Naturally, the waitress had screamed. To the dinner guests who hadn’t seen the flying cupcake, she sounded as if she’d been shot. The waitress hadn’t seen the cupcake, either. Once more, she’d fallen to her knees—this time, she was clutching her lower abdomen. Of course the cupcake had rolled away, but the cranberry frosting was prominent on the waitress’s white apron. The dark-red, sticky stuff was smeared on the waitress’s hands. She may have thought it was blood.

What I said to Nora, when more people were leaving, was not intended to be unkind. Yes, now I know it was thoughtless of me not to consider how my remark might be misunderstood by Em. “After a night like this,” I said to Nora, with Em hugging her, “it’s hard to imagine that the wedding won’t be an anticlimax.” Em responded with another scary inhalation.

“Merciful God!” Aunt Abigail was soon crying, again.

“Someone should call the police, and an ambulance,” Aunt Martha once more chimed in.

As before, given the hysteria at hand, it was difficult to know if my aunts were anxious about the fallen waitress—now wailing to herself in a fetal position—or if they were more concerned for Em’s fragile state of mind. Em had dissolved into tears—she was sobbing inconsolably in Nora’s arms.

For my inadvertent role in making Em unhappy, I felt very sorry. Nora knew I hadn’t meant anything judgmental by my anticlimax remark. What did I know about female orgasms? At fourteen—actually, at any age—I would never have judged Em for hers. But that’s how it was. This is what happened that night at the Exeter Inn, and it was only the rehearsal dinner.

17. SON OF THE BRIDE

I said too much to Nora about the snowshoer kiss. The beginner writer in me had been trying too hard. I overdescribed the way my mom kissed Elliot Barlow at the Front Street dining-room table. Too much detail. I overdid the part concerning the effect of that lingering kiss on the snowshoer. This was pure speculation on my part—my teenage skills at storytelling were amateurish. I never wanted Nora to know how my mother had kissed me when I was thirteen, but Nora knew there was something I hadn’t told her. The way I wrung my hands gave me away.

The night of the rehearsal dinner, I made plans to meet Nora and Em for breakfast at the Exeter Inn on the following morning, the day of the wedding. I knew the girl jocks would be competing with the caterers in the Front Street kitchen. My mom and Molly had forewarned me that I should stay out of the girl jocks’ way when they were making breakfast. It would be chaos in the kitchen, where the caterers were eager to get an early start on the reception dinner.