Chapter Twenty-Three - The Reception

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Reception

THE CEREMONY WAS elegant.
Emotional. Sacred.

The reception?
That was a completely different movie.

It started with the DJ.
We hired him because he called himself DJ Big Drip 937.
We thought it was deep.

He showed up late, spilled Red Bull on the mixing board, and accidentally played "Pony" by Ginuwine during the mother-son dance.

My mom is still in therapy.

Then there was Reagan.

God bless Reagan.

Reagan got drunk off two White Claws and one mimosa.
Started freestyle rapping during dinner.
Got on the mic and tried to make a toast that began with, "Love is like... like so pretty," and ended with her crying in the photo booth wearing a tiara and holding a fake mustache.

Cam caught the bouquet.
Immediately spiked it like a football and screamed, “NO MORE MEN IN 2025!”
The room erupted.

My grandma whispered, “Honestly, fair.”

The cake?
Yeah, Dillon tripped and fell into it.
Whole arm. Vanilla frosting from elbow to wrist.

He tried to cover it up by eating the evidence.
There’s a picture of him mid-bite, wide-eyed, with the bride in the background holding her head in disbelief.

It’s now framed in our hallway.

The dance floor turned into a fever dream.

We had two cousins doing the worm, someone brought out glow sticks (no one knows from where), and at one point Chris tried to climb onto Zack’s shoulders to "elevate the vibes."

They fell.
Took out three chairs, a plate of shrimp, and the dignity of everyone at table 6.

But the best moment?

Near the end, sweaty and spinning and drunk on joy, we were all in a circle, arms around each other, swaying.

The song playing wasn’t even romantic.
It was some old pop anthem from high school.

But she looked at me, wild-haired and laughing, and mouthed, “This is perfect.”

And it was.

Not because it was classy.
Not because it went smoothly.

But because our love was big enough to hold it all.

The beauty, the chaos, and the frosting on the ceiling.