"Give me another, thank you kindly. Tell me,
how are you called? I'll make a gift will please you."

"The Odyssey," Book 9, Lines 386-387. Fitzgerald Translation. Used without permission.
 

BYERS:

The rehearsal is supposed to be at 6...it's nearly 6:15, and we're not at the church yet.

At least this time we're not at the bar watching the ball game go into overtime...nothing like a tie score at the bottom of the ninth to make you lose track of time.

I don't tolerate being late well.

"Are they all coming?" I ask Juliet, referring to the rehearsal and the dinner afterwards.

"I think so," she says, unconcerned.

"How many people did we order dinner for?"

"I have no idea. My mom took care of it."

I know she's taking care of the bill as well...somehow, this doesn't make me feel better. Caroline is not exactly awash in cash, and she insisted on paying for the wedding planner and Juliet's dress. I have yet to see the dress, carefully concealed in its huge white garment bag. I haven't seen the receipt, and don't want to, or I'll feel guilty and try to pay Caroline.

We finally reach the church, but the only person we see is Nicole, our wacky, wonderful wedding planner.

"No one else is here?"

"Haven't seen them, at least nobody fitting the description of your party."

This is so typical, for all of them to be late. I find that my irritation is reaching epic proportions. I'm ill at ease as it is. This is not helping.

Juliet, however, usually punctual, takes a whole different philosophy when she is with her family. She says, they'll be here, just relax.

I find the one kindred soul in the crowd I can relate to-Caliban, her brother. Caliban will be walking her down the aisle tomorrow. And he's the only person in this whole melee I would consider even remotely quiet.

"This is insane," I whisper to him.

"Uh-huh." He's not much of a talker.

"How do you deal with this?"

He shrugs. "Hey, they're family. Don't worry about it. Not like you could do much to upset them. They think you're God's gift or something."

I'm not sure how that could be.

Trying to converse with Caliban soon proves fruitless; we're attacked on all sides by a bevy of his relatives. Soon to be my relatives.

Somebody should have warned me about this.

I wonder if anyone would notice if I just slipped out.

"John." It's my father's voice.

I am not in good shape, and the sound of his voice is more upsetting than reassuring.

"Yes, sir?" I barely manage to squeak this out.

"A word, please."

"Yes, sir." In spite of my agitation, I cannot believe that on the eve of my wedding-my second wedding, for Christ's sake!-I am standing before my father with the worst knot of trepidation growing in my stomach. He's not smiling, but then, he rarely does.

He looks at me, his blue eyes, not the same shade as mine, staring directly at me. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice is only faintly tinged with reproach, which, to me, is more damning than if he screamed at me, full on.

But he never screams, you idiot. That would be...undignified.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"John, why didn't you tell me that you and Juliet were expecting?"

A strange note falls into his voice...hurt? Sadness?

"Uh...we were going to tell you after the wedding, sir."

"I see." He looks, well, unconvinced.

"We didn't think you would take too kindly...to the idea that I'd gotten Juliet in her current condition prior to the wedding."

He thinks about that, barely changing his expression. He's silent for a while.

"How is your math ability, John?"

"It's fine. Why do you ask?"

"When were you born?"

"November 22, 1963."

"Very good. And when is your mother's and my anniversary?"

Oops. "April?" I think this is correct.

"That's correct. April of what year?"

"Uh...I don't remember." The truth is, it never occurred to me to ask.

He looks at me, expressionless. "1963."

"Oh." I'm not sure what else to say here."

He looks at me, the same expression masking his face. "You don't seriously think I would be concerned about a matter like this, do you?"

"Well...I don't know...I never expected..."

"What, that I happen to be human?"

Well, yes, if you must know! I don't say it. I never do.

"Well, I am. And I loved your mother very much. As much as you obviously
love this young woman."

I nod, dumbly. Why do all my powers of speech evaporate in his presence?

"Congratulations. Now get inside. I think people are finally here-laggards. I can't believe how little regard people have for
punctuality..."

He and I both.
 

"Hey, big brother!"

It's my sister. Kat just about jumps into my arms and nearly bowls me over. How did Kat ever get to be a Byers? She is more of a soul sister to Juliet's mother's family.

"Sorry, we got lost!" She's hugging me so hard I'm almost out of breath.

Standing right behind her is Craig, my brother-in-law. Quiet, as always, he simply shakes my hand, says congratulations, happy to be here.

I cannot help but have a renewed respect for Craig. I've always gotten on well with him, but I've learned that there is much more to him than meets the eye.

After the honeymoon, we'll talk.

And my nieces, Kira and Lucy, are thrilled to see me, and I them. I have to make a point of seeing them more. I promise myself that this is the last year we will miss the Hilton Head trip. I know that we will have a small infant next summer, but Juliet has expressed that she feels babies are portable, adaptable creatures.

Well, Mulder and Dana have pulled up, toting their little ones. Portable, yes. Adaptable? Well...

Then again, Rebecca Mulder can't help it if too much of Daddy's DNA races around in her veins. Everything about her screams, Mulder. Except the nose. Thank God.

"Hey, Byers. Having fun with the in-laws?"

Mulder has a way of cutting right through to the chase.

"Oh, about as much fun as you were having with yours at your wedding."

He throws back his head and laughs as he relays the conversation to his wife. She gives him a look, the famous 'Mulder!' look she has had so many opportunities to perfect.

"Unca Byers, Daddy says you getting mawied t'mowa!" Rebecca Mulder is barely two, but her vocabulary, syntax and grammar reflect the capabilities of a much older child.

"That's right," I pick her up, give her a quick hug, and set her back down. She's off and running as soon as she hits the ground, her mother chasing her down and ordering her back. She turns to her mother, signs something-how this child knows how to code-switch, at her early age, and with the degree of sophistication she possesses, amazes me.

I wonder what our child will be like. In spite of the fact that Rebecca is a highly intelligent, entertaining child, I silently pray for somebody with a temperament a little bit closer to her younger sister's. Sarah is a calmer child. Thank God. One Mulderclone child is sufficient.

I can see out of the corner of my eye that Langly, Ally, Miranda and Patrick have arrived, with Michael and Kelly not far behind. I relax as I realize my party has almost all arrived.

Where is Frohike? Of all persons, I expected him to be first. Of course, he's shorter than nearly everyone, so he could be here, but I don't see his old Thunderbird in the parking lot.

Finally, I hear the familiar hum of his car pull in, and he and the lovely Martha come over to us-and she does look lovely indeed. When I've seen Martha in the past, it's always been in casual clothes or her work uniform.

She should get dressed up more often.

"Sorry we're late...we had...a few things to take care of," he apologizes as he approaches.

Did I just see Martha blush a bit? I think so. But she's smiling, too...

That old dog isn't all talk and no action after all. Not that I ever figured that to be the case.

Nicole comes over to us. She looks tired-unlike Juliet, she is not enjoying a model pregnancy, but she seems to be coping just fine. "I think everyone's here-let's try to get this mob inside."

I'm grateful we have her-at this point, I can barely cope with myself, let alone the inmates that seemed to have all escaped from the asylum en masse.

Nicole organizes Frohike, Langly, Mulder, Michael and I on one side, Juliet, Paula, Christina, Angela and Ally on the other. Paula is her best friend; Christina and Angela are cousins. I think that's what she said. She did once explain the connection-but Caroline has nine siblings, six of whom are still alive, and all of them managed to have at least one child. And many of those children have grandchildren, and then there's the cousins...

I need a scorecard. This is worse than trying to keep the characters straight in the novel 'Shogun.'

"Hey, do I get to walk with Ally?" Langly pipes up. I love him like a brother, but if he's going to be a pain in the ass, I'm going to smack him.

"You're walking with Christina," Nicole informs him, in a tone that indicates that there will be no whining, no sulking, and no arguing. "Ally walks with Michael." I think this may be because Ally is the only woman there who is shorter than Michael.

"Oh, hell, they know about us," Ally pretends mock horror, and Michael plays along with it.

"And we were trying so hard...think they followed us to the No-Tell Motel?"

This forces everyone to get even sillier than they already are. Personally, I'd like to get this over with and get to dinner, where I can have a drink and relax a little. Yes, I will be drinking tonight. I promise.

"Does everyone have their formal wear?" Nicole inquires.

"Got mine," Michael grins.

"Yes," I would expect nothing less from Frohike.

"Getting mine in the morning." Typical Langly, do it at the last minute.

"All taken care of." The smile on Mulder's face somehow unnerves me. I've played poker with Mulder, and part of the reason he's so terrible at the game is because he's got one of those faces that somehow always reveals what he's got on his mind.

And his look right now suggests total mischief. I can only hope that his wife will exercise a modicum of control over him.

That would certainly be different. I don't think she attempts to control him as a rule...I think she realized long ago that her efforts would be less wasted in other areas.

The women are giggly, but somehow more organized than we are. I'm not sure what they're going on about on the other side of the altar, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. About the only problem on their side is that Ally, true to form, has been attacked by the gods of giggling, and she is unable to stop. Nicole glares at her, and she pulls herself together-but not without a few residual snickers.

And she's the oldest woman in the party.

The priest comes out, and finally, we are able to walk through the ceremony-the anarchy that prevailed at Ally and Langly's rehearsal seems to have been suppressed here thanks to Nicole.

Until we get to the end.

"Hey, kiss the bride, you idiot!" Langly yells.

"Yeah!" Michael echoes his sentiments, and they get the crowd going.

Fine. They want me to kiss the bride, I will kiss the bride.

I take Juliet deep in my arms, and the kiss I give her-well, it's not church tongue, that's for certain. We do earn heavy applause for it, and plenty of shrieks and catcalls. I'm a bit embarrassed, but it was worth it. And I think the lady liked it.

"You going to do that tomorrow?" she whispers to me as we do the recessional walk.

"You want me to?"
 

Dinner is being served at a very fine restaurant, Italian, of course. Caroline rented out a large banquet room, which is a good thing since we have a large, noisy crowd that could very well have chased out all of the remaining patrons.

"Caroline," I whisper to her. "I know this is going to be an expensive meal...Juliet and I-"

She shakes her head. "Don't be silly. Your father already paid for it."

Again, he opened the checkbook?

He probably hates this, too.

But he is talking to two of Juliet's uncles, both of whom operate their own construction-related businesses-well, the only difference I guess would be in the scale of their operations. But at least he's found a few capitalists to identify with.

He's paid for nearly the entire wedding...and has never said a word to me about it. Of course, I'm from a world where having money is necessary, but talking about it is considered gauche.

And I wonder how much Caroline has been conspiring with my father. I could easily believe that she would approach him, not in the sense of trying to get him to pay, but she feels that because he's my father, she should ask him...

"Caroline, have you talked to my father?"

"Of course, dear. What did you think? Our children are getting married. We have to talk."

"And...it was all right?"

"He seems very nice." I find my jaw hanging open at her expression of this. I've heard my father described in a number of ways...this is not one of them. "He told me that he would take care of it all." Meaning he would write the checks.

"He...didn't give you any trouble?"

She laughs. "John, I don't think you know your father very well, do you?"

"Uh-no."

"Well, we'll never make an Italian out of him, but he's decent enough. And he wanted to do this. I think this is his way of trying to tell you that he loves you."

Well, with my father, nothing says it like cash.

I guess when that's the only vocabulary you have, you utilize it.
 

FROHIKE:

"Mel. One glass. We agreed on this."

She's referring to my allotted consumption of alcoholic beverages this evening. I've been allocated one glass of wine, red, by milady.

I don't understand why she's so worried about me. I'm taking care of myself just fine. I'm not drinking. I'm not working too hard. I'm not worrying too much.

I confess to a bit of surprise at how much revelry this occasion entails. With Allison and Langly, it was anticipated that it would be a weekend of rowdy, high-volume fun, and nobody with that expectation went away disappointed. For Byers and Juliet, I was expecting a somewhat more sedate, civilized event.

I'd forgotten that Juliet is half Italian, just as Jan is. And I remember my own wedding. The main difference was that while Jan's family was substantially less than thrilled with her marrying me-mostly because I was encouraging her educational aspirations-Juliet's family has welcomed Byers with open arms and hearts. He is very lucky, although right now, with a large crowd of his soon-to-be-in-laws teasing him, he may not feel that way. Mostly he looks as if he's been cornered by a pack of salivating Dobermans who would all like a bite of flesh.

That boy needs a drink.

I wouldn't mind one myself-but I did promise the lady.

Martha is talking with Allison and Dana Scully right now-Allison appears to be acting as translator here, which is a bit of a challenge since her one hand clutches at her margarita. Dana Scully looks positively delicious in bright red.

As we are among the few nondrinkers in the crowd, we can form kinship on that basis. I join them, ask her how she's feeling. She makes a gesture with her hands suggesting, mediocre. But she is tough-her smile is there, and she is mindful of her daughters, doing what she can not to allow them to create too much destruction.

Which will prove to be futile-there are at least a dozen young children here, all of them bursting with energy and annoyed at the restraints of the adults. I can hear the voice of Rebecca Mulder above the crowd-like her father, she has a way of making her presence seen, heard and felt. Such a beautiful child-long, straight dark hair, those gray-green eyes of her father, the full, pouty mouth. She is a terribly intelligent little girl, like her father before her, and she is every bit as impossible as he is.

There is justice in the world, after all.

Patrick Langly has decided that attempting to behave himself is boring and unnecessary, and nearly knocks over a waiter in the process. Death threats from Langly and Allison have little effect on him. About the only person I've seen able to successfully control him is Miranda-and right now, she has discovered a group of teenage boys amongst Juliet's relatives and is off enchanting them with her feminine wiles. Her cousin-half brother is not part of her consciousness right now.

Kelly, Michael, Langly and Mulder are all laughing over something they consider hilarious-no doubt something utterly sophomoric and probably disgusting. This is a group that considers 'Austin Powers' art. I'm a bit envious as I watch the male members of this group each enjoying a Sam Adams.

Juliet holds court with various female relatives. She looks positively radiant. I think this is her dream come to life. I just pray that for her and Byers, there will be no more nightmares, that the serenity they cherish will be a constant theme, not an interlude, in their lives together.

Fat chance, Frohike. You know Byers better than that.

I'm so pleased that Byers finally looked into the future, and decided to make it his own. To me, this is a blessing. I cannot believe I am attending my second wedding of my two compadres in less than two years, but I am overjoyed to be doing it.

I wonder if I will ever round out the picture. I anticipate Martha and I being together...I've come to where I cannot imagine us not being together, at any time in the future. Whether or not that will involve marital commitment, I am not sure. I suppose we will have to wait and see what transpires over time.

"Hey, Frohike, how are you?" Allison comes over and kisses me on the cheek. She is mildly buzzed-I think she and Langly have decided that the restraints they have come to impose on themselves most of the time can be disbanded with this weekend.

"Fine, my dear, fine."

I'd be happier if I could have a drink, but then again, I have a feeling that if I succumb to the call of J&B, I will be leaving here alone tonight, and the thought of that is unbearable.

"You know, Frohike, I didn't think anything was more insane than a Jewish wedding."

"That's because you probably haven't been to many Italian ones."

"Well, at least we don't have the Elvis impersonators this time."

"This is true." Only at Allison and Langly's wedding would there be Elvis impersonators.

I think. I hope.

"Some of our Elvis impersonators told me they wanted to skydive in, but since we got married in the city, they couldn't land properly, so they bagged it."

"Oh God. Flying Elvises. Didn't you have enough excitement at your wedding?"

"I think so," she giggles. "God, seems like so long ago, doesn't it, Frohike?"

"Yes...and no."

"Well, it might have been interesting if we did have Flying Elvises...the Utah Branch was pretty bummed that they couldn't make their entry at ours that way."

"There's a Utah branch?"

"And a Colorado one, and one from Arizona...they're mostly TMB readers. I don't think they invited very many of them this time. Smaller crowd."

Yes, a much tamer, more sedate crowd of only 200. Right.

"You think Byers is happy?" she asks me, sipping her fruity summer-style drink, complete with fruit slices and a paper umbrella, which she hands to me. "Hide that. The kids fight over them. And in order to give one to all of them, I'd have to get really, really wasted tonight."

So she is planning to be somewhat restrained tonight. I think that's positive.

She grins. "Langly and I are holding out for tomorrow."

I just hope neither of them is driving.
 

The food is wonderful-we're given a choice of linguine with clams, spinach lasagna, or chicken Marsala. Martha indicates that she feels the chicken Marsala is the choice I should make. My mouth waters at the idea of linguine with clams-I adore clams-but I oblige her. We did have oysters the other night, and shellfish is not on my prescribed list of acceptable consumables.

The wine is being poured. I'm not a big wine drinker, but Martha says that reds are heart-healthy, and I have been permitted one glass tonight.

The waiters continuously refill glasses-mine included-but I never get beyond my one glass, because as soon as it's filled, Martha picks it up, and drains it shortly thereafter. This process is repeated numerous times until she is rosy and giddy.

And she says wine makes her horny.

If that's the case, then we'll be very busy tonight.
 

BYERS:

This is so totally different from the first time I got married. I'm grateful for it. The noise, the festivity, the relatives and friends...

There's something new in my life.

Joy.

I'm still getting used to the idea of joy. But the more I become acquainted with it, the more I like it.

And best of all, my father is here this time. I'm just buzzed enough to think we might be close someday.

No, it won't happen. But we are talking again. We do have a relationship, of sorts. And he has demonstrated to me in the only way he knows that hedoes care for me, for Juliet, for what kind of lives we do have.

Dinner is over, there are about a million flash cameras going off in my face...I could stand to go home and lie down, maybe even get some sleep...

"Hey, John!" It's one of Juliet's myriad cousins, male, name long since forgotten. Fortunately, they don't seem to care about that sort of thing.

"Yes?"

"Know a good place where we can drink?"

Not that they need it...the liquor has flowed freely tonight, and they've most assuredly partaken of it.

"Well, yeah, I do, actually."

"Near here?"

"Not really..."

"Well, how far?" This voice I recognize as Juliet's Uncle George, same as the one outside our bedroom door this afternoon.

"Maryland."

"Hey, Maryland's not far! Hey, road trip to Maryland! Who's on?"

"I think I'll pass," Juliet says. "I'm going back to my mother's hotel, anyway."

"But you'll be home later, won't you?"

"John, don't you know you're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding!" She laughs.

Let's see...we've slept together for ages, we've bought a house together, been through major illness and injury together, and I've gotten her pregnant...

And I'm not supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding?

"Count me in," I say.

"And myself."

The voice is, to my shock, my father's.

END OF PART 89