68
Sara
I feel like Peter and I are in a play, each of us acting out our roles. He’s the gracious groom, reserved but exceedingly polite, and I’m the beaming bride, bubbly and excited. Or at least I’m that after three glasses of champagne; they really help with the bubbly-and-excited bit, which in turn helps with avoiding my friends’ overly probing questions.
I can always flit away to another group of guests, laughing and encouraging everyone to dance—something they gladly do, given the source of the music.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Mom asks when I join their little circle for a minute. “Any more tummy issues?”
“No, all good, Mom.” I give her and Dad my sunniest smile. “How are you guys?”
Mom smiles and reaches over to take Dad’s hand. “Having a great time, like everyone else.
