The Garden Wedding

This is a short something I wrote during a writing group last night. I am procrastinating my novel and the prompt last night was "name dropping". If anyone has suggestions, I would welcome them. My dream is to eventually write well enough to hawk my works to magazines and other literary outlets (though I have a ways to go yet before that happens!) PS I changed the title to just "The Garden Wedding" as I really didn't like "What's in a Name".


The Garden Wedding
by Laura T. Varney

I studied my feet and the surrounding area a while hoping to find both the names the young debutante had just dropped as well as the one I let slip from my mind as she left my company. Somewhere in the back of my head my inner hippie was fighting the constraints of the tuxedo I had strapped on for the occasion.

“Dude, at least lose the shoes! I mean really, man, look at this grass. Don’t you just want to swim in it?”

I realized I was intently studying the imprints left in the lush greenery instead of mingling with the other wedding guests. The wedding had been a spectacular affair. Everything perfectly choreographed. The sun had witnessed the joining of the prominent young couple and was now saying its goodbyes to the clouds and tree line as the guests meandered throughout the grounds.

Perhaps I, too, should exchange pleasantries with a few guests before we were all ushered under the great tents for dinner. My publicist insisted I attend tonight. “The biggest event of the season” she called it. “Everybody who’s anybody will be there.” I hated these things. Having come alone I was at a disadvantage and I'm sure my social awkwardness didn’t help either. I was still pondering why I was invited when the bride approached with her mother.

“I’m so pleased you could attend this evening. Truly, it is an honor.”

The bride was silent. I was not entirely confused, but I was certainly perplexed.

“Yes, well. Lovely ceremony. Congratulations, Lydia?” I tried not making that last comment sound like a question but the truth was I didn’t know these people. I had struggled to recall the name from the lavish wedding invitation and now suddenly realized that the mother’s name must have also appeared on it and prayed to a god I actually knew didn’t exist that I hadn’t just congratulated the daughter with her mother’s name.

The young woman smiled with a fake demureness and uttered something that could have been “thank you” or “fuck you,” though I’m reasonably sure it was the former. Her mother continued to engage me in conversation.

“So, tell me sir, how did you come up with your crazy ideas?”

“Oh, well, I, what?”

“All those miniature worlds and bizarre rules that make them up. So different from how we all know the real world actually works. And what was that part I read about outside observers? I didn’t really understand how that worked.”

“You read my book?”

“Oh yes. You sound surprised.” The woman looked at me oddly. I got the sense that at certain times she wore bifocal reading glasses, though at the moment she wore none.

“Oh, no ma’am. I mean no offense.”

“I may look like just another pretty face or wealthy socialite, but I do have other redeeming qualities you know.”

“MOTHER!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, dear, I’m being rude to our guest.”

“No, not at all. I just. It’s just that only a handful of people have ever actually read my book. Mostly everyone else just reads the reviews or the opinion pieces in the newspapers.”

“Well, when I saw I had the opportunity to talk directly to the Quantum Physicist who disproved the existence of a Sentient Creator, I thought it in my best interest to go directly to the source before inviting him to my daughter’s wedding. Obviously, you were on the A-list of invitees; however, I’m not about to invite a famous person to such an important event just because he’s famous. No matter how well known he is. And I must say, there probably isn’t a person on the whole planet that doesn’t know your name.”

“Yes, well, I find that often puts me at a terrible disadvantage, especially given my shortcoming of a bad memory for names. I don’t suppose you’ve written a book, Mrs.…?”

“Davenport. Eve Davenport. And it’s Ms again. We’re only together until after this wedding nonsense is over, no offense darling.” She patted her daughter on the shoulder then fixed her eyes on me and continued, “Please call me Eve.”

“Yes, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms., sorry, Eve.”

“Would it be presumptuous of me, Dr. Abraham, if I called you Adam? After all, this is a garden party.” She winked as she said this and I honestly couldn’t tell if she was flirting.

ltv