Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“I hope that’s not in your speech, Tuck,” Gramps jokes upon the arrival of the summoned microphone. “It won’t sound nearly as sweet coming out of your lips.”
The small group laughs prior to Tucker taking the speaking tool. “You’re right, but hopefully, what I have to say is still appreciated.”
“Just speak from the heart,” Grams insists on a gentle past to the chest that she then uses to fix the pocket square that matches his hat. “And make it quick. Bal wants cake and will get increasingly crabbier the longer its denied.”
Additional chuckles floating around the semi-circle precede the man I didn’t think I’d actually get here months ago politely requesting everyone’s eyes. “May I have your attention for a moment, please?”
Everyone in the outdoor setting stops what they’re doing.
Shifts Tucker’s direction.
Silences themselves and stills their movements.
“Thank you.” His empty hand accepts the glass of champagne it’s being handed. “Many of you know me and for those few who don’t, I’m Tucker Frost, the son of the bride to be. And as her only son, I was asked to say a few words, not so much as to give her away, but to welcome Rich into our lives. The truth is…I almost couldn’t do it.”
Captivated like everyone else I anxiously listen on.
“I actually wasn’t going to do it because I had convinced myself that if I did, I would be betraying the man who raised me. Who…loved my mom in the years before.”
I helplessly let my hand clutch my chest.
“The true betrayal to him would be to say nothing. To…not…acknowledge that she deserves happiness. Peace. To…continue to live a life worth living.” He sucks in a sharp, almost painful breath. “My father wasn’t perfect. We didn’t always…see eye to eye…and in those moments, those particular moments, my mother waved the white flag. Sent us to our separate corners. Encouraged us to breathe and then try to understand one another again. She was…the clear adhesive so easy to overlook because what she wanted wasn’t to stand out but to hold everything together.”
A tiny hitch of breath causes me to steal a glimpse of a teary-eyed Brit.
“Which got me thinking about all sorts of art. Paintings. And sculptures. Photographs. It got me reflecting on different styles and executions. And what I realized is that family is basically nothing more than a living work of art.” His attention drifts the direction we’re all standing in. “People see different focal points and are moved by various portions. What some people believe to be mistakes left behind by the artists, others value the rawness in the mis stroke or clump of paint. However, what matters…what really matters…is that there’s always a sense of beauty to be found in the piece itself no matter where your eyes land. There’s serenity in those smudges and love in those knicks. And after having lost those so close to me at one point in my life, I struggled to see and appreciate anything other than what I believed to be missing.”
Seeing tears arise in his own eyes convinces me to step closer.
Rest a supportive hand on his back.
“But in the past few weeks, I’ve realized that I can continue to dwell on what once was or I can continue to add and create and cherish the new parts added like my girlfriend, June, and my stepfather-to-be, Rich.” At that Tucker completely focuses on the couple we’re here to celebrate. “I choose the latter. I choose to welcome you Rich into this artwork in progress or as the rest of the world might call it…our family.” The two men exchange wide smiles which are followed by the lifting of glasses. “Cheers, to the happy couple!”
An echoing of the word escapes everyone watching including myself.
Probably should’ve snuck a glass on the way in, but I didn’t exactly have time.
Plus, that old Betty is really strong.
Makes me wanna know what her workout regime looks like.
The hustle and bustle of the guests resumes while Grams cups her grandson’s cheek lovingly. “I knew you’d say something perfect.”
“Thanks.”
“And thank you,” Gramps mischievously chortles, “because I can finally have some cake.”
“Tell my boys that if you see them,” Brett interjects into the conversation. “They’ve been dying for some too.”
Richard clears his throat, I assume to gather his words, and offers the male beside me an open palm for shaking. “Thank you, Tucker.”
They shake at the same time he playfully professes, “I owe you a cup of coffee.”
“Several.”
Their shared snickers are followed by Brit standing up to hug her son. “I appreciate what you said.”
For the first time in I don’t know how long, he hugs his mother back.
Holds her close.
Uses a kind tone and promises, “I’ll pick up the next time you call, Mom. Holiday or not.”
Soft sobs escape her pushing my boyfriend to hold her a bit tighter.