Elementary, my dear J.

I am trying my darndest to give Em and Chuck the benefit of the doubt, to have a little faith in human nature. Believe in the innate goodness of people. Surely, this will all work out and I have panicked for nothing. J. is right. His sister Sheila, though passive and woeful and simple, is after all, also a grownup and well meaning. J. is her only sibling. She doesn't even have brothers- and sisters-in-law. Surely she'll show some deference to him and at least consider all that he has been through and appreciate how happy he is - and want to bring all that happiness together that day.



But still, I need to sleuth. I am unable to proceed with anything until I know the plan. And curses on these people, they are going to make me dig for answers.



My first opportunity is the Labor Day BBQ. I walk into J.'s Mom's house to see the dining table covered, not with potato salad and deviled eggs, but several dozen identical silver picture frames, all standing facing the same direction.



I walk to the living room and greet J., his mother, the bride and groom, and a few other people. I ask - "Did I miss a photo shoot? What are all the picture frames for?"



Em gleefully but very matter of factly states, as if I should have known this, that they are using them to identify the tables. Instead of Table 1 and Table 2 and so on, we will be seated at tables identified by famous couples whose pictures will be in the frames. (Because plain old numbers are so last season?) We could be at the Bogey and Bacall table or the Lois Lane and Clark Kent table. Maybe even the Lady and the Tramp table. Not having a poker face, I am sure I did a lamer than usual job of concealing my "Are you kidding me?" look.



"We didn't want to use numbers, " Em says screwing up her face in distaste. (Oh right! Because somehow numbers have long outlived their usefulness for things like this. Who uses numbers to identify anything any more? Social Security numbers? Useless!)



"Oh!" I say brightly. "Can J. and I be at the Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton table?" I was distracted by J. huffing Orange Crush out of his nose, but I am sure I heard a gasp and saw at least a few hands fly to clutch at imaginary pearls. How dare I throw out an impure thought with all the pristine, virginal wedding thoughts in the room! Wishing that a bottle of Jack Daniels would magically appear next to the pitcher of lemonade, I left the room to sit by the pool and watch my children swim...and maybe pick up a few clues.



Nearly the entire evening passed before I got what I needed. I had long before begun to tune out all the mindless drivel about monogramming and everyday china when my awareness flashed into action as if on cue. I do not know what the question was, but Em's reply to J. 's younger daughter was "Because I addressed your father's Save the Date to him and his family."



So there it was. Em had read the bride's play book. She knew exactly what she was doing when she sent the Save the Date to me alone. It was intended for me alone, and intended to answer any question about whether or not my children were to be included. They were not. That was now clear.



Case closed.