My feet were already throbbing in my good pumps by the time we reached the first address, and that was just after noon on a Saturday. My husband, Arthur, and I had sat through a long, warm ceremony that ended right around twelve, and the ushers had handed out small printed cards with a location for the reception. We drove out following a long line of decorated cars, wondering why Chloe and her new husband had chosen a banquet hall clear on the other side of town. When we got there, we found about seventy-five to one hundred guests milling around the entrance, all of us hungry and looking for a place to sit. We filed inside, found our tables, and waited while the food was brought out. It was a decent buffet, nothing fancy, but we were ready for it after the morning rush. The moment the last plate was cleared and the coffee cups were empty, Chloe and her husband stood up at the head table. They grabbed the microphone and announced that everyone needed to pack back into their cars immediately because the real party was happening at another venue twelve miles away. Arthur looked at me across the table, his eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline, but everyone was already standing up and shuffling toward the doors. We filed out to the parking lot like a confused herd of sheep, got back into our sedan, and joined the highway caravan toward the next unknown destination.

PART 2

The drive took nearly forty minutes because keeping a caravan of seventy cars together across the freeway is practically impossible. By the time we pulled up to the second location, an event space tucked behind a strip mall, my lower back was stiff and I was losing my patience. We walked inside, greeted by the smell of warm tortillas and cilantro, and realized they had arranged a second full meal, this time a Mexican buffet. A few older relatives groaned quietly, having already eaten a plate of chicken and potatoes twenty minutes prior, but we sat down at a round table and picked at some rice and beans just to be polite.

I kept looking around for a DJ, a dance floor, or at least a microphone for toasts, but the room was dead quiet except for the clinking of silverware. No one gave speeches. No one thanked us for coming. We just sat in silence and finished eating because we did not want to cause a scene. Barely twenty minutes after we put our forks down, Chloe stood up again, tapped her water glass with a spoon, and made the announcement that sent a low murmur through the room. She brightly informed everyone that we were heading to the final destination, downtown Los Angeles, for the actual reception. Arthur dropped his napkin on the table and let out a long sigh that said everything we were both thinking. We marched back out to the car as the clock hit 4:00 PM, having spent our entire Saturday afternoon driving in circles for a bride who apparently wanted to treat her wedding day like an amateur scavenger hunt.

PART 3

We crawled through downtown traffic behind Chloe’s rented white SUV, our gas gauge dropping lower and our tempers wearing thin. When we finally pulled up to a third venue, a cramped loft space with no obvious parking and a steep flight of stairs, I refused to get out of the car right away. Arthur turned off the engine and looked at me, his hands resting on the steering wheel. We had spent four hours burning gasoline, navigating strange neighborhoods, and eating two random meals without a single word of welcome or gratitude from the couple who had invited us. My sister leaned out of the car behind us, waving her hands and asking if we were going inside, and that was when something in me just snapped. I rolled down my window, looked at my sister, and told her plainly that we were going home. We didn’t bother climbing the stairs to find out if there was a third dinner or a hidden cash bar waiting at the end of the rainbow.

We turned the car around right there in the middle of downtown traffic, leaving the wedding caravan behind us. When my phone buzzed an hour later with a text from Chloe asking why we had missed the cake cutting, I didn’t even bother to answer.

ENDING

We got back to our quiet house around six o’clock, took off our shoes in the hallway, and immediately went to the kitchen to make ourselves a simple bowl of soup. The house was calm, the air conditioning was humming, and my aching feet finally stopped throbbing against the hardwood floor. Arthur opened the refrigerator, pulled out the leftover roast chicken from Friday night, and carved two thick slices without a word. We sat at the kitchen table eating in silence, the distant roar of the city replaced by the sound of our own quiet home. My phone stayed face down on the counter for the rest of the evening, glowing with a few more group chat notifications that I chose not to read.

I set my good pumps by the back door, rinsed my plate in the sink, and decided that some family invitations are better left unopened.