After All

by Karina Halle

  “This is what you get for missing rehearsal dinner,” Tiffany says, yanking at my sleeve. “You’re walking us both down the aisle.”

  “Lucky me,” I tell her, looking around for Alyssa. “So where’s the hot blonde?”

  “Did you just call her a hot blonde?” Tiffany asks.

  “I might have.”

  “Well hot blonde went to the washroom. Do you have a name for me?”

  Tiffany is staring up at me with warm, slightly tipsy eyes. I play this carefully.

  “Hot non-blonde.”

  “You Hollywood types are all the same,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

  “Oh, you have experience with Hollywood types?”

  She gives me a pointed look. “I’m a receptionist for a movie studio. D’uh.”

  “But you deal with VFX and animation. Those aren’t Hollywood types. Those are stoners and nerds.”

  She sighs. “Don’t pop my bubble. Pretending those nerds are Hollywood royalty is the only thing that gets me into the office most days. That and the donuts.”

  “Places, places,” the wedding planner calls out, trying to do this thing with her voice so it’s a yell and also a whisper. It just sounds like she has laryngitis. She frantically waves at me and Tiffany to come join her behind the rows of seats, some guests still filtering in.

  As we approach, she also manages to snag Alyssa as she comes back from the washroom.

  “Remember your cues,” the wedding planner says to us, her eyes lingering sternly on me for a moment too long before she jets off somewhere.

  “What are the cues?” I purposely ask Alyssa, trying to get her to say something.

  But Tiffany pipes up. “Follow our lead. That’s what you get for skipping.”

  “Skipping?” I repeat, looking at her. “This isn’t high school, non-blonde. I was working.”

  At that Alyssa makes a scoffing noise that eerily reminds me of the noises Madison makes when she’s unimpressed. AKA when she’s not in the bedroom.

  That puts a bad taste in my mouth.

  Of course the bad taste goes away when I start imagining what other noises Alyssa might make. You know. In the bedroom.

  I stare at her openly and she holds my eye contact for just a second. Just long enough to see that her eyes are a very clear blue. “Something in your throat?” I ask her.

  She just frowns at me. She’s a tough nut to crack.

  “Anyway,” Tiffany says loudly. “We’re supposed to wait for the cue and then we walk down the aisle. You in the middle, us on either side. Like this.” Tiffany sticks her arm around mine and then grins up at me. “You know I love your new show,” she says.

  She sounds completely sincere. “Thank you,” I tell her.

  “Alyssa and I were just discussing earlier that you should have a male/male scene with you and Boomerang.”

  This isn’t the first I’ve heard this. Lots of Boomerang fansites ship the hero and the villain together. What does interest me is that Alyssa was roped into this conversation.

  I give Alyssa a smirk. “Oh really? You were discussing me? You know, I don’t think we’ve actually met. Maybe I should introduce myself before I give you the privilege of my arm.”

  I can tell she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “Will introduced you already.”

  “Are you always this prickly?”

  Her frown deepens.

  “Like a cactus,” Tiffany says.

  Then the music starts up. The slow romantic strains of a piano playing…the theme song to Jurassic Park?

  “Interesting,” I comment.

  “It was Ty’s choice, Jackie’s son,” Alyssa says, keeping her eyes forward to where Will is standing by the minister at the end of the aisle.

  “Ah, she speaks,” I remark.

  Her eyes flash to mine. “I just spoke to you two seconds ago.”

  “Uh,” Tiffany says, looking between the both of us. “Have you guys met before or something because there’s enough animosity and unresolved sexual tension to fill a million episodes of Moonlighting.”

  “You are way too young to know about Moonlighting,” I tell her. “And, as you can see, I haven’t quite met her yet.” I stick out my hand and say. “Hi Alyssa, I’m Emmett. It will be a pleasure to walk you down the aisle today.”

  But before Alyssa can shake it (if she was even going to), a hush comes over everyone and the music changes from the plinky plunky piano part to sweeping strings.

  “That’s our cue,” Tiffany says.

  I offer my elbow to Alyssa.

  “You have to take it now. It’s the rules,” I tell her, strangely determined to win this prickly bitch-hot blonde over.

  Once she does, I press her hand harder into my side and lean into her. “You know they both warned me to stay away from you.”

  She turns to face me and this close I can see the streaks of grey in her eyes. There’s also fire in them. Rebellion. Just what I wanted to see. “Who did?”

  Now I have her attention.

  I just shoot her a grin and I start down the aisle, a girl on each arm.

  Chapter 2

  Alyssa

  Earlier that day

  “I’m going to throw up.”

  I roll my eyes at the statement and put the window down so some fresh air gets in the limo.

  “Oh, please, please don’t,” Jackie says, gathering up the hem of her wedding dress and staring at Tiffany reproachfully. “The last thing I need is to get vomit on my dress at one p.m.”

  “As opposed to vomit at one a.m.?” I ask, reaching for the last of the champagne so that Tiffany isn’t tempted. I can see her wavering eyes focus on the bottle, momentarily distracting her sorry ass from the fact that she wanted to throw up a second ago.

  “I’d like to keep my wedding as puke free as possible, thank you very much,” Jackie says, then reaches across to grab the champagne from my hand.

  “You know,” I say, watching as she pretends to drink straight from the bottle. I put my thoughts on hold as I grab my phone and take a picture of the delightfully unladylike sight. Will is going to get a kick out of it. “I have to say I thought you’d be the one feeling sick.”

  She frowns as she hands the bottle back to me. “For the last time, I’m fine. I’m not nervous. I’m cool as a cucumber.”

  It’s true. And it’s annoying. And probably a sign that her and Will are really meant to be together, as if that wasn’t already apparent.

  In fact, Jackie has to be the most chill bride I’ve ever come across and I’ve been to a hell of a lot of weddings over the last few years. Your late twenties is prime wedding season where everyone you know, from high school frenemies to family friends and random co-workers, are tying the knot and you get to go to every single one of them.

  Alone.

  Yeah, that’s the other problem. During the summer months, finding a date to a wedding is next to impossible. I’m starting to think there’s a business idea in men and women as wedding dates for hire, of course in this city the males would be in high demand. I’m not sure if there’s more women than men here or that the male dating pool sucks (and I can attest that it does) but all the guys have to do is snap their fingers and a woman will be conjured up in front of them. It’s I Dream of Genie but with sex. Meanwhile all the women are fighting over a remotely eligible man like they’re duking it out over the last ham on Christmas Eve.

  But, I promised myself I wouldn’t dwell on it. Not today. Today is Jackie’s day. And despite our friend and co-worker Tiffany having too many mimosas at breakfast, everything is working out beautifully. It’s a sunny and warm summer afternoon with not a cloud in the sky, Jackie is looking absolutely stunning in her designer wedding dress (low-cut Grecian style top with a poufy skirt), her golden-brown hair flowing in sleek waves over her shoulders.

  As her bridesmaids, Tiffany and I don’t look half-bad either. Even though Tiffany’s head is currently half-hanging out the window, her updo is staying intact and her makeup is perf
ect. Jackie’s colors for the wedding are blue and hot pink, so we were able to pick whatever style of dress we wanted so long as the color was an exact match. Tiffany is thin and tiny, so she’s rocking the classic strapless cocktail dress while I’ve got an empire waist and fluttery sleeves to hide my fluffy arms and stomach. The only problem is that my cleavage is bordering on vulgar so I have to keep reminding myself to pull up the neckline and make sure the girls are in check.

  “I’m feeling better!” Tiffany suddenly exclaims, straightening up and looking at both of us with wide eyes.

  “Did you just do a line of coke when we weren’t looking?” I ask her.

  She looks at me absolutely horrified, which was the point. Tiffany is twenty-one, still lives at home (which is actually smart in Vancouver’s vicious housing market), and for all her bluntness, dry humor and quirks, there are still a few things that shock her. Mainly drugs, co-ed changing rooms and farting. When you work with a person for a long time, you end up learning a lot about them.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever done day-drinking before,” she says as way of explanation.

  Jackie and I exchange a look. As the oldest of the group, my look is the most weighted.

  “No day-drinking? How did you survive high school? Or college?”

  “I studied and got good grades. You try having my parents. I didn’t even have a sip of wine until I was seventeen and at my Uncle Lin’s wedding.”

  “Oh Tiffy Whiff. What are we going to do with you?”

  “You can start by not calling me Tiffy Whiff.”

  I shrug and sit back in my seat. Despite being the oldest, I’m still the one who is single. Tiffany has a long-term boyfriend, Ken, and Jackie of course is getting married today.

  She’s also pregnant. No, it’s not a shotgun wedding. They only found out last month or so. Of course, I’m absolutely thrilled. Everyone is, especially Will and most especially Jackie’s nine-year-old son Tyson, whom she has from a previous relationship. The baby wasn’t expected at all but sometimes the best things in life catch you by surprise.

  I look Jackie over again, beaming at how beautiful she is, how radiant she looks. If anyone deserves eternal happiness with a sexy gentleman like Will, it’s her.

  “Make sure you eat enough,” I tell her. “You barely touched your avocado toast.”

  “Did you know avocado toast is why I can’t afford to buy my own house?” Tiffany pipes up.

  I’d heard that shit before. Newspaper articles blaming everything from avocado toast to social media as the reason why millennials can’t afford a house. In Vancouver it’s because a tiny tear-down house in the city is worth over a million dollars. I have a job that pays well and yet I still have to live with a roommate. And no, I don’t eat my weight in avocados, even if I look it.

  “I’ll try,” Jackie says. “I haven’t had an appetite.”

  “Too nervous?” Tiffany goads.

  “I told you, I’m chill,” Jackie reminds her. “I’m chill. I’m good. I’m great. Cool as a cucumber.”

  I narrow my eyes thoughtfully. The lady doth protest too much.

  “As cool and cucumbery as you are,” I reassure her, “you have nothing to worry about. The rehearsal last night went fine. The ceremony will be over before you know it and then it’s time for you guys to have fun.”

  “I never said I was worried.”

  “I know you didn’t…”

  “Do you think Ty is too old to be a ring bearer?” she suddenly says. “What if he doesn’t want to do it and is only trying to make me happy?”

  “He’s not too old and you can tell he likes the responsibility. He wants to be a part of it all.”

  “What if Emmett does something stupid?”

  “Cruiser McGill!” Tiffany exclaims, clapping her hands together.

  I sigh. I’ve never met Emmett Hill, Will’s friend and fellow groomsman. I have, however, heard a lot about him. I mean, everyone in Canada knows who he is. He was on the reboot of Degrassi as Cruiser McGill, the nice boy next door, for what seemed like forever. I never actually watched the show but I saw his face a lot.

  And I never really thought much about it. That’s kind of the way it is with Canadian TV. Lots of faces on mediocre, poorly-lit shows, faces you don’t bother attaching to any names.

  That’s not to say Emmett still has the same face. He was always cute but he’s managed to get sexier as he’s gotten older. Now he’s on some ridiculous superhero TV show and everyone is swooning over him left, right and center. Granted, as I said, he’s sexy. He’s got this permanent smirk and sexy stubble and light brown hair you just want to run your fingers through. Plus, abs for days since the network tries to show him as shirtless as possible (which doesn’t really make sense when the guy is a villain and it’s not Baywatch, but whatever).

  But regardless of him being hot, he’s still a dick. I know I don’t know him enough (or, you know, at all) for this judgement but meh, I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe there’s some gossip site or media bias, but all I see of him now is news of him dating this actress or that model or whatever and then just acting like an asshole to the public, like swearing at the paparazzi and being an overall doucheburger. I’m not always for this country’s tall poppy syndrome wherein we like to cut down those on the rise to keep them humble, but if Emmett is a poppy, then someone oughta start plucking his petals off.

  Also, he wasn’t at rehearsal dinner last night and he has the task of walking both Tiffany and I down the aisle since Jackie’s dad is also the best man.

  “He’ll be fine,” I tell her. “That’s not for you to worry about anyway. He’s Will’s friend, that’s Will’s problem.”

  “Will’s problems are my problems,” Jackie points out, not looking convinced. “That’s how relationships work. Hey, give me the champagne. I want some for real this time.”

  “No way,” I tell her. “You’re pregnant.”

  “But my doctor said a glass–”

  “You’re pregnant and you need your head on straight so you can remember every detail of the wedding. You’re as cool as a cucumber, remember?”

  She nods at that.

  I drink the rest of the champagne.

  By the time we arrive in front of the grand building of the yacht club, Jackie is back to pretending everything is okay again. I have to admit, as much as I like seeing her be real and human before the wedding, it’s easier when she pretends she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  We are ushered inside the building to a chartroom upstairs where we’re briefed by Janice, the over-zealous wedding planner with big teeth, while Jackie talks to the minister. Then Ty comes in and provides child-like relief from the vibe that’s growing more serious by the second.

  Finally, Tiffany and I are sent downstairs to wait for further instructions. We decide to stand around in the front with some of the more important wedding guests like Jackie’s grandparents and catch some sun while we’re at it.

  “So have you seen that show, Boomerang?” Tiffany asks me.

  “No,” I tell her. “You know I don’t have cable.”

  “It’s on Netflix.”

  “I’m sort of over the superhero shows. Plus, that one sounds dumb. What’s the guy’s power again? Being Australian?”

  “Being a hot Australian. And he can turn back time for one minute. Hence the title. And the catch phrase. The world can change in one minute.” She says the tagline in a throaty and terrible Australian accent.

  “Right. And Emmett is the villain.”

  “Yes. You would love him.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You would. I think I know your reading tastes by now to know you’re a sucker for the alpha anti-hero. That’s what Emmett plays. Doctor Cole Black. Or Doctor Death.”

  “He looks cheesy,” I tell her, neglecting to mention that he also looks hot.

  “You think he’s hot though,” she says, studying me with pursed lips.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not a fan
of blondes.” I know his hair is really light brown but I tend to swoon over the darkly handsome types. You know, the ones with thick, dark hair and dark eyes that make them look all hot and brooding.

  “He’s got brown hair, Alyssa. He’s not blonde. And he’s hot. I can show you a million pictures of him with his shirt off.”

  “I’ve seen them.”

  “Have you seen the pictures that people have Photoshopped of him and Julian Crane together?”

  Now this has my attention. Aside from being a sucker for romances with a brooding alpha asshole, I also like my m/m novels. “What?”

  She reaches into her pearl-trimmed clutch and pulls out her phone. I watch as she scrolls through her photos. She legit has folders for every TV show, comic and movie. Also one for WWE wrestling which is weird.

  “Jeez Tiff.” I whistle. “I had no idea your fandom was this bad.”

  “Oh yeah,” she says proudly and she stops on some very well edited images of Emmett Hill in compromising positions with Julian Crane, the rugged, Australian actor who plays Boomerang.

  Damn. That is hot.

  “If the show was about them two hooking up, then I would watch it,” I tell her.

  “Speak of the devil,” Tiffany says in a hushed voice and I look up from the pervy images to see Will, Ted and Emmett walking toward us from the end of the driveway.

  They look like a trio of James Bonds out to fight crime and find pussy. I know, it’s a weird (okay, inappropriate) thing to say when two of them are your boss but hear me out. For one, Will is absolutely gorgeous. Tall, striking, with thick dark hair (what did I just say about darkly handsome types), a beautiful smile and a real python in his pants. I’m not being a perv, it’s just the way he is and I dare anyone not to notice when he’s wearing certain materials. Even from all the way over here I think I can see the shadow of the thing. Then again my eyes are trained to search for it.

  Don’t tell Jackie.

  For two, Ted, also my boss, and Jackie’s father, and Will’s best man, defines the term silver fox. He’s like Anderson Cooper’s older, straighter cousin. He’s handsome in the way Cary Grant got handsome even when he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and had hair the color of snow.