“I DON’T WANT one of those cliché wedding photos where the bride puts way too much cake in the groom’s mouth,” Marty said. It was time to cut the wedding cake, a huge chocolate creation shaped like a barn.

“Maybe a slice that’s just a bit too large,” I said. “That’d be okay, right?”

“Gaby,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

We were leaving the family table when Claire shouted out, “Not too big a piece, Mom. You don’t want him to choke.”

“Just what I said,” Marty called back.

Then my eyes went to Lizzie and Mike. Mike’s head was bowed, and Lizzie was massaging the back of his neck. Something wasn’t quite right.

By the time I walked the few feet over to them, Bart was standing next to Mike. He was taking his pulse. Suddenly I saw that Mike was beginning to shake.

Marty, Lizzie, Bart, and I gathered around Mike. The people in the barn quieted. Whispers. Questions. The music stopped.

Mike’s right arm shot up and out of Bart’s grip. Then his legs went stiff.

“Help me lay him down on the floor,” Bart said to Marty.

They did that, and I shoved a bunch of crumpled napkins under his head. Now both Mike’s legs were lifted a few inches above the floor. The big barn was almost completely silent now.

“Okay, buddy. It’s going to be okay,” Bart said. It was the first time I’d ever seen his bedside manner, and it was pretty impressive. “Just stay alert. Stay with me here. That’s great, Mike. You’re fine. Hold on to me.”

Mike’s eyes rolled up and back. His eyelids closed. His right leg shot up and down like an automated lever that had been broken.

Then calm came over Mike, and that was even scarier.

“Let him just stay here for a few minutes,” Bart said. “He’s doing fine. The storm’s passed.”

Lizzie rubbed Mike’s shoulder gently. Tallulah knelt at her father’s head. Then Mike finally opened his eyes, as if he’d just been sleeping there in the middle of the wedding reception.

“What the hell did you put in that champagne, Gaby?” he said, and he tried hard to laugh.

After another five minutes or so, Marty and Bart got Mike up and into a chair.

“How you feeling, Big Mike?” Marty asked.

“I’ll make it through the dessert course,” he said.

“I think we should get you to the hospital. Are you strong enough to walk?” Bart asked.

“I can walk. But no fast dancing. A waltz would probably be okay.”

Marty and Bart hoisted Mike to his feet. Then they walked him slowly toward the barn doors.

“I’ll go with you,” Lizzie said.

“No need to,” said Marty.

“Yeah, no need to, sweetie,” said Mike. “I know how much you love wedding cake. Have a piece for me.”

They continued to walk to the door. When they got there, Bart turned to the crowd and called out, “Enjoy the party. Mike’s going to be fine.”