The wedding was the next day, I believe. As is Chinese custom, the ritual consists of the groom and his groomsmen banging on the door of the house where the bride is, then the bride and her maids of honor demanding the groom prove his love by making him and the groomsmen do embarrassing, if not demeaning, stunts. I kid -- sort of. But they made them do dances and skits and I think he had to take off his pants or something. Actually, I don't remember what they made my brother-in-law do since it's been more than two years.
Before the ceremony I was called into my parents' room at the villa, which was in a different building. Father was wearing his red Hawaiian shirt, which, bizarrely, has become his go-to "good" shirt for festive occasions. "Here," he said, giving me his crisp white shirt for me to wear; we are so goddamn alike we can share the same clothes -- and we do, at least our pajamas. Anyway, white was one of the colors my sister authorized for the wedding, along with, I think, pink and beige. My brother-in-law-to-be and sister volunteered to keep my Banana Republic white shirt with them when we finally touched down in Zurich; while my parents and I lugged our luggage from Milan to Florence, they would gently drive down to Siena without getting even a wrinkle on our shirts. But the night before the wedding (I think) I asked for my shirt and my bro-in-law couldn't find it. My Father somehow got involved, and so he decided that I would wear his white shirt (guess he didn't give them his) while he wore his Hawaiian. That was stupid. I had a white t-shirt, so, to keep us all color-coordinated, I gave him back his shirt, told him he needed to change, went back to the apartment I shared with my brother, and put on my t-shirt for the wedding. If you looked closely you'd see my embroidered, t-shirt-like collar. But I really don't think most of the people there were the wiser.
The second part of the ceremony involved two adorned chairs. In order, my parents, his parents, my uncle and aunt, my brother, his brother, and me (I may have screwed up the order) sat on these chairs and were served tea by my sister and brother-in-law. We in turn would give them something in our Chinese red packets (well, those on the bride's side did; I forgot what the groom's side gave) and say a few words. I wished them well and told them to remember that as long as they had each other, they'd be alright.
And then the ceremony was over. For all intents and purposes, my sister and brother-in-law were now truly married because my parents were there to witness and participate in a proper Chinese wedding.
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What else is there to the wedding? I think that afternoon, after we had lunch and time for a nap, I went over to my parents' apartment. They had taken off all their fancy clothes and gotten back into their frumpy shirts and jeans. They thought they were done and, more importantly, wanted to be done with the whole ceremony.
But they weren't. My sister and brother-in-law said that there were still things to do, in particular the wedding photos. I thought it was kind of disrespectful that they had little energy to put their nice clothes back on and see their daughter's photos, so fuck them, they act like that all the time.
I went downstairs and onto the outdoor steps. They were taking their photos overlooking the garden. Everyone was there except for me and my family. I rushed outside because we were told the photo shoot was beginning to take place and, naturally, my sis kind of expected us to be there.
I got there a little too late. They were actually beginning the shoot, with the kiss between the two, totally romantic, when I come barreling down the steps in order to see it. My sister sees me getting into the shot and she shoos me down, "Get out of the way!" I think she said. "I was trying to get our parents to come down!" I replied.
The rest went well. My folks eventually did come down. We mingled, had snacks and drinks from the open bar while they went through their litany of photos. It rained off and on.
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That's all I can remember from the wedding day.
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