Well, yes. He was my favorite toy. “Yes.”
She handed me a floppy sunhat, white with a large yellow plastic flower attached to it. I put it on. It fit perfectly. “And he’ll keep you safe?”
“Mom, he’s RoboCop. He has guns for arms.”
She looked over her shoulder pad, smiling at me, wide and beautiful, knocking the breath from my chest a little. “Good. As long as you’re happy and safe, that’s all I could ever want. What’s the theme for the wedding?”
“Star Wars.”
“Right. And the color scheme?”
“Every color.”
“Got it. And will there be food?”
“If you make it, there will be.”
“Sassy little minx.”
I grinned at her. “I already have the menu picked out.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Mr. T Cereal as an appetizer, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Pizza Crunchabungas as a cleanser, Big Macs for the main course, Sharkleberry Fin Kool-Aid to drink, and Jell-O Pudding Pops for dessert, because Bill Cosby is funny and I like him.”
“Everyone does,” Mom said. “It’s because he’s a family man and respects boundaries.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Which I hated. As of last count, there were two hundred and twenty-six things that I would have to be told when I was older. “Now. When you said veil, did you mean a train?”
I squinted up at her. “Like… on the tracks?”
“No. I meant the part of the wedding dress that drags along the ground behind the bride.”
“Ohh. Yes. That.” That had to be the most important part. Everyone knew that the longer it was, the better.
“I think I have an idea,” she said, tapping her chin.
I loved it when she had ideas.
“WHAT IN the fresh hell is going on in this house of horrors?” Nana said when she burst through the front door. “I get a phone call telling me my grandson is getting married? I thought child brides only happened in places far from here, like Vermont. Paul, pack your bags. I am taking you to live with me in my RV. To be up-front with you, it’s cramped and smells weird.”
“It’s not what you think,” Mom said to her, trying to fix the lacy table runner she’d attached to the sunhat. It flowed down my back and trailed along the floor behind me. “You made me promise when I was pregnant to not sell my kid for a goat or five hundred dollars. I keep my promises, Mother.”
Nana’s eyes widened when she saw me.
I waved at her. I felt good. I felt right.
“Matty,” Nana hissed. “Why is Paul wearing a toga, a floppy hat, and that thing that goes on the dinner table?”
“It’s his wedding day,” she said. “He’s marrying RoboCop.”
And Nana, without even missing a beat, said, “What? Why was I not called to officiate this? This is a damn tragedy, I tell you! A damn tragedy.”
“Language,” Dad said, coming into the room with the box of Mr. T Cereal. The box proclaimed quite proudly that there were Mr. T stickers on the inside. I reminded myself to make sure I claimed those as my own once the wedding was over. I truly did pity the fool who didn’t have Mr. T stickers. “This is a magical day, and I will not have it sullied because of bad language.” He opened his fanny pack and pulled out plastic spoons and forks, spreading them prettily over the dining room table next to the cereal box and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Pizza Crunchabungas. Mom said she hoped fanny packs never went out of style, because no one wore them like Larry Auster wore them.
“Paul,” Nana demanded. “Don’t you want me to be the one who marries you to RoboCop?”