My Past And Present

The human brain, Clara believed, was capable of holding roughly five hundred thousand distinct pieces of information. At 5:15 PM on a humid Saturday afternoon, every single one of those slots in Clara’s brain was occupied by a floral arrangement, a dietary restriction, or a deeply harbored family grudge.

Standing in the vestibule of the Starlight Grand Ballroom, Clara smoothed down the front of her ivory silk gown. She took a deep, measured breath. *Two years,* she reminded herself. She had spent twenty-four months, thirty-seven color swatches, and six terrifyingly intense spreadsheets preparing for this exact moment. The centerpieces were hydrangeas, the napkins were folded into geometric swans, and the itinerary was timed down to the second.

Then the doors swung open, and the noise hit her.

It wasn't the refined, gentle hum of a classic wedding reception. It sounded like a mid-tier riot broke out inside a karaoke lounge.

"Clara!" a voice shrieked over the thump of a heavy bass line.

Clara turned to see Chloe, her Maid of Honor, sprinting toward her like a paramedic entering a disaster zone. Around Chloe’s waist sat a neon-pink fanny pack—the "Emergency Kit"—zippered shut against the chaos. She halted, grabbed Clara by the shoulders, and looked her dead in the eye.

"Don't go near Table Four," Chloe whispered, her eyes wide with combat fatigue. "Just... bypass it completely."

"What happened to Table Four?" Clara asked, her voice cracking slightly. "Table Four is where Leo’s college friends are supposed to be sitting quietly."

"Leo’s college friends found the vodka luge before the caterers even finished setting up the ice sculpture," Chloe said quickly, zipping open her fanny pack and pulling out a tube of waterproof mascara and a small roll of duct tape. "Also, someone—and I’m not naming names, but it rhymes with *Uncle Bob*—has somehow commandeered the DJ booth. DJ Scratch is currently sitting at the bar eating mini quiches because Bob threatened to tell the venue manager that Scratch wasn't unionized."

Clara stared at her. "Uncle Bob doesn't even know what a union is."

"He knows how to sound authoritative when he's had three Old Fashioneds," Chloe countered.

Right on cue, the house lights flickered, and the sound of classic 1990s hip-hop blasted through the ballroom speakers at a deafening volume. A booming voice echoed over the microphone.

*"Y'ALL READY TO GET THIS PARTY STARTED OR WHAT?!"*

Clara closed her eyes. *Deep breaths. In for four seconds, hold for four seconds, out for four seconds.*

When she opened her eyes, Leo was walking toward her. He looked handsome in his fitted black tuxedo, though his bowtie was already undone, dangling around his collar like a loose belt. He held two glasses of champagne, handing one to Clara with a serene, slightly dopey grin.

"Hey, babe," Leo said smoothly, taking a sip. "Great party, right?"

"Leo, your uncle is currently acting as a rogue disc jockey," Clara said, her voice rising an octave. "And why is your bowtie undone? We haven't even done the grand entrance yet!"

"Bob’s just building hype," Leo said, waving a dismissive hand. "And the bowtie was tight. Relax, Clara. Everyone is having a blast."

"Having a blast wasn't item three on the master itinerary, Leo! *Orderly cocktail hour* was item three!" Clara gestured wildly toward the ballroom floor. "Look at Table Seven!"

Leo looked. At Table Seven, a man in an exquisite plum-colored velvet suit was currently holding court. He had a glass of Dom Pérignon in one hand and was using the other to gesture poetically toward a group of visibly uncomfortable bridesmaids.

Leo frowned. "Who is that guy? I thought he was your cousin’s friend."

"I thought he was *your* fraternity brother!" Clara gasped. "Leo, that’s Julian! My ex-boyfriend from sophomore year of college! Why is he here?!"

"I didn't invite him!"

"I *definitely* didn't invite him!" Clara looked closely at Julian, who was now dramatically wiping a faux tear from his eye while talking to Clara's mother. "He's telling my mom about the summer we spent in Maine. We never even went to Maine!"

Before Leo could respond, a sudden commotion erupted near the entrance of the main dining area.

A woman holding an iPhone high in the air was dodging between servers carrying trays of bacon-wrapped scallops. It was Aunt Susan, Clara’s notoriously unfiltered aunt, currently operating as a one-woman news crew.

"Hey everyone! Live on Facebook right now with Clara and Leo’s big day!" Susan shouted into her phone camera, practically shoving the lens into a waiter's face. "Here we have young Kevin bringing out the greasy appetizers. Kevin, tell my two hundred followers how you feel about the bride's seating arrangement!"

"Susan, please stop broadcasting!" Clara yelled, stepping forward, but she was cut off by a sudden, electric burst of movement in the center of the room.

A circle had formed near the dance floor. People were clapping rhythmically.

Clara and Leo pushed through the crowd to see what was happening. In the center of the floor, a guy in a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt and dark sunglasses was executing a flawless, high-energy breakdance spin. He popped up onto his feet, did a backflip, and pointed directly at Clara’s 82-year-old grandmother, who immediately clapped her hands and joined him in a synchronized shimmy.

"Who is that?!" Clara asked, stunned despite herself.

"I think..." Leo squinted. "I think that’s the guy Dave brought. His Plus One."

"Dave’s Plus One is an Olympic-level breakdancer?"

"Dave met him in the parking lot twenty minutes ago," Leo admitted sheepishly. "Apparently his car broke down outside, and Dave offered him free roast beef if he came in."

Clara looked at the breakdancing stranger. Then she looked at Uncle Bob, who was now screaming rap lyrics into the microphone while DJ Scratch happily ate his fourth plate of appetizers. She looked at Julian, who was now reciting poetry to the venue staff. Finally, she looked at the giant, beautifully calligraphy-lettered seating chart resting on an easel near the door.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Clara took a step forward, reached out, and flipped the seating chart face down onto the carpet.

Leo blinked. "What are you doing?"

Clara took a long sip of her champagne, set the empty glass on a passing tray, and turned to her new husband with a wild, resigned spark in her eye.

"The plan is dead," Clara said firmly. "We are in the wild west now."

Chloe stepped beside her, unzipping her fanny pack and handing Clara a fresh glass of wine. "That's the spirit, boss. What are your orders?"

Clara looked out over the floor, watching her grandmother pull off a remarkably good moonwalk alongside a complete stranger.

"First," Clara declared, "we reclaim the microphone from Bob."