The moment I had dreaded ever since Lukas’s first click in that Excel spreadsheet had arrived: the opening dance. Lukas had spared no expense or effort and created a playlist he had titled “Emotional Total Breakdown”. The tinny speakers now blasted out a saxophone version of *Careless Whisper* so distorted it sounded like the instrument was begging for mercy.
“Finn,” Mia hissed as she tried to arrange her six metres of tulle in a way that wouldn’t trip half the guests. “If you step on my feet now, this engagement… uh, marriage… will be over faster than the utilities company’s back payment.”
I placed my hand on her waist – or at least where I assumed her waist was somewhere under all that fabric. My jacket emitted a threatening ripping sound. “I can’t move, Mia. If I lift my left arm, I’ll fire the buttons straight into Uncle Herbert’s wine glass.”
We started turning in circles. It was less a dance and more the desperate manoeuvring of two shipwreck survivors in a sea of bargain satin. Grandma Hildegard watched us from the sidelines, gripping her walking stick as if she were checking every step for compliance with international ballroom regulations.
Suddenly I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Malte, the “sad uncle”. He was gliding past us with another extra and whispered in my ear, “The free beer is almost gone, Finn. The mood is turning. People want pizza. Real pizza. Not these punched-out biscuit things.”
“Later, Malte! I’m trying to preserve my dignity here!” I hissed back. “The extras’ union is demanding hazard pay because of the rat,” he muttered before sinking back into his role as a melancholic Palatinate native.
Then it happened. One particularly high saxophone note seemed to drive Karl-Friedrich, who had been hiding under the buffet table, completely insane. He shot out, ran straight between Mia’s legs, and became tangled in the countless layers of her dress.
Mia screamed, lost her balance, and instinctively clutched my lapel. Lukas’s old confirmation suit finally gave up the fight. With a loud CRACK, the seam down the back tore open from top to bottom. I felt the cool warehouse air against my bare back as Mia and I crashed to the floor in a tangled heap of tulle and shredded polyester.
The music stopped abruptly. Silence spread through the warehouse. Only Lohmeyer the swan stared down at us, utterly unmoved.
I lay on my back, Mia half on top of me, and right in front of my nose sat Karl-Friedrich, calmly grooming his whiskers. Beate covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God! The passion! They’ve practically torn each other apart in the name of love!”
Grandma Hildegard stepped forward slowly. She looked at my bare back, then at the rat, and finally at the shredded jacket. “Finn-Alexander,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen many hiding places during my time in customs. But someone trying to smuggle an entire rat and two kilos of tulle across the border of credibility inside a suit that’s too small… that’s a new one.”
She bent down towards me. “The dance was a disaster. But the jacket… the jacket is the first honest thing I’ve seen here today. It simply couldn’t withstand the pressure of the lie.”
Before I could reply, Lukas shouted from the improvised bar, “People! Forget the dance! We’re moving on to the most important part: the handover of gifts for the ‘Portugal sabbatical’!”
Mia helped me to my feet. My back was bare, my pride was gone, but the prospect of the envelopes made me forget my shame. We’d survived the dance. Now we just had to collect the money before the army of extras stormed the hall.