The Double Black Diamond Wedding

Today was the sixteenth wedding of the Sugarbush summer season: late August—in the Mad River Valley. Full trees of green swayed in light breezes. The river water warmed enough to float tubers and swimmers. The hawks swung in lazy circles high in cloudless skies.

Pio dressed in his black shirt and pants, turning gray after all the washings. Paloma donned her similar outfit, preferring the flexibility of pants over the skirts that some of the other servers wore. Together they were the team that served the alcohol to the guests, balancing trays full of glasses, remembering complex craft beer names, and bringing glasses of water when guests were getting tipsy. 

“Okay, team, this is a tough one tonight. I’ve rated it a double black diamond,” Meg, the wedding coordinator said as she briefed the core server team.

Paloma looked at Pio. Pio was an old hand, here for his third season, but it was Paloma’s first year, and he’d taught her the job and buoyed her spirits when she was homesick. “What’s that mean?” she asked. “We haven’t had that color yet. Only greens and blues so far, right?”

Pio whispered to Paloma. “It means it’s going to be a long night, perhaps with a lot of bad behavior. I served at a double black diamond last year. Just try to keep a sense of humor. Hey, at least it’s not our wedding, right?”

An image flashed in Paloma’s mind—Pio, handsome as a groom in a black tuxedo with a red bowtie at an altar, waiting for her. She blushed to even think about it. Early in the season, Paloma thought he might ask her for a date, but he never did, so she contented herself with their wonderful friendship. It was a short summer season after all.

He kept whispering, “And don’t worry, it can’t be worse than the one last year. That one required an ambulance and the fire trucks by the end of the evening.”

Meg continued, “It’s mostly the parents causing trouble this time. There was a screaming match over the shade of white for the linens.” Meg sighed. “We’ve got two contentious divorces and bad blood between all four of the parents, especially the fathers. So, watch for signs of hostility, and if you see it, call me in. It’s often best just to separate them for a while. I’ve done it before.”

“You’d think these people would be so happy,” Paloma swung her arms in a wide circle. The lights in the wood rafters glowed a soft white. The long tables were dressed in white linen, with enormous bouquets of sunflowers, peonies, and greens in vases placed down the center. A seven-piece band, including horns, guitars, keyboard, and drums, tuned instruments on the dance floor stage. A waft of sizzling meat threaded the air. “All this planning, all this money. And it’s their special day.”

“Don’t worry, Paloma, love will prevail; it somehow always magically does,” Pio said.

The two servers fell silent as Meg continued. “Of course, you guys are all pros by now. Do your best. Find me if you need.” She pointed to the headset that they all wore to stay in contact during the party. “Just call.”

Outside the event room, a cheer sounded from the ceremony taking place on the front lawn under a bower decorated with flowers that matched the inside bouquets—the yellow petals of the sunflowers a shade darker than the pale yellow gowns and matching shoes of the bridesmaids.

“Okay, showtime,” Meg said. “They’ll be coming any minute.”

 ***

Moments later, the wedding guests flowed into the event hall, the Gatehouse Lodge. For the first hour, the band played softly, just an acoustic guitar and keyboards. Pio and Paloma passed flutes of champagne; other servers passed caviar on toast points and shrimp cocktail. Paloma whispered to Pio as she passed him to retrieve a tray of drinks, “This doesn’t seem so bad.”

He raised an eyebrow and whispered back, tickling her ear, “The night is young.”

She hoped he was wrong.

In hour two, the best man, the groom's brother, wobbled to the microphone on the stage, a full flute of champagne sloshing over the edge. “Hey everyone. I’m Charles, the better-looking brother,” he said. “Can’t believe my little bro beat me to it? Come on now and raise a toast. To the first in our family to find himself a permanent gorgeous lady. Hell, who knew scrawny little bro could land such a looker?” He winked and raised his glass as an awkward silence settled over the room. “To the couple. Cheers,” he said. The guests shuffled nervously before raising their own glasses and murmuring, “Cheers.”

Pio and Paloma exchanged glances. He ran his index finger over his throat, their signal to cut this brother off from more champagne. Paloma nodded. The groom, blushing red and shaking his head, dragged his brother off the stage.

The dinner passed without too much trouble: guests complimented the food, champagne corks popped constantly. Sure, the groom’s uncle was verbose and loud with his proclamations about the state of the federal government. And Paloma overheard three of the women guests berating the bride’s aunt's dress as being too close to white.

As the dishes were cleared, Paloma and Pio took a break near the bar, slugging back cool glasses of water. “I am going to miss the happiness, the laughter, all of us making this happen,” Paloma said. “Thanks for all your help this season.”

Later this week, Paloma would be headed home to Chile to join the ski staff at Valle Nevado for the end of the season, then back to school. Pio was staying on, not sure when he’d return to Chile. He had completed his university degree and wanted to explore the world.

Paloma knew she’d miss the camaraderie of the whole server crew, and Pio in particular. Who else knew exactly how much honey to add to her yerba mate? And who else could make her laugh no matter what wedding guest crisis they faced? 

Pio nodded and leaned close. “My pleasure. And I’m going to miss your gorgeous eyes that shine under these white lights.”

She laughed and batted her eyelashes before picking up another full tray. He’d never said that before. Was he trying to tell her something?

In hour four, the bride and groom danced as newlyweds. Her white gown, the hemline studded with Swarovski crystals, sparkled almost as much as her eyes as she gazed at her groom.

The bride and her stepfather swayed to “My Girl” for the second dance. He leaned toward her ear to whisper something, and her smile widened. 

Paloma grinned for a moment at the tender display—but then the bride’s other dad strode onto the dance floor and tapped the stepfather on the shoulder; he ignored the tap and tightened his grip on his daughter. The bride bit her lip as the three of them stood in the middle of the floor, caught in an awkward standoff.

“Meg. Two dads on the dance floor,” Paloma said into her headset. “On it,” Meg said as she sprang into action from the gift table, grabbing the bride’s mother on her way and partnering her with the stepdad, turning the chaos into a planned event. The bride nodded at Meg and took her biological father’s hand.

“Oh, my goodness, the poor bride,” Paloma said as Pio passed with a tray.

“There’s more to come, I’m sure of it,” he said.

By the fifth song, Pio motioned to Paloma to follow him outside. Hovering in the shadows, a trio of middle-school boys giggled with cans of beer they had pilfered from the bar. Paloma emptied the beer onto the ground as Pio dragged the boys back to their parents.

“At least they weren’t on their phones,” Pio said.

Paloma laughed out loud into the night air.

A short while after, Paloma called Meg again, who this time couldn’t get to the scene fast enough to stop the loud crack of the mother of the groom as she slapped her ex-husband across the face, yelling, “The bitch is wearing my diamond necklace. The one you told me was stolen.”

Paloma checked her watch. Still another hour to go.

In the sixth hour, an energetic young couple danced into a side table, crashing a bouquet, the glass vase, and the lit candle display to the floor. Paloma put her tray down and rushed to stomp out the flames that licked the edge of a tablecloth. Pio saluted her as he raced to the broom closet, yanking it open to discover a deshabille bridesmaid with an equally undressed groomsman. Shrieks rang out from the closet duo as they struggled to pull up their clothes. Pio partially closed the door again and stood guard. When Paloma caught his eye, they both shook with silent laughter.

Finally, the evening was over. Guests staggered out to the shuttle bus or off to their hotel rooms. The band packed up the instruments as servers roamed the lodge, carting off plates, spent cups, and crumpled napkins.

Pio signaled to Paloma to join him in the corner, where he opened a bottle of champagne with a practiced twist and poured it into two flutes. “Don’t worry. Meg said it was okay,” he said with a smile. “A final toast to your first season.”

“Thank you.” Paloma kicked off one of her heels and rubbed her foot. “What a night! " Do you think the bride and groom will survive their families?”

Pio pointed out the window where they could see the bride and groom swaying slowly under a clear sky full of stars. “I think they’ll be just fine. They have kind hearts; they even tipped us well, despite the chaos.”

“Or maybe because of it.” Paloma chuckled softly. “Do you think you’ll ever get married someday?”

“I think about it,” he said. “But my wedding might be a bit different. Smaller. Less caviar, more empanadas. And a different girl,” he said, reaching for Paloma’s hand.

“Pio? What is this?”

His dark eyes glimmered. “I don’t know. I think it’s the hope of love, despite the chaos of life. Paloma, I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”

Her lips curved in a gentle smile. “But I’m leaving this week, Pio.”

“I know. Perhaps that makes me bolder,” he said.

What if this had happened earlier? Would they have been lovers like the newlyweds on the patio? Or enemies like the parents, the now ex-lovers? She tapped her finger to her lips and gazed at his gleaming smile and dark skin. I have a few days to find out.

She put her hand in his. “Perhaps it makes me bolder, too.”

They sat hand in hand for a few moments, sipping their champagne.

Paloma raised her glass. “A toast to weddings, no matter how crazy.” She turned her gaze out the window, where the bride and groom still swayed slowly to music only they could hear.

Pio raised his glass and touched it lightly to hers. “And the beauty of love, no matter what gets in the way.”