by Beth Labonte
Even Jasmine.
As the song ends, we come to a stop in the center of the dance floor. I take a step back and give her another deep bow. I can tell that she’s eager to return to her seat, probably dying to tell me about the horribly embarrassing thing that happened to her while I was enjoying myself in the men’s room. As she turns to leave, I put a paw on her shoulder and spin her back around.
Then I take my head off.
“Hey, Sum,” I say. “Surprise.”
Summer just stares at me, wide-eyed. Then she covers her mouth with her hand.
As I put the Beast head down on the floor, one of the waiters hands me a microphone.
“Testes, testes, one, two, three?” I tap the microphone and clear my throat. “Hi, everybody—parents, kids, anthropomorphous teapot and candlestick. You probably think that I’m about to propose right now. But, the truth is, this lovely lady and I are already engaged. We’re getting married in three days, actually. She thinks I’m in the men’s room right now.”
The audience applauds and laughs in a nervous, I hope this isn’t going to involve us, sort of way.
“When I did propose,” I continue, “I kept it very low-key, because I knew that would be the only way to actually catch Summer off-guard. I knew that she’d be expecting some big, showy, extravaganza of a thing, because that’s the kind of guy that I typically am. And you might think that I’m doing this now because I’m trying to make up for that. While that’s ninety-five percent true, it’s not the whole reason.”
I walk over and put my arm around Summer’s shoulder. She looks warily down at my furry paw.
“Summer here, she loves books. She’s a lot like Belle in that regard. She particularly loves stories that take place outside of our world, be it the Shire or Hogwarts or the Planet of the Apes—which I didn’t even realize was a book until Summer and I started dating.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, I’ve never fully understood the fascination—and seriously, Summer, it’s a lot of pressure always having to compete with Time Lords and wizards and beasts with intimidatingly large libraries—” I nudge the Beast head with my foot and Teapot lets out an audible sigh.
“—but, what I do understand, is that her fantastic imagination is a huge part of what makes Summer the woman that I want to marry. And because of that, I wanted to give her a wedding present that she would remember for the rest of her life. Not just a fancy honeymoon, or an expensive piece of jewelry, but something surreal. Something magical. So, Summer, while I may not have the largest library of any man on Earth, for a short time today, you get to dance with the Beast at the most magical place on Earth.”
The audience applauds.
“I’m just sorry it had to be in front of so many strangers,” I add.
Summer laughs and wipes the tears from her eyes.
“Shall I put my head back on now?”
She nods.
If I’m not completely misreading the situation, it appears that she might still be planning to marry me. I drop the mike, put my head back on, and take her for another spin.
25
Like I said, this trip to Disney was not quite as spontaneous as I made it out to be. It was so un-spontaneous, in fact, that we ended up spending the night in a block of luxury rooms at the Grand Floridian that I’ve had reserved since January. It was so un-spontaneous, that I had our bags Federal Expressed to the hotel so that Summer wouldn’t suspect anything.
Graham Blenderman is full of surprises, and the Beast thing was only half of it. The second half involves our bachelor and bachelorette parties. Well, our second bachelor and bachelorette parties. We already had our first ones back home last month—I had the classic bachelor party in Vegas, while Summer and her friends took off to Miami. When we returned home, we confirmed that we were both in one piece and no further questions were asked.
But why stop at one? Why stop at one, when we’re this close to the—
Epcot
World
Showcase
If you are unfamiliar with the Epcot World Showcase—first, my condolences—and second, it is a beautiful thing. Surrounding the World Showcase lagoon are eleven pavilions representing eleven different countries. When one sets out to “Drink Around The World,” they are in for tequila in Mexico, sake in Japan, a pint in the UK...you get the picture. It’s the perfect place for a bachelor party with one’s parents and parents-in-law. You get the security of Disney World, but with plenty of booze. And no threat of strippers. Not that I’m averse to strippers. It’s just that Summer’s dad is going to be with us this time around. Not that he’s averse to strippers. We just never need to see them together at the same time and in the same place. Even my own father didn’t accompany us to Vegas, which is why I thought a second bachelor party would be a nice gesture.
Summer wasn’t totally onboard with the second bachelorette party idea, but she’ll come around. Sometimes she needs a little push—just ask her about that tattoo on her ankle.
Anyway, I’ve worked the details out with Eric and my mom. I even arranged to have Summer’s bridesmaids fly in a few days early to surprise her. Dad’s invited a few of his golf buddies, who offered to give Francine and Janice a ride out here—Summer invited them, if you recall. So, we’ve got a decent sized group.
Dad and I are meeting his golf buddies in the parking lot of the hotel this morning. As a bus with the words Sunset Havens on the side pulls in—and Dad starts flagging it down—the words, we’ve got a decent sized group, start to sound a little ominous.
“Um, Dad?” I ask, as the bus lets out a loud whoosh and pulls to a stop beside us. “Did the casino bus make a wrong turn or something?”
Dad snorts and shields his eyes. With a loud screech, the front doors to the bus fold open “Nope. This is them. There’s Roger behind the wheel. Hey, Rog! You old dog! I didn’t know you had a license to drive a bus!”
“License?” Roger shrugs.
My eyes widen as Dad lets out a loud guffaw.
“Dad, I thought you invited a couple of guys?”
“I did. And then, you know, a couple of guys invited a couple of other guys and then those guys invited a couple of the girls. Then word got around all the clubs. You know how it is at The Havens.”
He’s right. I do know how it is at The Havens, and I should have made it clear that it couldn’t be that way this time. This was supposed to be a subdued affair. Summer in no way, shape, or form wanted her mother attending her Miami bachelorette party. Like I said, the reason for having this second round of parties was for our parents to be included in what they missed out on the first time around—only here, in Epcot, where there couldn’t possibly be anything to cause embarrassment. But now—
“You’re telling me that bus is filled with people?” I ask, pointing at the tinted windows. Outlines of curly hairdos are visible, bobbing around above the seats.
Dad shrugs. “The more the merrier, right?”
I take a deep breath. Breathe, Blenderman. Maybe it isn’t so bad. If we didn’t want our parties crashed by a bus full of retirees, then we shouldn’t have had our wedding at a retirement community, right? What did Summer expect? True, she didn’t actually want this party at all. But, on the other hand, if she’d just sucked it up and had the wedding back home, Francine wouldn’t be stepping off of a bus right now wearing a necklace made out of plastic penises and a pair of New Year’s Eve glasses that spell out the year two thousand.
And...is she already sauced?
She’s wearing a pair of pink, knee-length shorts with high heels, and she looks a little wobbly. She’s followed off the bus by Janice and Gloria. Nadine is there too. All of them are smiling and waving at me, wearing these shirts with rhinestones smattered across the front. Why limit happy to an hour? it says across the front of Janice’s. Grandma’s Sippy Cup, says Francine’s, underneath three wine glasses. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor, says Nadine’s. Nice. There’s also a whole slew of women I don’t even recognize.
&nbs
p; “Um, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
Before I figure out what exactly I should even say to him, I notice that all of the men getting off the bus are wearing blue shirts. I watch as Roger pulls a pill bottle out of his back pocket, puts a tablet into his mouth, and pops his collar. He shakes the bottle in the direction of the women, like a Cialis maraca. That’s when I realize that Dad is also wearing a blue shirt.
“Dad,” I continue, “you didn’t take any...”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
I stop myself again. It’s none of my business. What’s done is done. The more the merrier is the only attitude to take right now—although I’m not sure I can instill the mantra into Summer within the next hour.
“Thirty minute bathroom break!” shouts Roger. “Then it’s back on the bus, party people! We’ll meet you over at Epcot,” he says to Dad. Then they do this bizarre sort of grunting chant, grabbing each other by the shoulders, and bobbing their heads in opposite directions.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, as Roger heads off in the direction of the restrooms.
“Rog and I were in the same fraternity back in college!” says Dad. “I was at UMass and Rog was down at Penn State, but we were both Pi Lambda Phi‘s. Remember how I told you they used to call me the Blendermeister? Well, he was the Chugmeister! You know, because his last name is Chugstein? Small world.”
So, here’s the thing.
Summer has probably led you to believe that I have no qualms about her parents and my parents spending a week together. And up until about five minutes ago, she would have been right. Up until five minutes ago, I’d always found my parents to be relatively normal people. A little heavy on the cocktails and the golf, but for the most part, normal. Then Roger got off of that bus and Dad morphed into the Blendermeister, and it suddenly hit me that while I may find Summer’s parents amusing—and under normal circumstances I might feel that a strand of plastic penises around the neck would do Joan a world of good— I actually have an overwhelming desire to impress my future in-laws.
I had the same odd feeling in my stomach when Eric handed out the Wanted: Free Shots and Lap Dances t-shirts that he made for all of us. I’ve been so damn nonchalant about everything—constantly rolling with the punches and reassuring Summer that everything is no big deal—that I didn’t realize until about five minutes ago that I would very much like to appear worthy of their daughter. No, I don’t want to just appear worthy of their daughter, I want to be worthy of their daughter.
Which, deep down, I know that I am. But do they know it? I always assumed that they did. Summer’s always claimed that her mother is half in love with me. But wishing that she were thirty years younger so that we could date, is different than finding me an acceptable match for her daughter. I heard Joan used to have a thing for Marlon Brando, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have wanted him taking Summer out for drinks.
Besides, we’re in the home stretch now. These last few days before the wedding could change everything. I know that it shouldn’t. But, we’re talking about the Hartwells, here. Joan Hartwell, who thinks that only assholes get tattoos and that only moral degenerates ride motorcycles. And Richard Hartwell, whose craziest life story involves crashing a scooter into a flock of chickens. Why I couldn’t have had this epiphany earlier, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want them thinking their daughter is marrying into a family of moral degenerates. A family of—
Oh, Jesus.
Nadine’s pulled something obscene out of her purse. She puts the end of it into her mouth, puffs her cheeks out, and blows. My eyebrows are sky high before I realize that it’s a party horn. A flesh-colored party horn in the shape of a—
Breathe, Blenderman.
Thirty years of nonchalance, down the drain. I can feel it all unraveling. Every senior citizen that steps off that bus is like another nail in my coffin. And it’s all my fault. I could have ended on a high note, waltzing their daughter around the Beast’s castle last night like some sort of superhero. But no, I was wooed by the World Showcase, and look what happened.
I take a deep breath and stare up at the sky. It’s a beautiful day here at the happiest place on Earth. I couldn’t have picked a better place to have my first nervous breakdown. Maybe this is just part of my initiation into the Hartwell family. Maybe after this disastrous party is over, I can look at Joan and say, “I may be a moral degenerate, but I had a nervous breakdown this morning!” Then Joan will say, “Me too!” and we’ll high five each other. The thought calms me down some.
It’ll be fine. As soon as I say the words to myself, a very simple solution comes to me. The Sunset Havens bus is meeting us at Epcot, and since the rest of us are taking the monorail directly from the hotel, I simply won’t tell Summer until we get there.
26
“Try the grey stuff, it’s delicious!” says Eric. Then he bursts out laughing. He’s never going to let me live that Beast thing down. Never.
“That’s not even a Beast quote, dumbass,” I say, leaning against a post and checking the time on my phone. “That was the candlestick.”
We’re at the monorail stop outside our hotel, waiting for our ride. Summer is giggling on a bench with Tanya and her friends, blissfully unaware that half the population of Sunset Havens will be meeting us shortly. Richard and Joan are nearby, dressed more for a day of hiking the Sahara Desert than a day at Epcot Center. Joan even has one of those battery operated fans hanging from a cord around her neck.
Me? I’m wearing a bright pink Wanted: Free Shots and Lap Dances t-shirt. Eric had them made in an assortment of colors which, when we were in Vegas, would have been awesome. But here in front of Richard and Joan, I feel like a major tool. Needless to say, the ladies aren’t too happy with the shirts, either. I’ve been reminding them at regular intervals—first every thirty seconds, and now down to a sparse twenty minutes—that none of us are likely to find a lap dance anywhere in Epcot Center, even if we were actively looking. Which we’re not. Every time I say the word lap dance, Joan looks at me like I’ve bashed her across the face with a shovel.
Of course, now that the Sunset Havens bus is here, the chances of each of us receiving a lap dance just skyrocketed. But, it’s too late to change clothes now. We’re going to split up anyway. The men and the women, I mean. Not me and Summer.
I hope.
Summer looks over at me, and I give her a wink.
Who ever thought I would get married, anyway? Graham Blenderman was never the marrying type. I dated a supermodel once, did you know? She’s married to Tom Brady now. Those were the days. Party all night, sleep all day. Rinse, repeat. I never used to be involved in these situations. The kind that belong in some sort of ridiculous goofball comedy. How did this happen?
I take a deep breath, and I smile as I look at Summer. Who am I kidding? I know exactly how this happened. Even at my most carefree, I wasn’t as happy as I am with her. I wouldn’t trade these goofball scenarios for anything. This family is the spice of my life. I knew it back in my party days, too, when I’d bring assorted girlfriends over to the house during the holidays, and spend all of my time watching Summer out of the corner of my eye. I lived for the times her parents said or did something bizarre, and she’d give me that look. She may have regretted never moving out of that house, but I sure didn’t. I liked that she was always there, always drawing me back home. And without Eric, I most definitely wouldn’t have her. So, I owe him, I suppose—embarrassing neon t-shirts and all.
“Tale as old as time...” sings Eric in a falsetto. He’s leaning on the other side of the post, quickly losing all of his brownie points.
“Teapot.”
“So does the Beast actually say anything?”
“Of course he does.”
“Well, what does he say?” asks Eric. “I need something to work with here.”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen the movie once. You realize I did that whole thing yesterday for your sister, right? I don�
�t have some bizarre sort of Beast fetish where I’ve been waiting my whole life to dress up in his clothes.”
There’s a short pause.
“But you liked the blue and yellow tux, right?”
“Obviously. I custom ordered one last night.”
Eric settles back against the post, satisfied that all is once again right with the world.
If only that were true.
***
I need to pump some drinks into the entire Hartwell family, and fast. That’s the other solution that I’ve come up with. It seems like a decent one. We’ve just arrived at the World Showcase and are hanging around Mexico while Dad waits for notification that the bus has arrived. I keep meaning to tell Summer before they get here—I really do owe her the heads-up—it’s just that your fiancée is supposed to be mad at you after the bachelor party, not before it even starts.
That’s where the drinks come in.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” asks Summer, shrinking back a few inches. I’ve just bought everybody a round of frozen margaritas and have been casually—or at least I thought it had been casually—encouraging her to take larger and larger sips.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re deranged. Like you’re a murderer waiting for his victim to swallow the poison.”
I clear my throat and try to relax my face. “I just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”
“We just got here. Take it easy.”
“It’s never too early to start.” I look around for Joan and Richard and find them sitting on a bench, each holding an untouched frozen margarita. “Joan! Rich! Drink up!”
“Oy, please,” says Joan.
