents' driveway, however, he snapped out of his fugue, climbing out to grab our bags out of the back while I headed up to knock on the door. "Looks like your dad could use a hand with the shoveling," Alex commented as he stomped through the six or seven inches of snow that covered the driveway.
    "He'd probably appreciate some help," I said, struggling to avoid filling my own, shorter boots with snow as I tried to find the best pathway to the front door. This was a little confusing. For as long as I could remember, my father shoveled the driveway and steps, often to the point of obsessiveness. The tracks on the driveway showed that this snow wasn't fresh, but there was no indication that he had even made an attempt to clear a walking path.
    I finally reached the front door and pressed the bell, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other as I tried to ignore the wet coldness of snow that had fallen into my boots. After a minute, my mother opened the door, and I happily piled forward into the warmth of the interior. Alex, a suitcase in each hand, was right behind me.
    "Hi, Mom," I said, once the door was closed, and the three of us exchanged the usual assortment of hugs and hellos. A minute later, my dad appeared from around the corner, joining in on the greetings.
    "Dad, why haven't you shoveled?" I asked, once everyone had either hugged or shaken hands. "The driveway and walkway are totally covered. You never usually let the snow pile up like that."
    Hands in his pockets, my dad shrugged. This was the first time I had seen my parents in a while, and I was surprised to see that my dad had chosen to let his hair grow out much longer than usual, the dark gray strands reaching nearly to his shoulders. As well, when I had given him a hug, I had caught a whiff of an unusual smell coming from him. It vaguely resembled perfume, in the same way that a bag of McDonalds vaguely resembled an acceptable dinner. "I guess I just haven't gotten around to it," he replied. "Maybe Alex would be willing to give me a hand with it."
    "Oh, I'd be happy to help out however I can, Mr. Jansen," my boyfriend chimed in quickly behind me. I knew that he was always willing to pitch in with any tasks around my parents; he had a tendency to try