Turned out the bride and groom were both from big Greek families, so there was a lot of toasting to be done. My head was buzzing a little, but it was a good buzz, a light, drifty feeling that helped hold the heaviness of the past week and a half at a distance.“Uncle Alexander talks more than Bubbe Birnbaum,” Mitch whispered out of the side of his mouth.“At least he speaks English,” I whispered back.“True. But look at the old guy behind him. He’s going to toast in Greek for sure.” He nodded to the line of men and women waiting to take their place on the small stage next to the bride and groom’s table.Or the bride and groom’s pillows, rather. The pair reclined on yellow and red pillows, laughing at the toasts even when they weren’t funny, feeding each other grapes and sips from the red plastic cup I’d first spotted in the carriage. The caterers had supplied glass champagne flutes, but the bride and groom seemed to prefer whatever hooch they’d brought with them.It was pretty cute.
