after all.
And Mark, dancing with—well, whoever that is. Oh, wait, Annika called her Mutti, so she must be the mayor’s wife. He looks blissfully happy too. The two of them seem to be over the moon. This is SO MUCH better than eloping down at City Hall back home. This is like… well, what the reception would have been like if Holly’s mother had planned it.
It wouldn’t have happened—any of it—without the man who’s been insisting from the beginning that Mark and Holly were making a horrible mistake. Cal Langdon did it. Cal did it ALL.
This is just unbelievable. I wish I had thought of something so sweet. Why didn’t he ask me? I totally would have chipped in.
But apparently I’m the enemy now, judging by the way he’s avoided speaking to me all morning— except once to say that my Christian Louboutin pump had come unbuckled. Only he didn’t call them Christian Louboutins. He said, “Your, um, shoe is coming undone.”
I guess I can’t really blame him. I mean, about the not-speaking-to-me thing. I really was pretty brutal to him last night. It was just a kiss, after all. I don’t know why I had to jump to the conclusion that all he wanted was a roll in the hay. I’m so STUPID sometimes. I’ve blown it with yet another great guy.
But how was I to know he was planning this lovely party all along? I mean, what’s someone who claims not to believe in love doing, throwing a wedding reception? Not to mention rushing in and SAVING the wedding in the first place. How could I have misjudged him so BADLY?
But the brain-chemical thing. I mean, there’s still THAT—
Peter just wandered over here and asked me to dance again. This is the third time. I was like, “Peter, why don’t you ask Annika to dance?”
I said it kind of loudly, since Annika is standing nearby. She doesn’t exactly look like she wishes I hadn’t mentioned it.
Then again, her English isn’t as good as Peter’s. In fact, she should probably be in school. Half the wedding guests look like they’re skipping calculus to be here. Did Cal get this declared as a local holiday on top of everything else? Or is it Italian tradition for everyone in the village to abandon their schools and workplaces whenever zany Americans take it into their heads to be married in their town?
Anyway, Peter is telling me he CAN’T ask Annika to dance, as she’ll just say no.
“Annika,” I say. “If Peter asks you to dance, will you say no?”
Ha. Annika just shook her head, blushing. BLUSHING!
So I shoved Peter over there, and the two of them are slow-dancing to “Killer Queen.”
Because of course Holly keeps insisting Peter play Cal’s Queen CD over and over again. “Fat-Bottomed Girls” really IS her official wedding theme song.
Oooh, Cal is smacking one of Zio Matteo’s spoons against the side of a champagne flute. He’s going to make a speech!
Oh, dear. Considering how he feels about the occasion—or did until his mysterious change of heart this morning—“Down the hatch, and through the gums, look out stomach, here she comes,” is about as eloquent as I imagine this is going to get.
___________________________________________
To: Darrin Caputo <[email protected]>
Fr: Holly Caputo <[email protected]>
Re: I’m MARRIED!!!!
Well, I did it. Mark and I are married. I sent Mom and Dad a telegram, but they won’t get it until tomorrow.
Still, I wanted you to be the first to know.
I hope you’re happy for me. I’m over the moon, myself. The only thing that could possibly be better than this is if you were here.
Jane’s been so great—there was a snag with our paperwork, and they almost weren’t going to let us go through with it, but Jane drove all the way to Rome and perjured herself on our behalf, along with Mark’s friend Cal, who’s also thrown us the sweetest reception right here at Zio Matteo’s. He just gave the most elegant toast, and since I know Bobby collects them, I tried to write it down as best I could. It went:
“Thanks everyone for coming here today. I know not all of you speak English, so I’ll try to make this brief. I’ve known Mark Levine since the two of us were in Osh Kosh overalls. And though I haven’t always approved of every choice he’s made—I still think he should have gone out for the MLB instead of medical school, but he always did have a rescue complex, and wanted to save lives instead of hit homers for a living—this one—marrying Holly— is one even I can support. People in Mark’s field can’t leave anything well enough alone. They’ve even analyzed the chemical make-up of love. When we fall in love, our brains are flooded with something called phenylethylamine. It’s a stimulant that can be found in chocolate, and, like the effects of chocolate on the mood, it doesn’t last.
“But for the lucky few—and I believe Mark and Holly fall into this category—even as the human body builds up a tolerance to the “love” drug, other chemicals—endorphins—rush in. Endorphins are what flood the brain when long-term lovers touch. They’re what give them that secure, comfortable, old-shoe feeling. But to keep things from getting TOO comfortable—and keep them exciting—a healthy dose of naturally occurring oxytocin gets released too, increasing desire, and stimulating—
“Well, I think I can leave the rest to your imagination. Right now I’d like you all to just raise your glass and say, Congratulations, Mark and Holly. May your lives together be blessed with health, happiness, and many, many endorphins.”
Isn’t that sweet? Everyone else really seemed to think so. I had no idea Mark’s friend could be so eloquent. I think he really knocked poor Janie for a loop, too, because she just stood there staring at him with the funniest look on her face!
Whoops, Mark wants to dance again—more later. I hope you can read this, I have to admit, I’m a little tipsy!
Much love,
Holly
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of
Jane Harris
OK, I’m scared now. Something’s happened to Cal Langdon.
Seriously. It’s as if he snapped or something in the night. Maybe his Wellbutrin ran out. Or maybe he started actually TAKING Wellbutrin.
What gives???? First that thing this morning in the mayor’s office. Then this party he’s throwing for two people whom, at the beginning of the week, he didn’t even think should get married in the first place. He had to have spent a small fortune on all of this champagne alone.
And Holly just came up to me—three sheets to the wind, but whatever, it’s her wedding day, she deserves to enjoy it— and slurred, “Oh my Go’, Janie, d’you know what Cal did? D’you know what Cal DID?”
And when I asked what Cal did, she said, “He booked us a shuite—Mark and me—a deluxe shuite at a five shtar hotel right—on the beach—for tonight. For our wedding night. For a little honeymoon. All inclushive, dinner AND breakfasht…and there’s even a Jacuzzi tub in the room. AN INROOM JACUZZI. Have you ever heard of anything sho shweet in your LIFE?”
I had to admit that I hadn’t.
And that toast? WHAT ABOUT THAT TOAST???? THAT was not the toast of a man who doesn’t believe in love. Not at ALL. That was, in fact, an in-depth scientific DEFENSE of love. LONG-TERM love.
What was he THINKING?
Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s on drugs. That HAS to be it. He got up this morning with some diabolical plan to
