At her niece’s wedding, Aunt June discovered she had been seated beside the kitchen door. She studied the plan and saw that her sister was near the dance floor, her cousins faced the garden, and the groom’s uncle had a table with an excellent view of the speeches.
“They’ve put me beside the plates,” she told her husband, Len.
Len said it was probably because she liked a quiet corner. June said she liked a quiet corner when she chose it herself.
Before the first course, a waiter hurried over carrying a cake stand with a loose leg. June had repaired furniture for thirty years. She borrowed a screwdriver from her handbag, tightened the fitting, and sent him back to the kitchen. Len asked why she had brought a screwdriver to a wedding.
“You brought a penknife to our daughter’s graduation,” she said.
“That was for the ribbon on the flowers.”
“This is for whatever happens next.”
Next was a microphone that squealed through the groom’s speech. June adjusted its position. Then a chair lost a rubber foot, leaving it rocking under the best man. June found a spare in her bag. By dessert the kitchen staff knew her name, and the bride’s father had asked her to untangle a row of fairy lights.
June was beginning to suspect her niece had placed her there on purpose. At the reception desk she found the wedding coordinator and asked directly.
On her way, she passed her sister’s table by the dance floor. Nobody could hear the speeches over the music. The garden table had a fine view but caught every gust of wind; guests held down their napkins with bread rolls. June’s supposedly poor seat was dry, warm, and close enough to the kitchen to get hot food. She began to suspect she had judged it too quickly.
“Was I assigned the kitchen table because I fix things?”
The coordinator looked startled. “No. That table is where we put people who asked for an early exit. It’s nearest the car park.”
June remembered telling her niece months earlier that Len’s knee might make dancing difficult. The seating choice had been considerate. She went back to apologize to Len for complaining.
But now their table was full. The florist wanted help with a fallen vase, the band leader had a loose music stand, and three guests were asking about a stuck zip. June fixed the stand, rescued the vase, and handed the zip problem to Len, who proved unexpectedly good at it.
When the bride came over, June said, “You know, you could have told me this wasn’t a repair station.”
“It wasn’t,” her niece said. “But the coordinator says you saved the cake and the speeches.”
June looked toward the dance floor. People were gathering for the last song. Len offered his arm. His knee was fine, and for once there was nothing visibly broken in the room.
They took three steps before the music stopped. The band leader stared at a dead speaker. Everyone turned toward June.
She reached into her handbag, then stopped. “No,” she said. “I’m off duty.”
The bride’s father called from the back, “Does anybody else have a screwdriver?”
Len raised his penknife. The crowd cheered.
June smiled at her niece. “Next family wedding,” she said, “seat us by the exit and charge admission.”