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After the Wedding Parties

No milk. No bread. No eggs. Thirty unopened bottles of champagne, five gallons of tequila, and a case of red wine. Lilies, leftover from the bride’s bouquet, in a new crystal vase on the kitchen table. Remnants of a bouquet from a shower. In the refrigerator, aluminum tray of barbecue brisket and chicken. Aluminum tray of potato salad. Two large bags of frozen hushpuppies. Microwave. Coffee maker. Ten yard bags filled with leaves and twigs, raked by uncle. New dishes stacked on couch. Bicycle in living room. Food processor in box in living room. Food processor, out of box, on kitchen table. Half unpacked suitcase in bedroom. Bag of books from three day getaway on a lake – we never cracked a single one.

And that’s the physical aftermath, or some of it, anyway. The emotional aftermath: imagine a storm that whips through but instead of breaking windows and dropping branches, it sprouts things and coaxes the flowers out. A love storm. That’s what it was like.