The Wedding Read Free Page A

when it comes to debating him. Though I sometimes grow frustrated at his stubbornness, it’s during such moments that I’m especially proud to call him my son.
    Leslie, the baby of our family, is currently studying biology and physiology at
Wake
Forest
with the intention of becoming a veterinarian. Instead of coming home during the summers like most students, she takes additional classes with the intention of graduating early and spends her afternoons working at a place called Animal Farm. Of all our children, she is the most gregarious, and her laughter sounds the same as Jane’s. Like Anna, she liked to visit me in my den, though she was happiest when I gave her my full attention. As a youngster, she liked to sit in my lap and pull on my ears; as she grew older, she liked to wander in and share funny jokes. My shelves are covered with the gifts she made me growing up: plaster casts of her handprints, drawings in crayon, a necklace made from macaroni. She was the easiest to love, the first in line for hugs or kisses from the grandparents, and she took great pleasure in curling up on the couch and watching romantic movies. I was not surprised when she was named the homecoming queen at her high school three years ago.   She is kind as well. Everyone in her class was always invited to her birthday parties for fear of hurting someone’s feelings, and when she was nine, she once spent an afternoon walking from towel to towel at the beach because she’d found a discarded watch in the surf and wanted to return it to its owner. Of all my children, she has always caused me the least worry, and when she comes to visit, I drop whatever I’m doing to spend time with her. Her energy is infectious, and when we’re together, I wonder how it is I could have been so blessed.   Now that they’ve all moved out, our home has changed. Where music once blared, there is nothing but stillness; while our pantry once shelved eight different types of sugared cereal, there is now a single brand that promises extra fiber.   The furniture hasn’t changed in the bedrooms where our children slept, but because the posters and bulletin boards have been taken down—as well as all other reminders of their personalities—there is nothing to differentiate one room from the next. But it was the emptiness of the house that seemed to dominate now; while our home was perfect for a family of five, it suddenly struck me as a cavernous reminder of the way things ought to be. I remember hoping that this change in the household had something to do with the way Jane was feeling.
    Still, regardless of the reason, I couldn’t deny that we were drifting apart, and the more I thought about it, the more I noticed how wide the gap between us had become. We’d started out as a couple and been changed into parents—something I had always viewed as normal and inevitable—but after twenty-nine years, it was as if we’d become strangers again. Only habit seemed to be keeping us together.   Our lives had little in common; we rose at different hours, spent our days in different places, and followed our own routines in the evenings. I knew little of her daily activities and admitted to keeping parts of mine secret as well. I couldn’t recall the last time Jane and I had talked about anything unexpected.   Two weeks after the forgotten anniversary, however, Jane and I did just that.
    “ Wilson ,” she said, “we have to talk.”
    I looked up at her. A bottle of wine stood on the table between us, our meal nearly finished.
    “Yes?”
    “I was thinking,” she said, “of heading up to
New York
to spend some time with Joseph.”
    “Won’t he be here for the holidays?”
    “That’s not for a couple of months. And since he didn’t make it home this summer, I thought it might be nice to visit him for a change.” In the back of my mind, I noted that it might do us some good as a couple to get away for a few days. Perhaps that had even been the reason for