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Wedding Gifts

Rares Barbu

    “I’m going to sell these dresses. They’re worn out and don’t fit me anymore,” Michaela said as she was tossing some flowery dresses onto the bed.
    Sander, her husband, was looking at her with a skeptical look. He was standing in the bedroom’s door frame and refused to take part in this grotesque ritual his wife put up.
    For her it was just routine. The two of them were constantly selling off stuff around their house to raise money to buy new ones, because The Popes’ financial problems didn’t occur recently. They were always there from the beginning.
    “You ain’t gonna get more than twenty quid on that lot,” Sander said.
    “Still better than nothing,” replied Michaela as she was stuffing the dresses into a large tote bag.

    The second hand clothes shop on their street wouldn’t take anymore clothes for a while. The shopkeeper, seeing that he couldn’t flee from Michaela’s negotiations without putting up some money, offered her a fiver for the whole bag.
    “Please just take it,” Sander said in exasperation.
    The shopkeeper, arms crossed over his chest, was staring at Michaela from behind the counter like a bull ready to attack. Michaela grabbed the tote bag and swore through her clenched teeth.
    “Fuckin’ Scrooge,” and left the shop. She slammed the door on her way out.
    Sander mumbled some excuses to the shopkeeper and followed her out on the street. It was pouring outside. Michaela was a few meters further down, advancing apace through the rain. Sander caught up with her, grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her under the roofing of an alleway close by.
    “I need this madness to stop,” Sander said.
    Michaela glanced back at the clothes shop.
    “I cannot give them up for five pounds, can I?”
    Sander grabbed her hand.
    “You know what I mean.”
    Michaela turned her head back at him.
    “We should cancel,” he sighed.
    “Canceling is out of the question!” She pulled her hand back.
    “We can say we’re sick...”
    “Oh, so just lie then? Out of the question!”
    “Jesus, Ela, why did you accept to go if you knew we couldn’t afford it?”
    “Did I? Did
I,/I>
accept? Where were you, huh?”
    Sander hid his face behind his palms. Michaela frowned, waiting for a reply.
    Sander raised his head.
    “I had no chance of being listened to.”
    “Exactly. And you know why? Because it’s absolutely unacceptable to make a fool of ourselves. That’s why we’re going to go.” Michaela raised the tote bag above her head and walked out in the rain.

    Hanging in the wardrobe it was the only dress left unsold. Michaela put it on and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Behind her, on the couch, Sander had spread a couple of banknotes. He counted them then tucked them into an envelope. He held it in his open palm, weighing it.
    “Little light,” he said.
    “So? Should we add a prespapier to make it heavier?”
    “They’re gonna notice it’s not enough.”
    “Yes, when they’re going to count it. Kindly stop with the nonsense and come zip me up.”
    Sander got up from the couch and helped her with the dress’ zipper.
    “Don’t forget to add the note,” she said.
    “Thought we’re gonna hand that to them separately.”
    “Well yes, but add it in so we don’t forget to take it with us. We’re gonna take it out when we get there.”
    Sander folded a piece of paper in half and placed it next to the money. He then hid the envelope in the breast pocket of his blazer.

    In the festivities hall of “Golden Lake Ristorante”, fifty tables were crammed along the wall, each having gathered around them about ten or so guests.
    The bride and groom sat at a long table by the entrance, in the brightest spot of the hall. To their left and right the in-laws and Godparents were seated.
    The groom stood up and got the attention of the DJ, who started playing an ambiental tune on low volume. After setting the mood, the DJ walked over from his station and handed a microphone to the groom.
    “I am glad to have you all here on this wonderful day,” he said. “It is indeed the best day in me and Laura’s lives.” Laura squeezed his hand and giggled.
    “Before we start eating and dancing, I’d like to thank our parents, who made this event possible through their most generous donation to this restaurant’s estate.” A wave of applause erupted through the hall and died down as abruptly as it started.
    “I would also like to thank our Godparents, Glenn and Jane, for their wonderful wedding gift. Thank you guys, you are the best!” Another short wave of applause.
    “Okay, I don’t want to be a bore to you all, so let’s open the envelopes.”
    The DJ queued in a disco song and the speakers trembled from the loud volume. Laura picked an envelope from the pile in front of her and handed it to her husband.
    “From the Gillespies,” read the groom on the back of the envelope. He pulled out two tickets the size of postcards.
    “A two week holiday in the Maldives!” he called out.
    Applause from the hall. A man whistled from the crowd. The groom pointed to the table the whistling came from and shouted back: “Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie! Your gift is greatly appreciated!”

    At a table in a far off corner of the hall, Michaela was playing compulsively with a piece of toast on her plate.
    “Love, please stop. You’re givin’ me anxiety,” Sander said.

    The groom was now probing through the envelopes with his fingers and chose another one out of which he pulled out a check for five thousand pounds. In the rest of the envelopes the couple found gift cards for luxury shops, vouchers for expensive clothing and a coupon for a hundred year-old bottle of Prosecco.
    It was again Laura’s turn to choose. She closed her eyes and picked one at random.
    “This one’s from the-” The groom squinted at the name. “- the Popes,” he read.
    Michaela and Sander froze. The groom opened up the envelope and pulled out a wad of twenty pounds bills. He counted the bills, frowned, then handed them to his wife. She counted them as well, then looked up at her husband and shrugged.
    The groom turned the envelope upside down and shook it over his open palm. A folded note fell on the table.
    “You bloody idiot”, said Michaela through her teeth. Sander took a sip from his glass of red wine and pretended that he did not hear her.
    The groom unfolded the note, and after reading it said dryly:
    “From the Popes, please accept this token of our gratitude for your invitation. Furthermore, please accept our sincerest apologies for...”
    He read the rest of the note for himself.
    “Best regards, Michaela and Sander Pope,” the groom read aloud. He tossed the paper and slapped his hand on the table.
    “You ungrateful little ass...” the groom shouted, then recomposed himself. He cleared his throat.
    “On your feet. Both of you,” he ordered them.
    Michaela got up. Sander hesitated and she stepped on his foot. Sander jumped on his feet.
    The groom pointed to the middle of the hall where the space was cleared for an improvised dance floor.
    “Come on forward so that everyone can take a good look at you.”
    Sander took Michaela’s hand in his right hand and grabbed the glass of red wine with the other. The both of them advanced to the dance floor.
    “A hundred quid? Really? This won’t even cover for the starter!” Laura said.
    “How should these two be punished for their crass ignorance?” The groom addressed the other guests.
    Sander let go of Michaela’s hand and quickly covered the distance between himself and the newlyweds’ table. With a swift twist of his wrist, Sander emptied the glass of wine toward the grooms’ face, but missed and instead the wine splashed in the bride’s face. Her father moved his chair back to avoid getting wine spilled on his cream coloured suit. He opened his arms as he moved back and hit the wedding cake which toppled over the table and onto the floor.
    “Go suck a -”
    Sander did not finish the sentence as a piece of cake struck his face.
    “Get the fuck outta my wedding, you assholes!” growled Laura, face red from the wine and hands full of cake. She aimed another piece of cake towards Sander, but he was already running to the exit followed by Michaela. The groom crumbled the twenty pound notes in his fist and threw them toward the fleeing couple. Michaela turned on her heels and reached down to grab the money. Some guests laughed at her. She quickly picked a couple of notes and ran for the door.
    The Popes made their way out of the restaurant in the cold autumn evening and left the chaos behind.
    Michaela stopped by next to her husband in the parking lot. She took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with fresh air.
    “D’you think we’ll make it to the eight o’clock bus?” asked Sander, checking his watch.
    “Don’t worry, we can take a cab. I saved some change,” replied Michaela and handed him a twenty pound note smeared in whipped cream and fruit topping.

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