Air

Air

Chapter 6 The Wedding Reception

The day of Will and Catherine's reception came quickly for Oliver. He had been busy settling in with the first team and hadn't had a chance to speak with his father after their visit the previous Saturday. He dressed as quickly as possible. Perhaps he could get to the party early and give his dad the news about the first team before guests began to arrive. He watched the clock as he finshed getting ready. Practice had run late and he was already behind schedule.

He finally found himself knocking on Mary's door. She opened it with a smile, but gasped when she saw him.

"Oliver! You said it was going to be a casual party!"

"Well...what I meant was that it wasn't going to be formal." Oliver took in her form fitting pencil skirt and blouse appreciatively. "You look great!"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him in to examine him more closely. "You're dressed up! This is cocktail attire!"

"Oh, right. I guess my mum's invitation did say something about cocktails. I wasn't quite sure what that meant. But it didn't say formal dress."

"Oh, Oliver, I have to run up and change into something more appropriate. I can't be underdressed when I'm going to be meeting your family for the first time!"

"But Mary..."

She ran upstairs to change in the middle of his sentence. As he sighed, he also couldn't help but notice the shape of her calves and how her skirt hugged her hips as she climbed the stairs in her high heels. He finally called to her, "We're running a bit late."

But several minutes later, the pleasure he had felt at her appearance had evaporated into worry as the clock in the hallway ticked. They were going to be late.

He called up the stairs, "Mary? Are you coming?"

Her muffled words floated down. "I'll be ready in a minute! I'm trying to hurry."

He began to pace the entry. Finally she emerged at the top of the stairs. Her dress robes were a slate blue, draping her slim figure perfectly and warming her complexion. Or perhaps it was the excitement from her abrupt change of wardrobe that had flushed her cheeks. Her face had a faint sheen and she was frowning.

He watched her descend the staircase then asked, "What's wrong?"

"I couldn't find anything that looked right. And then when I pulled this out from the back of my closet, it was rumpled and wrinkled. Oh, Oliver, I wanted to look nice for your family!"

She grabbed her small purse off the entry table and headed to the door with a sniff.

Oliver looked at Mary, then back and the clock, and only hesitated for a moment before he took her by the arm and gently turned her around to face him. "Mary, you look really pretty. And your robes don't look rumpled at all. They're perfect. Please - let's relax and have fun. There's enough tension at the Wood house already."

She paused, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right. And I'm being selfish. You've got to be worried about seeing your father...and here I am going on about what I'm wearing. I'm sorry."

His father. It was too late now to have a decent conversation with him before the party. Now they'd just better find Uncle Will and warn him not to say anything before Oliver had a chance to. He gave her a light kiss and was able to appreciate the light floral scent of the perfume that had come to represent Mary to him, then they Apparated to his parents' foyer. Oliver wrapped his arm around Mary's waist to steady her.

She placed her hand over his and smiled up at him. "Thank you. You never lose your balance when you Apparate."

He gave her a small wink. "Another benefit of Quidditch training. Come on. Let's go find Uncle Will. I need to talk to him before he says anything to my dad."

Oliver took Mary's hand and led her through the house in search of his uncle. It was already filling up nicely with guests - Uncle Will had always been popular, with many friends. He was the type of person that people wanted to be around, magnetic, fun-loving, kind.The lights were low and candles glowed softly on the tables in every room. Quite a few people were milling about with glasses of wine or other cocktails, snacking on the hors d' oeuvres laid out spectacularly on the buffet table. Soft music played behind the buzz of conversations. It was an interesting mix of guests, Oliver thought to himself. He could see Mary inspecting the dress robes of the women and comparing them to her own.

Oliver scanned the crowd more closely. The guests could be split into two groups, though, Oliver thought with a smile. There was the more reserved, intellectual one, which included people of average stature, no one physical characteristic setting them apart in any great way.

Oliver could hear snippets of conversations as they passed through the rooms.

"...seven days she lay there, unable to move or speak. We were stumped..."

"...if you give the full dose twice, then alternate it with a half dose, the side effects can be minimized..."

Healers. Uncle Will's and Catherine's colleagues and former fellow trainees.

And then there was the other group. A gregariousness seemed to be shared by most, along with a command of movement, a strength of posture, a certain fit of clothes, sun-drenched complexions...the athletes. Some were graying and a few were beginning to lose their hair. Some even carried a little extra weight, but there was no mistaking their bearing. They were former Quidditch royalty, the pros Will had been closest to during his years of playing.

It struck Oliver that he was now standing on the same ground as they; he had made it. He was no longer a little boy with a dream. He gave Mary's hand a squeeze.

"What?"

He glanced behind him to see her smiling at him. He responded, "Nothing. I'm just...happy."

Finally, Oliver saw Will through the hallway, off in a far corner laughing, surrounded by several men. Oliver pointed him out towards Mary.

"Come on, Mary. He's over there!"

But just then Oliver heard a familiar voice from behind. "Oliver! You're here!"

Oliver turned around to see his mother walking towards him. He let out his breath and stopped. Uncle Will would have to wait a few more minutes.

"Hi, Mum. The party looks great." He gave his mother a hug. "This is Mary."

Mary stepped forward with her hand. "Pleased to meet you Mrs. Wood. Thank you for having me to your beautiful home."

"You're welcome, dear. And don't you look lovely tonight."

Mary's pleased smile seemed to put the issue of dress firmly behind them. Thank goodness, Oliver thought. He looked again towards the room where he had seen Uncle Will, and that corner was now empty. Sod it! Where had he gone, now?

His mother touched Oliver's arm. Oliver..."

Oliver turned back to her. "Yes?"

"Thank you for coming last week and speaking with your father. He has been...I don't know...happier...since your visit. I knew this rift between you was wearing at him."

"I know. It was good that we talked." He turned to the other doorway, still trying to find his uncle.

"Your father asked if I would send you to him when you arrived. He wants your help with the toast. It's about that time now. He's in the kitchen."

Oliver looked around desperately for a glimpse of Uncle Will. But then he noticed waiters bearing trays of champagne flutes and he knew he had to head to the kitchen. He sighed. It looked like he wouldn't be talking to his uncle any time soon. Perhaps he should just tell his father and get it over with. How could his father become angry when there were so many guests to attend to? Hmmm. This party could actually work as a buffer of sorts.

Oliver's father was standing in the kitchen behind the large center island when Oliver and Mary entered. Oliver walked around it, and was surprised to receive a hug rather than the handshake his dad had been giving him lately. Two waiters were pouring champagne into fluted glasses on trays, and others were taking them out to the guests.

His father spoke first. "I'm glad you're here. It's time for the toast. I'd like you to do it with me, Oliver. I know you and Will are close and that he would appreciate the show of Wood solidarity in his honor."

"All right." Oliver said nothing more as he watched his father continue to pour. He should tell his father now. He glanced at Mary. Damn it. He had lost his nerve again. And he didn't want to spoil the "Wood solidarity". Finally, he stepped back from the island and whispered to Mary, "I've got to find Uncle Will."

Mary answered, "Do you want me to go and find your uncle, while you and your father ready the guests for the toast? He's the handsome one with the glasses and dark hair that you pointed to earlier, right?"

Oliver nodded. "Tell him I haven't told Dad about the first team yet. Tell him not to say anything, okay?"

Mary nodded.

At that exact moment, Oliver's father held out his hand to Mary, as if he had just noticed her. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Jonathan, Oliver's father."

Mary shook his hand. "Hello, Mr. Wood. It's very nice to meet you."

"Uh...Dad...this is Mary. I've brought her as my guest tonight."

His father gave Mary a quick scrutinizing glance, but then seemed to stop himself and smiled. "Welcome. I hope you enjoy the party. Come. We'll be heading into the dining room now, for the toast."

Mary looked to Oliver, as if trapped, then back to Jonathan. "Um...I just need to dash to the powder room for a second. I'll meet you there, Oliver?"

Oliver nodded gratefully.

His dad watched Mary leave the room, then turned back to Oliver. "I've asked Catherine to corral your uncle. He's having a grand time seeing his old friends."

Oliver forced a laugh. "He must be. I've been trying to find him myself...uh...to congratulate him."

They walked to the large, formal dining room and stood at the head of the long table, champagne glasses in hand. His father exchanged niceties with several of the guests as they entered. Oliver didn't recognize any of them. He shifted on his feet. He could see his reflection in the rich, polished wood of the table top. More people began to file in, gathering around them. His mother walked up to Jonathan and slipped her arm around his waist. Finally, Catherine entered with Uncle Will, and the guests applauded. Oliver looked around for Mary. Where was she? Had she found Will in time?

He started to walk over to greet his uncle, but stopped when someone thrust a glass into Will's hand and Oliver's father quieted the room. Jonathan began introducing Will and Catherine, wishing them a joyous marriage and many happy years together. Just as he finished, Mary entered looking worried.

Oliver caught Mary's eye and raised his eyebrows in question.

She shook her head 'no' and mouthed, "I'm sorry."

Too late! Maybe if he just caught Will's eye. All he had to do was shake his head; his uncle would know what he meant. Just then people started clapping Will on the back and pushing him to the head of the table, calling out, "Speech! Speech!"

Will took Catherine's hand and brought her to the edge of the table, across from Oliver. His uncle's hand was big and tan, enveloping Catherine's delicate, pale one. Will took a deep breath, surveyed the crowd and began to speak, his deep voice soft and reflective.

"It humbles a man, seeing so many friends in one space. Most of you I've known for a good many years...more than I care to count, really." The crowd laughed. "And some I look forward to getting to know better...Catherine's family and friends. Some of you...the unlucky ones...knew me back when I had the accident. I'm certain I don't have to remind you what a dark time that was. Yet you stuck with me...beyond what I deserved." Will took a moment to look at his closest friends. "Day by day it got easier. And I found work that fulfilled me." He put his arm around Catherine. "And then one day this beautiful woman walked into the room and everything felt complete. I just knew." Will talked a bit more about the many wonderful qualities he admired in his new wife. And then he finished by saying, "I'm eternally grateful that I'm here, right now, celebrating my marriage to this woman, this light in my life, my wonderful Catherine."

Mary whispered into Oliver's ear, "They do make a nice couple."

Catherine and Will kissed. Everyone clapped. And then Will raised his hands to quiet the room again.

"While I've got the spotlight here, I'd like to thank my brother Jonathan, and my sister-in-law, Eve, for hosting such a wonderful reception, and for lovingly accepting our decision to seize that special day in Rome and be married, without the usual tradition." Everyone joined Will in clapping their thanks to the hosts. Will turned to Oliver.

Oliver's heart began to pound. All heads in the room turned to him. He tried to be subtle, and shook his head slightly, willing his thoughts to his uncle. No! He tried to catch Uncle Will's eye. No! Don't say anything! Please.

Will continued, unabated. "And I'd like to thank my nephew Oliver, who continues to make his uncle proud."

Some deep male voice in the room yelled "Go Puddlemere!"

Will turned to that voice - a tall man in the back, and laughed, then continued, raising his glass to the room, no longer looking at Oliver. "Oliver has just this week signed with the Puddlemere United first team - starting Keeper! Let's hear it for..."

His uncle's last words were obliterated by applause and the buzz of conversation. Oliver immediately looked at his father whose eyes, wide on Will, betrayed his surprise. His dad took a step back from Oliver's mother and turned to Oliver, his expression asking Is this true? Oliver could only nod apologetically. His father stalked out of the room.

Will saw Jonathan leave and stopped in mid sentence. He turned to Oliver, then back to Jonathan who was striding towards the staircase. Will hastily finished, calling his friends to drink and celebrate, then strode directly towards Oliver and jerked his head in the direction of the doorway, motioning Oliver to follow him out of the crowd.

Will turned a corner out of the dining room with Oliver right behind, and then turned around to face him. "You never told him!"

"I tried..." Oliver's voice trailed off lamely.

"But you let on that you had told him. Last week when we spoke."

Oliver recalled that Floo conversation with embarrassment. Even Dominic had scolded Oliver when it was over. He hadn't outright lied to his uncle. But he had certainly made it sound as if it had been done. "I know. And I had tried to. And then I had planned to, today. But I didn't want to ruin your party." He felt Mary squeeze his hand.

"Ah hell, Oliver. Ya should've been honest with me! I'm sorry, boy."

Will's faint Scottish brogue always came out when he was excited...or angry. Oliver's eyes moved over to the staircase.

Will spoke again. "Come on."

"What?"

"I said come on! We're going to have a talk with my brother."

Catherine stepped up to Mary then, and touched her arm. "Mary, why don't you come with me? One of my friends here is a published author. I'd love to introduce you. I'm sure he would have some wonderful words of advice for you."

Mary looked worried. Oliver nodded for her to go, and she turned away with Catherine.

"Wait." Will took a step and reached for Catherine's arm before she left, his hazel eyes intense behind his glasses. "I'm sorry, love. We won't be long." He kissed her on the cheek, then he turned to Oliver. "Let's go."

This time, as they reached his father's closed office door, there was no gentle knocking. Uncle Will reached out, grasped the knob, and shoved the door wide open, where it struck the door stop with a bang. Oliver's father stood behind his desk, pouring a drink. The ice cubes clinked in the glass.

Will spoke first, his voice firm, even, controlled. "All right, big brother, spill it."

His father set down the bottle and turned around for the first time. Oliver saw the furrowed brow, the set jaw, the taut movements, as if barely controlled rage were bubbling just below the surface.

Jonathan faced Will squarely and his deep voice growled, "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? Damn it, Jon, enough of this! Oliver should be celebrating right now! He's achieved something wonderful and he's worked hard for years to get it. Why are you doing this?"

Jonathan would not look either of them in the eye for a moment. He simply stared at a spot on the floor. He took a swallow of his drink and finally looked again at Will. His voice was quiet. "You don't know anything, little brother. I suggest you take your own advice and return to your party."

Will stood his ground. "Oliver deserves to know the reason behind this...this unreasonable behavior. And I've been speculating about it myself for far too long." He spoke the next words slowly, with emphasis. What...the...hell...have you got against your son and Quidditch?"

Oliver waited, his eyes locked on his father. He held his breath. He would finally hear it. He would finally know what was behind all of this. But his father said nothing. And as the silence grew, Oliver's anger rose.

He finally implored, "Tell me, Dad!"

His father turned to him at that. His blue eyes burned with something Oliver couldn't read. "Oliver, I..." And then he stopped.

Uncle Will had finally had enough. His voice rose to a shout. "Bloody hell, Jon, are you jealous? Of your own son?"

His dad's head jerked at that, as if struck. His drink crashed onto the floor. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked directly at Will, his fists clenched. "Was I jealous of you? When you played that bloody sport at school, while I worked long hours to support you?"

"I never thought so, Jon. But now..."

Then all eyes turned to the doorway at the sound of Eve's voice. No one had known she was standing there.

"Jonathan...please! There must be some rational explanation for this! Tell them...us..the truth!" Her voice quavered as if she were going to cry, but she strode over to her husband and stood next to him, defiantly turning to face Uncle Will. "My husband loves our son!"

Uncle Will was fighting a losing battle with his temper. "Then why isn't he happy for him?"

The silence after that question was more than Oliver could bear. His father was not going to deny him the answer to that any longer. And so Oliver took a step towards him and pulled himself up to his full height. He locked onto his father's eyes and said in a forceful voice, "I think you're ashamed of me!"

Did his father flinch? The movement was subtle, but there. He shook his head at Oliver.

Oliver pressed on. "You are." Oliver looked down for a moment, and took a deep breath before he looked back up and continued. "You had to leave fun behind when you took over the financial burden of your family. You were forced out into the world with nothing but worry and responsibility. Even your company's purpose, beyond the financial, is to help the sick. It's all for a higher good, isn't it? Like the books that fill your office shelves. There must be a measurable return on everything."

His father's eyes narrowed.

Oliver continued, "And here I am, playing this bloody game! What's the purpose here, Dad? Chasing a silly ball around the sky? Whom do I help with that? What does anybody gain? How does that make the world a better place? And I was lucky, wasn't I? I was born with talent. Into this family of Wood men and Quidditch. I didn't have to work for any of this. It all just came to me, right? No noble sacrifice? Not like you did building the company, right? I'm just out there, flitting my life away with this embarrassing game." He waited. His heart was in his throat, and his mouth was dry, and he was waiting...waiting for his dad to deny any of what he had just said. But his father was silent.

Oliver looked around at the people in the room. "Well there it is, then. I can't learn anything about working hard...about teamwork...pushing yourself to the limit...staying steady when your nerves want the best of you. Quidditch has taught me nothing about stepping in to help the guy who's having trouble or an off day. It's taught me nothing about perseverance..."

His father finally spoke. "You're wrong. I would never be ashamed of you. It's not that..."

"I'm not even twenty years old! I have the rest of my life to work in a company, or...or...raise a family...or to earn a respectable living. But this is now! Quidditch makes me alive, Dad. It's the air I breathe. I'm not giving it up."

"Oliver...you don't understand. You can't understand right now...I'm sorry."

Oliver had finally had enough. His voice was resigned. "You know, Dad, I just don't care anymore. I'm done with it. And now I'm going to head over to Dorset, to my home, and play my heart out for my team." And he turned and left the room.

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Author's Note: Thanks again to the wonderful Eudora Hawkins and aggiebell, for their beta work.