“I don’t want to be the groom.”
“You have to be the groom, you’re taller.”
She came toward me, pausing after each step, singing these words: “Here comes the bride.” I hated that song. For some reason it made me think of funerals, though I’d never been to one. “Stop it. I don’t want to play this stupid game.”
Mom and Dad never talked about their elopement unless I pushed them, and I rarely did. The three of us were on a long car ride to Nana Florence’s house in Owen Sound – it must have been just before we stopped going there. They were always extra jittery when nearing Nana’s red brick house, especially during Christmastime when our stay was longer. Mom smoked even more during those long drives. Dad did too. He hadn’t quit at that point. I was clouded in smoke as I lay in the back seat
