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AMARA SAT AT THE Gallagher's table, with a mouthful of lasagna as she proofread Ian's essay. Her eyes scanned the piece of paper in front of her, and every so often she'd use a red pen and mark a spelling error. The door behind her swung open to reveal Veronica, who threw her purse down onto the countertop angrily.
"Well, the weddings not gonna work," she announced.
"Why not?" Amara asked, a thick noddle falling out of her mouth back onto the plate, and Lip laughed loudly from the seat next to her.
"That's attractive."
"Thanks I try," she replied, barely audible due to the food in her mouth.
"What happened?" Fiona questioned, standing up from feeding Liam at his high chair.
"Mama wants a real priest."
"Sheila said she'll make your wedding dress if you want," Debbie informed, glancing towards Veronica, who was grabbing a cup from one of the cabinets.
"Oh that's nice," Veronica commented. "But what good is the dress if I don't have a priest?"
"Why does it matter?" Amara wondered, making Veronica look her way. "I mean it is your wedding, right? Why does it matter what your mom wants?"
Veronica sighed, "because I actually like my mama. I know it's my wedding, but she's been waiting for me to get married my entire life. I want her to be happy with my decisions. I know that's hard for you to understand."
"Hey!" Amara flung a noodle at her, and the room broke out into a chorus of laughs. "That's not true. I actually did enjoy spending time with my mom before she became a raging, psychotic, drunken bitch."
"Mara could write a book with words to describe her mother," Fiona said with the shake of her head. "It's truly amazing. She's like another version of me!"
"What if you hired an actor?" Debbie questioned, changing the subject back to the wedding again. "Remember the guy who played Elmo at my birthday party?"
"You remember that?" Fiona sounded shocked.
"He took his head off!" Debbie said, her eyes widening. "It was traumatizing."
"Isn't it the same guy who twerked on me when I was thirteen?"
"Yup," Lip answered, handing her a piece of bread with butter on it. She grinned at him as she took it from his grasp, and she dipped it in the lasagna sauce. He knew her way too well. "The eighth grade formal. He was a chaperone."
"Not anymore, I hope," Fiona muttered, before looking at Veronica again. "You think an actor could work?"
"You know what?" Lip cut in. "I could probably get Father Pete to do it. If Carl will help."
