What He's Been Missing

“Ian’s parents have checked in.” She clicked off the phone again. “I wonder if the hotel is giving out those gift bags we shipped.” She looked in my direction, but didn’t wait for me to open my mouth before adding, “I’ll call Lori; she’s the new manager. Did you know they have a new manager?” She pulled out her phone and then she was talking to Lori.

A few seconds later: “Check on the bags!” She looked out the tinted window of the Lincoln. “God, I love this city. Smells like crap, but it’s so alive. Like a big-ass party.” She peered deeper at something I pretended to spy as well and then she reached into her purse. She turned to me with a little clear box with little orange pellets inside. “Tic Tac?” She held it out to me.

“I’m fine,” I said distantly.

“Humph.”

If my feelings weren’t making things bad enough, public opinion would.

After Krista and I checked into our rooms, we rang each guest to personally welcome them to New Orleans for the Dupree wedding and remind them of the welcoming reception Let’s Get Married was hosting in the penthouse suite. Three associates I commonly took to destination weddings to help with service and details had flown in early to set things up with hotel staff.

“There’s our girl,” Ian’s mother, Gwendolin, said, reaching for me when I walked into the suite with Krista. She was a dark-skinned woman with high cheekbones and an unforgettable air of importance in her v

oice. What was interesting about that pompous tone, though, was that Ian had grown up just as poor in New Orleans as I had. Mrs. Dupree had worked for her mother’s housekeeping business and Mr. Dupree had played the trombone at a Ninth Ward shack nightclub that had been washed away with Hurricane Katrina. Still, Mr. Dupree was Creole and Ms. Dupree could prove her Indian blood with one look at her face. To them, that about made them royalty. They acted the part, and raised Ian to believe it.

“Hello,” I said, returning Mrs. Dupree’s dainty embrace and smiling at Mr. Dupree standing beside her.

Always dramatic and lively in the fashion of a true New Orleans man, Mr. Dupree insisted on kissing my hand. He was as tall as Ian, but had a potbelly filled with liquor to prove that he was serious about his music.

I introduced them to Krista and made sure one of the staffers filled Mr. Dupree’s cup to the brim with Jim Beam. Some of the other guests were sprinkled around the room chatting and eating shrimp cocktail.

“How have you been, darling?” Mrs. Dupree asked. “We haven’t seen you since last summer when we came to Atlanta for Ian’s lecture at that college.”

“Emerson,” Mr. Dupree tried to add.

“Emory,” I said, correcting him lightly. They could never remember where Ian taught. Their only care was that it was at a college. “And I’m fine. Just working hard. What about you two? I know you’re excited about tomorrow.”

Krista excused herself to see about a missing pot of shrimp étouffée.

“Excited? I suppose.” Mrs. Dupree clasped her hands at her breasts in a way that added a layer to her statement. “I’m about to have me some grandbabies soon. Finally. Before my hair goes all gray!”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with the hair on your head, Gwennie. Your worrying about it is what’s making it gray,” Mr. Dupree said. “Worry makes nothing but mess.”

“Well, I guess you were very worried about your hair, then,” Mrs. Dupree joked, swiping the big bald field at the top of her husband’s head. They laughed and Mr. Dupree said something in French I think Mrs. Dupree half understood. She turned back to me and said, “Well, my boy is happy. I guess that’s what matters. Now, have you met Ms. Scarlet’s parents?”

“Not yet,” I said, but I sensed her frostiness, so I added, “but I hear they’re great people—according to Ian. He’s pretty good at judging people.”

“From Miami?” she quizzed suspiciously, begging me to confirm what she already knew. “Doctors?”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Hum.” She shot her nose up. “Hope they don’t think they’re coming in here to run something. They’re in New Orleans. We have our ways.”

“I understand,” I said.

“I didn’t even want to stay in this hotel,” she said. “And we have room. They could’ve stayed with us.”

“Please, Gwennie!” Mr. Dupree said. “What, you want to have the whole wedding party there, too? The wedding in the backyard?”

“That’s how we did it in our day!”

“Things have changed, beloved. These kids don’t want no crawfish out de crik!”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” I said, laughing.

“Speaking of,” Mr. Dupree started and I knew what was coming next: “When are you getting married?”

“Well, I’m not rushing things. Just waiting to meet—”