“Absolutely,” I agreed. “And a bartender. There’s going to be another bar on the secondary terrace, too.”
“The requisite silly photos booth will be inside, near the changing rooms for the pool,” Mom said, and frowned. “Do we have a plan for the little ones, since there’s water everywhere?”
Neil cleared his throat. “Yes, security will be discreetly monitoring the pool areas and the beach. Out of uniform.”
“You’ve really thought of everything,” Tony said, his eyes wide.
“Do you feel as though your wedding has been wrestled from your hands?” El-Mudad asked with a wry laugh. “That’s what mine felt like.”
Tony nodded. “It’s good that I’m not particular about that kind of thing. All I want is to be married to Becky. She can pick out all the stuff that goes with making that happen. Of course, I don’t think I could have stopped the wedding planning train if I’d wanted to.”
“I didn’t let Sophie get away with any of that nonsense,” Neil declared proudly. “I refused to be shut out of floral decisions.”
“That’s because I couldn’t give a shit about flowers.” I’d come to terms with my husband’s weird flower obsession. Apparently, his mother had been very fond of roses and they’d spent a lot of time in the gardens at Langhurst court, so I chalked it up to childhood nostalgia and not something that might indicate he would be a serial killer on a personality test.
The conversation hit a lull that suddenly felt excruciatingly uncomfortable. The wedding had been a safe topic, but we’d somehow reached the end of the organic flow.
“So, El-Mudad,” Mom began, picking up her fork and spearing a bite of steak. “How did you meet Sophie and Neil?”
I glance at him, hoping he could pick up my telepathic message. Please don’t say in a Parisian sex club. Please don’t say in a Parisian sex club.
He wasn’t stupid. I should have given him more credit. “We met in Paris. Neil and I are members of a social club there.”
It was such a good way of phrasing it without having to lie. I needed to get some lessons in that.
“Fancy,” was all Mom said.
“That was...oh my, that was six years ago, wasn’t it?” Neil asked with a chuckle. “What is it about that particular increment of time?”
“Neil and I got together six years after we first met,” I explained to Tony, since Mom and El-Mudad already knew all about it. My throat went a little dry at the realization that our flight delay tryst was now twelve years ago.
“This is nice symmetry, then,” Tony said.
“As long as you don’t pick up another person in six years,” Mom joked, shocking the hell out of me. Her having a sense of humor about my romantic life so soon after the bombshell that had dropped was about as likely as two lunar eclipses in one week.
“Sophie, are you building a cult of devoted worshippers?” El-Mudad teased.
“She’s been trying to pull that off since she was two years old,” Mom said, never batting an eye at his comment about being my devoted worshipper. It felt too easy, too normal. Maybe I would never trust the feeling of relief that briefly flickered through my consciousness.
“Well, I must admit, I am devoted to your daughter,” El-Mudad said, making bold eye contact with my mother. “Completely. And I look forward to many happy years with her and with Neil.”
Then he reached over and took Neil’s hand, right there in front of her.
My stomach twisted. An open display of affection? Right in front of God and my mom and everyone? Suddenly, I felt like I was trying to defuse a bomb.
She didn’t even blink at it.
El-Mudad smiled slowly. “Rebecca, you could be a professional poker player.”
Neil laughed, and then, to my utter shock, Mom did, too.
“Look,” she began, holding her palms out perpendicular to the table, her big silver bangles jingling. “I’m not going to pretend I’m totally comfortable with all of this. I’m not a liar. And I never, ever want any details about anything that goes on...intimately.”
“This should stop you from bursting in our bedroom on Sophie’s birthday next year, I presume?” Neil said.
She went on without acknowledging his snark. “But if you’re all happy, and if Olivia is happy and taken care of, that’s all that matters. I just ask that your grandmother never know, Sophie.”
“Never,” I promised. My extended family didn’t even know I was bisexual, a fact that I sometimes felt guilty about. Then, Neil or El-Mudad or Holli or Deja would remind me that queer people had no obligation to be “out” in situations that would make us uncomfortable.
“And I know you’re going to be busy with your daughters that week,” she began with a shaky breath, as though she’d resigned herself to an unpleasant idea. I glanced at Tony’s face; he studied her carefully. Clearly, he’d had a hand in whatever she was about to say. She exhaled and said, “But Tony and I want you to know that you are invited to the wedding.”