Quadruplets Make Six

One

Libby

What was the saying? Always the bridesmaid, never the bride? Well, it would be true if I was ever asked to be a bridesmaid. I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at another wedding invitation on my fridge. The door was littered with them. Over the course of the past three years, I’d gotten eighteen wedding invitations. And usually, that meant I had a lot of friends. People who wanted me to share their special day with them and celebrate on the dance floor with drinks and good food.

Not the case.

Most of them were pity invites.

By pity invites, what I mean is most of them were family. Cousins and uncles. My father getting remarried. My aunt’s third wedding. A couple of them were from my friends, but the rest of them were familial gatherings. Weddings where you had to invite everyone in the family otherwise they risked offending someone.

And no one wanted to offend anyone else in my family.

Ever.

I had yet another wedding coming up. That weekend, actually. And my parents were breathing down my neck about it. They wanted to know what kind of dress I was wearing and what color heels I’d be putting with it. Mom kept calling and asking if I needed someone to come do my makeup and Dad kept hounding me about what colors looked better against my skin than most.

It was the same old situation. They started with my outfit, instructed me as to what makeup techniques looked better against my massive doe eyes, then they criticized all the dresses I had picked out before forcing me to buy yet another one. Another dress to shove to the back of the closet after wearing it only once.

It was getting old.

I could outfit a thrift shop with the stuff I had in my closet.

But I knew the infamous question was coming. As my phone rang on the couch, startling Mozart off my lap, I sighed when I saw my mother’s name scrawling across the screen. My calico cat hissed at it, seemingly upset at the fact that my vibrating phone ruined his very important cuddle time.

“Don’t worry. I’m mad, too,” I said.

I knew what this phone call was about. We were a week out from the wedding and there was one question that still hadn’t been asked. One question that always started the same old argument between me and my mother. And usually, my father was there to step in. Even though they divorced when I was fourteen, they found a way to agree on this one freaking topic just to annoy me.

Just to make me feel worse.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, sweetie. How was work?” Mom asked.

“It was what it was,” I said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fabulous. Just picked up a new outfit for the wedding.”

“Hey, princess.”

“Dad? You’re here, too?” I asked.

“I am, I am,” he said.

“To what do I owe this wonderful conference call?” I asked.

“Well, your father and I were talking, and I know you RSVP’d to the wedding without a plus one, but I ran across this wonderful man in the grocery store today and we got to talking-”

“I don’t have a date for the wedding, Mom. And you know that’s okay, right?” I asked.

“Hear her out, princess. He actually seems like a nice guy,” Dad said.

“Is Dad here to be your moral support while you set me up?” I asked.

“The last time I tried to set you up with someone, you hung up on me and refused to take my calls. I figured you wouldn’t hang up on your father, so yes. I asked him to participate,” Mom said.

“Dad, I love you, but I’ve got no issues hanging up on you,” I said.

“See? Told you, Angela,” he said.

“Libby, would you stop being so stubborn for once and listen?” she asked. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“You mean from what you could tell in the deli section of the grocery store,” I said.

“How did you know I was in the deli section?” she asked.

“You’re always in the deli section,” my father said. “It’s why your cholesterol’s so high.”

“I did not put you on this call so you could berate me about my health again,” she said.

“You mean besides the fact that it’s terrible and you won’t see sixty?” he asked.

“I never thought I’d be happy about the two of you arguing,” I said.