I survived my daughter’s wedding in New York. Against all odds, she had the generosity to invite me. I thought you wouldn’t invite me. Not long ago she wrote me an email saying she was tired of being my daughter. When he wrote I’m tired, he wanted … Say I’m frustrated, or I’m frustrated, or I’m fed up. Why am I tired of being my daughter? Because I am a disastrous father, an absent father. Although I paid for her entire education and all of her expenses while she attended a private university in New York, I did not attend her high school or college graduations, participate in her birthday parties, travel with her for the past 20 years, and we did not share the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. That’s why I thought he wouldn’t invite me to his wedding. Fortunately, I was wrong. In addition to inviting me, he also invited my wife and teenage daughter, giving me a lesson in good manners and love of family.
He was afraid to travel to New York to accompany her at her wedding. Since I was young, I have been reluctant to participate in these social events. I don’t like to attend a wedding, I prefer to attend a funeral. I allowed myself the audacity to miss all of my sisters’ and brothers’ weddings, eight weddings in all, all religious. I do not participate in these celebrations because excessive happiness and reckless belief in love cause me a deep sadness that I believe is born of envy. Since I don’t go to weddings, no one invites me when they get married anymore. Personally, I have been married twice, and the truth is that it took me a lot of work to be able to come on time with the bride to the judge’s office. I was about to cancel the legal process and run away, as if I were escaping a fire. My first marriage lasted five years and burned me and my wife. The second has been there for fifteen happy years and is still standing. None of those marriages had a religious ceremony, because I am an atheist, and no parties to celebrate love, because I felt that by marrying me I had given in and surrendered, and lost my freedom. I was such an idiot friend that I didn’t bring rings or witnesses to any of my improbable weddings, and the second time I showed up in my pajamas, which is illegal, and without a shower.
My daughter and her boyfriend did not want to swear eternal love in a religious confession, in front of an enlightened and slimy priest, or a bearded and cruel clergyman. My daughter was baptized into the Catholic faith, although she does not practice that faith, because, like me, she tends to believe that gods and maidens are noble human inventions. Her boyfriend belongs to a Jewish family in New York, but he also did not ask for marriage according to the rituals of that religion. For me, it was a comfort to know that I would not enter a Catholic temple holding my daughter in my arms. I was afraid that the pious souls there would mock me. It was also good to know that they would not be married according to Jewish wedding rituals and ceremonies.
Instead of getting married the old-fashioned way, with pomp and pageantry and broken glasses, the bride and groom chose a short and light ceremony, real and poignant. The judge did not marry them. My eldest daughter, a successful lawyer, was given special powers by the absent judge to unite them in marriage. The couple then married in front of her older sister and younger brother. They were the brothers, the legal authorities, and the spiritual guardians. They both gave beautiful speeches, born in the warmest part of the heart. They did not sin by giving advice and moralizing to the spouses, nor by telling them how they should love each other or behave in married life. They even told funny stories about the couple. At one point, the bride’s older sister became so emotional that her voice broke and tears were shed. Not a few of us cry with her.
After the ceremony, my eldest daughter did her best to take care of my wife, my teenage daughter, and me. I found his dedication to protecting us from any bad times, ambushes, insults or verbal fights touching. I felt proud of her, because she accompanied us at all times and entertained us with bright and emotional conversations. After the couple signed the marriage contract, my eldest daughter took us to the nightclub at that hotel. I was impressed that everything was so beautiful, classy, discreet and elegant. The groom’s father had booked the club to celebrate the wedding. It must have cost him a fortune. Everything was fine: the live music wasn’t loud and the band was playing beautiful love songs, the dim lights took pity on us elderly people, the waiters served delicious food and drinks, and the mood of the attendees was festive, but not rowdy.
I was happy because I saw my three daughters, my ex-wife, the mother of the bride, and my wife happy. I was also happy because the sandwiches were amazing, and when the waiter would come over to offer them, I would remove not one, but three or four from the tray. But above all, I was happy because I didn’t pay anything at all. I know roughly what it costs to finance a party like this. After taking another bite, I crunched the numbers, feeling giddy to think what my esteemed father-in-law had spent to pay for that unforgettable party.
I was so happy that I was warmly received by the bride’s entire family: her mother, my ex-wife; To his aunts and cousins, they are all very handsome; To his maternal grandfather, who was undefeated over time. The grandmothers were not there: his maternal grandmother had died not long ago, and his paternal grandmother, my mother, a beautiful lady of eighty-five, had not been invited on account of her advanced age. I missed her, felt her absence, and imagined how much she would enjoy this celebration of love.
After attacking the snacks with the appetite of a ravenous shark, and glad that I had not paid a dime, I suggested that we leave about nine o’clock at night. Then an incident occurred that made things tense. I told my eldest daughter that I would not leave the party without saying goodbye to her sister, the bride, and her mother, my ex-wife. I walked up to them, hugged the bride, told her how proud I was of her, and immediately hugged my ex-wife and told her she was a great mother, that I congratulated her, and that if she wanted to come to dinner with us, she would be cordially invited. As I whispered those words in her ear, my ex-wife seemed to glance sideways at my wife and contort her face in displeasure. That’s why, when we left the club and the cold came, my wife looked serious, upset, silent. I was surprised to see her upset. I asked her why she was upset. He answered me: Because everything was false. I preferred to remain silent. However, when we arrived at the hotel, we went down to the bar and I said that there was nothing wrong that night: neither the love of the couple, nor the genuine affection of my eldest daughter for us, nor the happiness of the guests. The discussion got heated because my wife pointed out that I had shouted something inappropriate or inappropriate into my ex-wife’s ear when she said goodbye, which is why my ex-wife looked at her with disgust, annoyance, or disapproval at my behavior as a seasoned ladies’ man who apparently wanted to seduce his wife and his ex-wife at the same party. She claimed I didn’t compliment my ex-wife, I just invited her to dinner. But the night had already gone wrong.
Two nights later, the new husband and my eldest daughter came to eat with us in the hotel restaurant, where the waiters and their leaders have known me all their lives. Dinner was a feast, and we gave the couple gifts (my friend Alejandro gave them a big check, my friend Camilo a silver coin, and I got watches from a French house) and promised to pay for the party in Lima, where neither of us were born. Before they left, I asked my newlywed daughter how much the party would cost. He mentioned the amount. I almost fainted. I told him: I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring my check book. I will send you the money later. I don’t know how I will pay for the celebration. I’m afraid I will have to ask my mother for financial help. She’d better be invited to the party this time.