MY MOTHER was not one to apologize unless the situation truly warranted it. In the last three minutes, by my count, she’d told me she was sorry at least five times.
“It’s just,” she continued, as I moved quickly around my room, finding my shoes and keys, “once you’ve promised clowns, you can’t really walk back from it.”
“It’s fine,” I told her again. “Just tell me where they are.”
“On the I-15 off ramp, apparently. They say you can’t miss them, as they’re—”
“—clowns,” I finished for her. “Got it. I’m on my way.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said again. “If you can just get them here, that’s all we need. Give Ben my apologies.”
“I’m not even meeting him until seven thirty,” I said, checking the clock just to be safe. It was six fifteen. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll be the one with the carful of clowns.”
“Bless you.”
Ten minutes later, I was pulling up behind a broken-down blue polka-dotted microbus where six men in jumpsuits and wigs, sporting various versions of red noses and carrying water bottles, were milling around. I unlocked my doors, they jumped in, and we headed to the Amber Dashwood reception, which was slated to begin in mere minutes at the Derby Estate across town. When we pulled up in front, William was waiting.
“Oh, thank God,” he said, as they all exited, grabbing their bags of gear. “All right, everyone, follow this path here around to the patio area and await further instructions. We’ll need you to greet arriving guests momentarily.”
The clowns took off, adjusting rainbow wigs, big shoes slapping the pavement. As we watched them go I said, “I know it’s crazy, but I kind of miss this job.”
“That’s crazy,” he said, pulling out his phone and quickly typing a text. “But if you really mean it, feel free to stick around. I’ve got a whole group of performing dogs that need to behave during the passed appetizers.”
“Dogs? I thought you guys were joking about Ira.”
“Oh, it’s not Ira,” he said. “This is a professional dog circus your mother had come in from Virginia. You should see the dancing schnauzers.”
“Wow,” I said. A couple of cars turned into the Derby Estate lot, driving slowly, obviously looking for spaces. “Looks like you have some early birds.”
“They probably didn’t even wait until the vows were done,” he grumbled, as one sedan parked, a couple in dress clothes climbing out. “I’ll never understand people who are that desperate to get to a reception. Do they not get out much?”
I smiled, having heard this many times before, as another car drove past us, finding a spot. Despite my time away, I could still feel it, that slow simmer of excitement/dread in my stomach that always hit in the moments an event began. You just never knew how the night would go.
William’s phone beeped. “Your mother is reporting surly bartenders,” he reported, after looking at the screen. “I guess it’s time for my patented attitude adjustment.”
“I’ll pray for them,” I told him, as he straightened his tie.
“You just get out of here,” he replied, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Save yourself.”
“Will do.”
As he disappeared down the path, though, I stayed where I was, watching as a few more guests arrived. Around the house, I could see tables set up with white cloths and flower arrangements that even from a distance I could tell had come from Kirby’s. I wondered if Ambrose had gone to fetch them, maybe with Ira, and if Mrs. Kirby had asked about me. They’d get used to my absence soon enough, though, and probably Ambrose’s as well. Summer was almost over. After Bee’s wedding, he had his own life to get back to. Wherever that would be.
“Excuse me,” I heard someone say from behind me, “but is this the way to the Dashwood event?”
I turned, facing an older man in a dark suit and red tie. “Yes. It’s around back.”
He peered down the path, as if not sure he believed me, then looked back at the lot, as if reconsidering attending at all. Now that I noticed, there really wasn’t clear signage. “Why don’t you follow me,” I told him. “This way.”
Around back, I found my mother standing by the table assignments, lighting a candle. When she saw me, her eyes widened. “This gentleman is a guest,” I said, nodding at the man behind me. “The route isn’t totally clear. You might want to have someone out front, just FYI.”
“Oh, right,” she said, smiling at the man as he approached her table. “Ambrose? Can you go around front and direct traffic?”
Up until that second, I hadn’t even seen him. Suddenly, though, there he was, in a blue dress shirt and navy tie, standing right in front of me. He looked as uncomfortable as I suddenly felt.
“Hi,” I said, feeling like it was my job to start whatever conversation, hopefully minimal, that was necessary.
“Hey,” he replied, then immediately looked at my mom. “You need me out front?”
“Just wave people in this general direction,” my mom told him, lighting another candle. “And make sure Louna leaves; she’s got a hot date.”
At this, I felt my face flush. I hadn’t told my mom or William anything about what had almost happened between me and Ambrose on the dance floor. What was the point? You don’t start stories that have no middle or end, and this one barely had a beginning either. Just a couple of sentences, messy ones, trailing off into nothingness. Period.
“Right,” Ambrose said, turning and starting up the path. “Come on, Louna. You don’t want to keep your man waiting.”
“That’s the spirit,” my mom called out, totally oblivious. “Have fun, honey!”
Now even more uncomfortable, I kept my gaze focused on the back of Ambrose’s shirt as I followed him up the path to the parking lot where, sure enough, a clump of guests were gathered, trying to decide if they were supposed to go through the main house, around, or some other route.
“Reception is this way, everyone,” Ambrose called out, and, like lemmings in formal wear, they all headed toward us. “You’ll find your table assignments just around back. Enjoy!”
I stepped aside on the grass as one woman in a purple dress and squeaking shoes, clearly intent on hitting the appetizers first, barreled past me, her obviously embarrassed date following along behind. Soon, everyone had followed, and it was just me and Ambrose again on the sidewalk, as more cars pulled into the lot.
“I can stay awhile, if you need help,” I said, feeling like I should offer, well, something.
“I think I can handle pointing people in a certain direction,” he replied, his voice cool. “But thanks.”
Just go, I told myself, as a couple with two little girls in stiff pink dresses began to head our way, their voices carrying above us. He doesn’t want you here any more than you want to be. But then I thought again about the short time remaining before I departed for school, and how everything already felt like it was wrapping up. Who knew when I’d have another chance to do the same with this?