On the outskirts

Twenty years later I am remembering the family circle of McClintocks at Andy and Linda’s wedding reception, how after the photos and cake and champagne and hors d’oeuvres and itchy mingling of people who had only Andy and Linda in common, the call went out to the genetic McClintocks: “Join hands,” for Linda was the first to marry in, and how they all joined hands and welcomed Linda into the circle, which Mrs. McClintock explained would never be complete again without all nine McClintocks in it, Linda now included.

Over the years I heard rumors that Andy never was the great love of Linda’s life, and I wonder now how many of those six McClintock siblings, including Leonard, who was briefly, never legally, my love, have since divorced, making that family circle a practical impossibility. But standing on the outskirts of the circle of McClintocks twenty years ago, I would have risked that common long regret to be, for one shimmering instant, among those holding hands.