Things turned bacchanalian immediately after the ceremony. Sébastien and I danced and danced, and kissed repeatedly as demanded by our glass-clinking audience. I even gave a spectacular karaoke performance of “Born in the U.S.A.” with an invisible guitar, and I wasn’t even drinking, because I didn’t have time. I just felt that happy. Sometimes, when people start sending me pictures in the mail of these moments later, I wish my happiness could express itself in less embarrassing fashion, but there you go. At least I wasn’t the only one. The French and American families and friends interlocked in chains, dancing all around the church reception hall, led by Mary Kay in her midnight-blue bridesmaid’s dress and pink hair. As a joke, my siblings had installed my Parisian-born orange teddy bear in pride of place, wearing a tie for the occasion; David grabbed the bear and danced rock-and-roll with him. I had never even seen David dance before, let alone with a teddy bear. Another brother got so drunk he tried to beat Teddy up for some imagined slight, but we made peace between them, and the dancing continued.

“See how normal my country is?” I asked Sébastien happily. “I told you so!”

“They do seem to be acting normal for once,” Sébastien said, watching my brother pat Teddy’s head apologetically. Teddy’s midnight-blue tie—made from one of the wedding decoration ribbons—was a little askew.

Annette had created a French garden theme for the decorations, then filled in the vast windows with the stolen magnolia blossoms; scents of French lavender and Southern magnolia blended with the sparkly aroma of champagne. The families disappeared for an hour together and entirely destroyed our car, coating it with French and English good wishes in purple and white foam. Titi even signed his name to his contributions, although he later claimed that was a frame.

“We don’t do that in France,” he claimed, wounded. “We use pretty ribbons to make the car look nice.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, remembering that one of Tweety Bird’s traits had been his ability to maintain total innocence in all situations, even ones in which he completely demolished his opponents.

After a symbolic getaway, we met our two families at my parents’ house. The idea was to let close family and friends unwind together at a barbecue. Melt turned out to be a more accurate word than unwind. We had expected it to be hot, but we had not counted on it being the hottest day of the year. Temperatures over ninety degrees could kill off a tenth of France’s population, and it was over one hundred degrees this evening, in humidity like a sauna.