The Second Part of Chapter 7: A Turn

The meeting with Hyram went slightly better; James was checking on the food at the buffet, which consisted of chips, cocktail shrimp, some cheese and crackers, and cheetos, which was not exactly a classy thing to have at a wedding, but James, who was fond of cheetos, insisted on having them anyways. “Eyes on the prize, I see,” said someone who was standing to his left.

“Yes, I was just checking to see if my favourite sugary treats were being served. I also like potato chips,” he said gesturing to the bowl full sour cream and onion-flavoured chips. Then he actually looked at who was speaking: he was a white-haired, portly figure, slightly taller than James was, and impeccably dressed.

“My name’s Hyram; I’m Clarissa’s father.” He said, matter-of-factly. “I quite like the Nanaimo bars, myself.” He gestured to the square treats arranged on a large platter in a square pattern.

“Well, keep your eyes on the prize, and I mean my daughter, not the candy,” he said. Hyram reflected: James seemed quite a lot like himself, and that bothered him; he preferred that Clarissa marry a man other than one like himself; she deserved better. She deserved someone better looking. I guess they married for all of the engaging conversations they had together, he thought. They must have many such conversations; they are both economists, after all. Hyram, on the other hand, went purely for appearances, and married Margaret, although, he acknowledged to himself, he had help in that.


It was the big moment, the sum of what James had been preparing for since he had met Clarissa in that room in February; they were about to become a legal union, husband and wife. Like at his first date, he was feeling nervous, and his heartbeat was quickening. He watched Clarissa approach with Hyram, who looked quite handsome in a crisp white tuxedo. The whole affair was rushed and they had dispensed with rehearsals and didn’t have any flower girls or ring-bearers, as Alice thought that Sean was far too young, an opinion to which Margaret, who called him a rugrat, agreed; they had managed by some miracle and a lot of dedicated work to have three bridesmaids, and the best man, Kevin, rather than several of each, as Eunice had pointedly told him and Clarissa in mid-July. Now, the groom’s men, Jacob, Andrew, and Kevin, looked elegant in rented tuxedos, except for Kevin, who had his own closely fitting tux.

Clarissa strode slowly and ceremoniously up the aisle, approaching the altar. On the way, however, her foot caught the front of her dress, and she tripped. This was what James had been dreading; it was a small mishap like this that set him on edge; all of a sudden he was nervous; he wished time would go faster, for right now, each passing second seemed like an eternity.
Hyram cursed under his breath. Something always goes wrong, he thought, as he helped her to her feet; perhaps the overlong wedding dress was not such a good idea; the train was long and, in his eyes, was a waste of perfectly good fabric. He had no idea why Margaret, who had picked out the dress, had not opted for a more sensible and cheaper option that was more form fitting and evidently incorporated a lot less material. He looked at Margaret, and she had not noticed; she was sobbing quietly into her handkerchief, as was Patricia, who was sitting beside her.
She regained her posture with Hyram’s aid, and together they walked to the altar, where the priest stood waiting.

“Clarissa Varrette, do you accept James Miller as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“James Miller, do you accept Clarissa Varrette as your lawfully wedded wife?”

There were many thoughts coursing through James’s mind at that moment: he was concerned mainly with how good married life was going to be; they were going to have two beautiful children, and they would have engaging debates about their shared passion, the economy, around the dinner table that night. He also reflected on the moment he first laid eyes on her at the consultation meeting in February, and everything that led up to this moment. Now, he thought, life was perfect.

“I do.”

“You may kiss the bride,”

James and Clarissa kissed, and the chapel behind them erupted into applause.

Margaret thought of Clarissa: she looks so glowing, so pretty. James looks decent as well. She thought hopefully of the married life they would have together: they would have children; they would have a beautiful house (they already did), and two nice cars in the driveway, just as everyone should. She just hoped the marriage would not go off the rails, as happened to Mary’s previous marriage: Ian, her ex-husband had been too possessive; it was his house, his car, his clothing, even his blankets. This over-possessive attitude was in evidence in the way he introduced Mary: “Hi, I’m Ian, and this is my wife, Mary.” Needless to say, it was an unhealthy relationship, and she would be altogether unsurprised had he started referring to her pregnancy with an expression like “she’s carrying my child,” refusing to acknowledge the fact that the child was in her body. This was conjecture, however: they split before they could get down to business.

Ryan held up a camera and took a picture. They look so beautiful together, he thought. They are so elegant and poised; I hope they have a great life together, he thought, admiring the picture he took.

Hyram thought that the wedding was quite a spectacle; my baby looks so pretty with her hair curled that way. Hyram was also feeling distracted and detached from the whole thing as if he were watching television; he often felt this way about schmaltzy and sentimental events such as weddings, and this wedding had all the usual schmaltz and then some: there was the bride in a flowing gown (I wonder how much I paid for that), the groom, tall and handsome, the bridesmaids all doe-eyed, and who could forget the happy priest saying the blessing. Hyram used to like weddings, but after having attended those of all his friends and relatives, he was beginning to find them rather dull: when one attends one wedding, one might as well have attended every wedding in the world. He was beginning to zone out, and his mind drifted to the intrigue that was playing out on Parliament hill. The gossip columns and junk news sites, as he liked to think of them, were all abuzz with the information––which one might also call infotainment––that Prime Minister Meach was cheating on his wife with a local prostitute, while his wife was cheating on him with an actor. This was completely irrelevant, but at the same time, it revealed a wide disparity between Meach and his wife in their tastes; Cathaline had taste, while Meach did not. There was also talk of an election; the opposition was deeply unhappy with the Prime Minister’s tax and fiscal policies disproportionately favouring Quebec and the unloved automotive industry, and they had a keen sense of his vulnerability, because polls were showing his growing unpopularity, insofar as one could rely on polls. Cam Duff, on the other hand, had an exceedingly pleasant demeanour and was exuded confidence and charisma with every step, though this was not a view shared by all of his friends; moreover, he had a good policy package in Hyram’s opinion.

Eunice was applauding and cheering Clarissa and James on. She remembered her own wedding with Mario four years previously. It was a day in July, though it was very much like today. They had been married in a field, and they barbecued a dozen ducks for the party afterwards. Clarissa was a close friend, and James had become a close friend after his move to McLeod Street had brought him into their lives. James also looked handsome in a tuxedo that suited his slightly portly figure.

Patricia was in ecstasy, and through her applause and tears, she was admiring her son and his beautiful new wife, but also had a motherly attitude. I hope he takes care of himself, she thought; he is gaining weight, and while he doesn’t look fat right now, his future kids might think of him as “fatty daddy”. The notion of her being a grandmother filled her heart with hope and a desire to see that the marriage be a success.

Alice, while a bridesmaid, had her mind on her son, who was sitting next to Margaret; she could see that he was fidgeting and squirming, which led her to hope that he wasn’t about to wet his pants.

Margaret, meanwhile, had become distracted from the wedding by Sean.

“What?”

“I’m sleepy,”

“So go to sleep,”

“I can’t; my butt hurts,”

Margaret rolled her eyes; at least he didn’t say “ass”. “I’m sure the service will be over shortly, and then you may leave the pews for a comfy chair or something,” she hissed under her breath.

“But that’s when I wanna play,”

“You said you were sleepy,”

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