October, 11th

John:

Fanny wanted to have her wedding gown made by a particular dressmaker in Glasgow, and she had it. She wanted to spend the day before the ceremony at the Clarendon and to have hairdressers (she calls them stylists) at her disposal, and she had them. She wanted to arrive in a limo, and here we are. She wanted me to walk up the aisle with her, and I yielded.

We're almost at the church's door. My sister's phone beeps: someone informs her all guests have taken their seats and she can make her grand entrance. The car stops; there's even a red carpet, and I climb down from my seat behind the driver and help my sister get out the car. It crosses my mind that I may have to yank her out because this enormous dress may be stuck (enormous yet it manages to show a sizeable amount of skin), but she manages to get off mostly gracefully and mostly on her own.

"Not as gracefully as Margaret would", a treacherous voice in my head pipes in.

"Probably not", I agree.

Fanny takes a moment to arrange herself: she turns off her phone and hands it to me, and takes a deep breath and exhales. My sister is a bag of nerves. I squeeze her shoulder and smile to her reassuringly; the last thing I want is drama, not everything turning out to her standards or worse, my sister changing her mind and all this money just flushed down the toilet. To my horror, there are tears in her eyes.

-"Fanny, are you alright?" Oh, no, please, no no no no.

She smiles weakly.

-"Yes, John, I'm alright. It's just that I would have loved dad to be with me today. I miss him so much".

Her face scrunches and I'm at a loss of what to do or say. Should I say he's watching her from Heaven? That she'll ruin her make up? Hold her, even if I can't get too near this tent she's wearing for a skirt? Not a good idea, I may step on it.

I play it safe holding her hand and not saying anything. Mentally I check for any extra handkerchief I may have with me.

-"You've been an excellent brother, John", she looks up at me, more composed now. "I love you and I hope you know it", Fanny says as she slaps a smile on her face.

She extends her arm to hook it through mine and we climb the steps to the church main door.

-"You look dashing in morning coat, brother" she says winking and I smile back, although I'm sure these must be lines she learned from daytime television. "Come on," she commands. "Let's go!"

We enter and walk all thirty meters to the altar, where the bridegroom and best man wait, shake hands with him and then I take my seat in the front pew next to my mother.

I don't know what was said in the ceremony but judging by people's faces (my sister's in particular), everything went smoothly. My mind is admittedly elsewhere; with new machinery at a record low prices demand for repair is also hitting a low, and this modern and cheaper machinery also involves new technology to become acquainted with, all of which requires an investment of capital I can't get into right now. I make a few mental notes about points I'd like to discuss at the next board meeting, list a few reports by similar companies I should get my hands on, and still have reflexes enough to stand at the right moment and take my mother's arm when the ceremony is over and we move on to the reception's venue.

There's champagne but fortunately there's also beer and I take my second (or is this the third?) glass and hope for an quick escape. There's no such luck in a place like one's sister's wedding, so I work on the periphery talking to guests who seem even more bored than I am, seeing that everyone is served and comfortable, and attempting to feed myself from the passing trays.

I sit for a moment on a stool at the bar facing the dance floor where the guests move to the beat of the music. I don't think I'll ever get married again and even if as a general rule I don't enjoy wedding receptions the thought makes me feel... old. I am thirty-five, probably twenty years younger than the bridegroom here but I feel I already got out the game for good.

Fanny is talking to her now husband and looks happy, and I experience a flash of guilt for thinking earlier that she might have just repeated words from trash television instead of expressing genuine feelings. It's the same kind of guilt I felt months ago (and still do when I revisit the moment in my head), when I walked out of Margaret at the Black Dog just because I thought she was being duplicitous.

When did I become so cynical?

That afternoon in January Margaret told me she didn't want to see any more of me. She had no idea of how right she was.

Daniel:

Fanny Thornton's wedding will surely make a splash in the noteworthy social pages of Milton's weekend press. Ah, little Fanny married... time flies, doesn't it?

The bride's mother approaches me and I stifle the urge to run. No sir. I stay firmly in place and look at Mrs. Hannah Thornton straight in the face, smiling broadly for good measure. I've been long certain that this woman's vocational test results would be "high security prison guard" or something of the like. Anyone would be a reckless idiot to misbehave in her presence.

-"Hello Daniel", she says in her trademark gravelly voice. "How are you?"

-"I'm fine, Mrs. Thornton." I say a tad too quickly. "Thanks for asking. How does it feel to have the little one married?" I appeal to her soft feminine mother's heart.

Said heart scoffs at me in the form of a raised eyebrow.

-"At her age I had been married for more than five years and had a son who could walk and talk", she turns her eyes to the bride's dress and I think she might comment on it but she doesn't. "But to each their own, I suppose".

I give small talk a try going about my brother's upcoming nuptials but she doesn't seem to pay much attention.

-"Daniel", she interrupts me, "my apologies for interrupting you, but happy as I am for your family I am not exactly interested in wedding fanfare. I'd like to ask you one question, if you don't mind", and her penetrant gaze pushes me back to the day when John and I broke a mirror and she gave us both a flogging I'll never forget. If she wants to have my credit card's pin or e-mail's password, they're all hers. I nod and soundlessly agree.

-"Did anything happen to John?", she looks across the room to where my friend sits on a bar stool, looking bored out of his mind. "Lately he seems a little downcast", she turns her interrogator's eyes to me. Oh, she would have made such a good addition to the Metropolitan Police, why did she miss her call? "Do you, by chance, know anything about it?"

Ah, do I? Yes I do. But, should I speak up? She looks at me, waiting for an answer. She will know if I lie.

-"Yes, I do know something about it", I say slowly and struggling to make both my friend and his mother happy and not die in the process. "He met someone he liked and was disappointed. That's all, I think". I pray Mrs. Thornton doesn't ask anything else.

-"Thank you, Daniel", she says with a smile and pats my shoulder softly "I won't flog you again, you know?"

I try to laugh nonchalantly but it comes out a little nervous. John spotted us and as if knowing what this conversation is about walks purposely towards us.

-"Mother, I'm told we're requested for some pictures", he says.

It's my impression that both mother and son, whose mutual resemblance is striking once you get to know them, grimace at the same time and regroup, simultaneously, in the exact non committal smiles.

Note: Daniel Donaldson is based on The Big Bang Theory's Howard Wolowicz and this chapter is where he resembles the most.