Chapter 8.

8.

The weeks passed quickly. Even with Maggie and the Gardners shouldering all of the planning, I still had plenty of items on my to-do list. I went upstairs to my attic and pulled out my old tuxedo, last worn on my wedding day some twenty-eight years ago. It no longer fit me, but I enjoyed trying it on and going through all the pockets. I found a cocktail napkin smudged with Colleen’s lipstick and moved it into my wallet for good luck.

I went to Men’s Wearhouse and rented a light-gray summer tuxedo with a matching vest and bow tie. The salesman was a young and hungry kid with pink hair and pierced eyebrows. He was clearly working on commission, so I listened to all his patter and allowed him to sell me a deluxe nine-piece accessory package with shoes, cuff links, and pocket square. My little girl was getting married, and I was feeling goodwill toward the entire world.

I worked on my toast for the reception, which was my only real responsibility for the weekend. All the bridal websites said that the ideal speech would be ninety seconds in length. “Just speak from the heart,” they advised me, “and the toast will write itself.” So I tried writing from the heart and ended up with eighteen pages of notes. There was just so much I wanted to say, and I couldn’t find a way to whittle it down to ninety seconds. Every time I sat down to work on it, the damned thing just got longer.

Meanwhile, I tried making overtures to my future son-in-law, hoping to get to know him a little better. I wanted to buy us tickets for a Red Sox game, but Maggie warned that Aidan wasn’t big on sports, so I suggested we go to Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts instead. “You can walk me around and show me your favorites.” And Aidan seemed to appreciate the invitation, but we never managed to agree on a date. Every time I’d propose a weekend, he’d manufacture some conflict or excuse, and after my third or fourth attempt I realized he just didn’t want to go. I tried not to take it personally. Aidan already had a great father and he didn’t need another. And given the difference in our backgrounds, I suppose it was unlikely that we’d ever be friends.

But Maggie didn’t make time for me, either, and this really bothered me. Now that we were back on speaking terms, I was anxious to make up for lost time. I’d call her at random moments just to catch up, but most of my calls went straight to voice mail. And on the few occasions we actually connected, our conversations never lasted more than a few minutes. Between planning the wedding and all her new job responsibilities at Capaciti, she said she felt overwhelmed.

“But we’ll have lots of time together in New Hampshire,” she promised. “You’re still coming Thursday, right?”

This was the plan. Even though the ceremony wasn’t until Saturday afternoon, family and close friends were invited to arrive at Osprey Cove on Thursday for three days of food, fun, and lakefront activities. Maggie seemed eager to show me everything the camp had to offer.

“We can even go canoeing!” she said. “It’ll be like our Girl Scout camping trips all over again.”

I told her that sounded great, and then I made an excuse to end the call so she could get back to work. By this point, it was mid-July, and I knew I’d be seeing her soon enough. I promised myself that I would stay out of her hair until the wedding—and I nearly met my goal.